To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
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 Shore falling,
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,
In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!
- Legolas, upon hearing the gulls' cry at Pelargir
At this point we could feel that sensation known to all travelers; that the journey was nearing its end. We strolled the harbor, taking in the sights and sounds of Portland, trying to absorb all we could on our last evening here.
The memory of the gulls calling would follow us home, a stirring reminder of this place and its unique character.
