The Fellowship of the Ring
(Book One)
Chapter One
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'Take care! I don't care. Don't you worry about me! I am as happy now as I have ever been, and that is saying a great deal. But the time has come. I am being swept off my feet at last,' Bilbo added, and then in a low voice, as if to himself, he sang softly in the dark:
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The Road goes ever on and on Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way Where many paths and errands meet, And whither then? I cannot say.
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He paused, silent for a moment. The without another word he turned away from the lights and voices in the fields and tents, and followed by his three companions went round into his garden, and trotted down the long sloping path. He jumped over a low place in the hedge at the bottom, and took the meadows, passing into the night like a rustle of wind in the grass.
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Chapter Two
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'The letters are Elvish, of an ancient mode, but the language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here. But this is in the Common Tongue is what is said, close enough:
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One ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
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It is only two lines of a verse long known in Elven-lore:
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Three rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
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Chapter Three
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The hobbits hummed a walking song (though not of course, without any mention of supper and bed). Bilbo Baggins had made the words, to a tune that was as old as the hills, and taught it to Frodo as they walked in the lanes of the Water-valley and talked about Adventure.
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Upon the hearth the fire is red, Beneath the roof there is a bed; But not yet weary are our feet, Still around the corner we may meet A sudden standing stone That none have seen but we alone. Tree and flower and leaf and grass, Let them pass! Let them pass! Hill and water under sky, Pass them by! Pass them by!
Still around the corner there may wait A new road or a secret gate, And though we pass them by today, Tomorrow we may come this way And take the hidden paths that run, Towards the Moon or to the Sun. Apple, thorn and nut and sloe Let them go! Let them go! Sand and stone and pool and dell, Fare you well! Fare you well!
Home is behind, the world ahead, And there are many paths to tread Through shadows to the edge of night, Until the stars are all alight. Then world behind and home ahead, We'll wander back to home and bed. Mist and twilight, cloud and shade, Away shall fade! Away shall fade! Fire and lamp, and meat and bread, And to bed! And then to bed!
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Chapter Three
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The singing grew nearer. One clear voice rose now above the others. It was singing in the fair elven tongue, of which Frodo knew only a little, and the others knew nothing. Yet the sound blending with the melody seemed to shape itself in their thought into words which they only partly understood. This was the song as Frodo heard it:
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Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear! O Queen beyond the Western Seas! O Light to us that wander here Amid the world of woven trees!
Gilthoniel! O Elbereth! Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath! Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee In a far land beyond the Sea.
O stars in the Sunless Year With shining hand by her were sown, In windy fields now bright and clear We see your silver blossom blown!
Oh Elbereth! Gilthoniel! We still remember, we who dwell In this far land beneath the trees, Thy starlight on the Western Seas.
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The song ended. 'These are High Elves! They spoke the name of Elbereth!' said Frodo in amazement. 'Few of that fairest folk are ever seen in the Shire. Not many now remain in Middle-earth, east of the Great Sea. This is indeed strange chance!'
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Chapter Four
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Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go To heal my heart and drown my woe. Rain may fall and wind may blow, And many miles be still to go, But under a tall tree I will lie, And let the clouds go sailing by.
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Ho! Ho! Ho! They began again louder. They stopped short suddenly. Frodo sprang to his feet. A long-drawn wail came down the wind, like the cry of some evil and lonely creature. It rose and fell, and ended on a high piercing note.
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Chapter Five
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Merry and Fatty went into the kitchen on the other side of the passage, and busied themselves with the final preparations for a late supper. Snatches of competing songs came from the bathroom mixed with the sound of the splashing and wallowing. The voice of Pippin was suddenly lifted up above the others in one of Bilbo's favourite bath-songs.
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Sing hey! For the bath at close of day That washes the weary mud away! A loon is he that will not sing: O! Water Hot is a noble thing!
O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain, And the brook that leaps from hill to plain; But better than rain or rippling streams Is Water Hot that smokes and steams.
O! Water cold we may pour at need, Down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed; But better is Beer, if drink we lack, And Water Hot poured down our back.
O! Water is fair that leaps on high In a fountain white beneath the sky; But never did fountain sound so sweet As splashing Hot Water with my feet!
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'Good! That's settled. Three cheers for Captain Frodo and company!' they shouted; and they danced round him. Merry and Pippin began a song, which they had apparently got ready for the occasion. It was made on the model of the dwarf-song that started Bilbo on his adventure long ago, and went to the same tune:
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Farewell we call to hearth and hall! Though wind may blow and rain may fall, We must away ere break of day Far over wood and mountain tall.
