To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are calling
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying
West, west away, the round sun is falling.
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,
The voices of my people that have gone before me?
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;
For our days are ending and our years failing.
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.
Long are the waves on the Last Shores falling,
Sweet are the voices in the Last Isle calling,
In Eressea, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!
An i ear, an i ear! I maiwi fáne yálar
I súre vávear, ar i falle fána víla
Andúne, Númen, i Anar lantea.
Sinde cirya, sinde cirya, lastealye yálinte,
I ómar nórenya i lende nó nin?
Autuvanye, autuvanye i tauri varyane nin;
Árilva télar ar coranarilva ataltear.
Lelyuvanye i alta neni eressea ciryamo.
Anda lantear i falmar pa telda falasi,
Linda yálar i ómar mí vanwa tol,
Mi Eressea, mi Eldarmar ye lá atan hiruva,
En i lassi úlantear: (nóre) nórenya oiala!