‘Alas for the White City!’ he wailed. And Idril looked behind, and saw as if in a vision a vast smoke across Tumladen, that none might gaze upon Gondolin. And hope fled her breast. But lo, as a star in the night, the high tower of Turgon pierced the grim haze, and she beheld it. For Gondolin was of the triumphs of the Noldor the greatest and the last, and the light of its glory was of Aman undimmed. Long there she looked, until darkness fell again, and it seemed that a great cry came out of the city, the wailing and splintering of stone as Morgoth’s might descended. Then she turned and looked no more, and Gondolin unbroken is remembered now only in song. Where its ruin lies none can tell, for all of that land was drowned. But the tales of the Wise do not forget Idril Silver-foot and the tower of Turgon her father.