To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell In glades beneath the misty fell, Through moor and waste we ride in haste, And whither then we cannot tell.
With foes ahead, behind us dread, Beneath the sky shall be our bed, Until at last our toil be passed, Our journey done, our errand sped.
We must away! We must away! We ride before the break of day!
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'Very good!' said Frodo. 'But in that case, there are a lot of things to do before we go to bed - under a roof, for tonight at any rate'.
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Chapter Six
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So silent was it that the fall of their ponie's hoofs, rustling on dead leaves and occasionally stumbling on hidden roots, seemed to thud in their ears. Frodo tried to sing a song to encourage them, but his voice sank to a murmur.
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O! Wanderer in the shadowed land Despair not! For though dark they stand All woods there be must end at last, And see the open sun go past: The setting sun, the rising sun, The day's end, or the day begun, For east or west all woods must fail….
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Fail - even as he said the word his voice faded into silence. The air seemed heavy and the making of words wearisome. Just behind them a large branch fell from an old overhanging tree with a crash into the path. The trees seemed to close in before them.
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Chapter Six
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Suddenly Frodo stopped. There was a answer, or so he thought; but it seemed to come from behind him, away down the path further back in the Forest. He turned round and listened, and soon there could be no doubt; someone was singing a song; a deep glad voice was singing carelessly and happily, but it was singing nonsense:
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Hey dol! Merry dol! Ring a dong dillo! Ring a dong! Hop along! Fal lal the willow! Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!
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Hey! Come merry dol! Derry dol! My darling! Light goes the weather-wind and feathered starling. Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight, Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight, There my pretty lady is, River-woman's daughter, Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water. Old Tom Bombadil water lilies bringing, Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing? Hey! Come merry dol! Derry dol! And merry-o, Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o! Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away! Tom's in a hurry now. Evening will follow day. Tom's going home again water-lillies bringing. Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?
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Frodo and Sam stood as if enchanted. The wind puffed out. The leaves hung silently again on stiff branches. There was another burst of song, and then suddenly, hopping and dancing along the path, there appeared above the reeds an old battered hat with a tall crown and a long blue feather stuck in the band.
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Chapter Six
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Tom soon disappeared in front of them, and the noise of his singing got fainter and further away. Suddenly his voice came floating back to them in a loud halloo!
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Hop along, my little friends, up the Withywindle! Tom's going on ahead candles for to kindle. Down west sings the Sun: soon you will be groping. When the night-shadows fall, then the door will open, Out of the window-panes light will twinkle yellow. Fear no alder black! Heed no hoary willow! Fear neither root nor bough! Tom goes on before you. Hey now! Merry dol! We'll be waiting for you!
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Hey! Come derry dol! Hop along, my hearties! Hobbits! Ponies all! We are fond of parties. Now let the fun begin! Let us sing together!
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Then another clear voice, as young and as ancient as Spring, like the song of a glad water flowing down into the night from a bright morning in the hills, came falling like silver to meet them:
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Now let the song begin! Let us sing together Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather, Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather, Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather, Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water; Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!
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Chapter Seven
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'Fair lady Goldberry, daughter of the River'. Said Frodo at last, feeling his heart moved with a joy that he did not understand. He stood as he had at times enchanted by fair elven-voices; but the spell that was now laid upon him was different: less keen and loft was the delight, but deeper and nearer to mortal heart; marvellous and yet not strange 'Fair lady Goldberry!' he said again. 'Now the joy that was hidden in the songs we heard is made plain to me.
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O slender as a willow-wand! O clearer than clear water! O reed by the living pool! Fair River-daughter! O spring-time and summer-time, and spring again after! O wind on the waterfall, and the leaves' laughter!
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Suddenly he stopped and stammered, overcome with surprise to hear himself saying such things. But Goldberry laughed.
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Chapter Seven
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Tom nodded as if sleep was taking him again; but he went on in a soft voice:
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I had an errand there; gathering water-lilies, Green leaves and lilies white to please my pretty lady, The last ere the year's end to keep them from the winter, To flower by her pretty feet till the snows are melted. Each year at summer's end I go to find them for her, In a wide pool, deep and clear, far down Withywindle; There they open first in spring and there they linger latest. By that pool long ago I found the River-daughter, Fair young Goldberry sitting in the rushes. Sweet was her singing then, her heart was beating!
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He opened his eyes and looked at them with a sudden glint of blue:
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And that proved well for you - for now I shall no longer Go down deep again along the forest-water, Not while the year is old. Nor shall I be passing Old Man Willow's house this side of spring-time, Not till the merry spring, when the River-daughter Dances down the withy-path to bathe in the water.
