Rohan

The sun was already westering as they rode from Edoras, and the light of it was in their eyes, turning all the rolling fields of Rohan to a golden haze.

"Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?  Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?  Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?  Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?  They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;  The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.  Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,  Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?

Thus spoke a forgotten poet long ago in Rohan, recalling how tall and fair was Eorl the Young, who rode down out of the North; and there were wings upon the feet of his steed, Felaróf, father of horses. So men still sing in the evening."

Yþde swa þisne eardgeard / ælda scyppend / oþþæt burgwara / breahtma lease / eald enta geweorc / idlu stodon. / Se þonne þisne wealsteal / wise geþohte / ond þis deorce lif / deope geondþenceð, / frod in ferðe, feor oft gemon / wælsleahta worn, / ond þas word acwið:

Hwær cwom mearg?   Hwær cwom mago?   Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa? Hwær cwom symbla gesetu? Hwær sindon seledreamas? Eala beorht bune.   Eala byrnwiga. Eala þeodnes þrym.   Hu seo þrag gewat, genap under nihthelm,   swa heo no wære.