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He fell silent again; but Frodo could not help asking one more question: the one he most desired to have answered. 'Tell us Master,' he said, 'about the Willow-man. What is he? I have never heard of him before'.
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Chapter Seven
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'Keep to the green grass. Don't you go a-meddling with old stone or cold Wights or prying in their houses, unless you be strong folk with hearts that never falter!' He said this more than once, and he advised them to pass barrows by on the west-side, if they chanced to stray near one. The he taught them a rhyme to sing, if they should by ill-luck fall into danger or difficulty the next day.
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Ho! Tom Bombadil! Tom Bombadillo! By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow, By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us! Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!
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When they had sung this atogether after him, he clapped them each on the shoulder with a laugh, and taking candles led them back to their bedroom.
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Chapter Eight
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Suddenly a song began: a cold murmur, rising and falling. The voice seemed far away and immeasurably dreary, sometimes high in the air and thin, sometimes like a low moan from the ground. Out of the formless stream of sad but horrible sounds, strings of words would now and again shape themselves: grim, hard, cold words, heartless and miserable. The night was railing against the morning of which it was bereaved, and the cold was cursing the warmth for which it hungered. Frodo was chilled to the marrow. After a while the song became clearer and with dread in his heart he perceived that it had changed into an incantation:
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Cold be hand and heart and bone, And cold be sleep under stones: Never more to wake on stony bed, Never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead. In the black wind the stars shall die, And still on gold here let them lie, Till the dark lord lifts his hand, Over dead sea and withered land.
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He heard behind his head a creaking and scraping sound. Raising himself on one arm he looked, and saw now in the pale light that they were in a kind of passage which behind them turned a corner. Round the corner a long arm was groping, walking on its fingers towards Sam, who was lying nearest, and towards the hilt of the sword that lay upon him. …..Frodo fell forward over Merry, and Merry's face felt cold. All at once back into his mind, from which it had disappeared with the first coming of the fog, came the memory of the house down under the Hill, and of Tom singing. He remembered the rhyme that Tom had taught them. In a small desperate voice he began: Ho! Tom Bombadil! And with that name his voice seemed to grow stronger: it had a full and lively sound, and the dark chamber echoed as if to drum and trumpet.
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Ho! Tom Bombadil! Tom Bombadillo! By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow, By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us! Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!
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There was a sudden deep silence, in which Frodo could hear his heart beating. After a long slow moment he heard plain, but far away, as if it was coming down through the ground or through thick walls, an answering voice singing:
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Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow, Bright blue jacket is, and his boots are yellow. None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the master: His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster.
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There was a loud rumbling sound, as of stones rolling and falling, and suddenly light streamed in, real light, the plain light of day. A low door-like opening appeared at the end of the chamber beyond Frodo's feet; and there was Tom's head (hat, feather and all) framed against the light of the sun rising red behind him.
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…. Tom stooped, removed his hat, and came into the dark chamber, singing:
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Get out! You old Wight! Vanish in the sunlight! Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing, Out into the barren lands far beyond the mountains! Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty! Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness, Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.
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At these words there was a cry and part of the inner end of the chamber fell in with a crash. Then there was a long trailing shriek, fading away into an unguessable distance; and after that silence.
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There Tom Bombadil stood, with his hat in his hand and the wind in his hair, and looked down upon the three hobbits, that had been laid on their backs upon the grass at the west side of the mound. Raising his right hand he said in a clear and commanding voice:
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Wake now my merry lads! Wake and hear me calling! Warm now be heart and limb! The cold stone is fallen! Dark door is standing wide; dead hand is broken, Night under Night is flown, and the Gate is open!
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Tom sprang away down hill, whistling and calling. Looking down after him Frodo saw him running away southwards along the green hollow between their hill and the next whistling and crying:
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Hey! Now! Come hoy now! Whither do you wander? Up, down, near or far, there or yonder? Sharp-ears, Wise-nose, Swish-tail and Bumpkin, White-socks my little lad, and old Fatty Lumpkin?
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So he sang, running fast, tossing up his hat and catching it, until he was hidden by a fold in the ground; but for some time his Hey now! Hoy now! Came floating back down the wind, which had shifted round towards the south.
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Chapter Nine
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For a moment Frodo stood gaping. Then in desperation he began a ridiculous song that Bilbo had been rather fond of (and indeed rather proud of, for he had made up the words himself). It was about an inn, and that is probably why it came into Frodo's mind just then. Here it is in full. Only a few words of it are now, as a rule remembered.
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There is an inn, a merry-old inn Beneath an old grey hill, And there they brew a beer so brown That the man in the moon himself came down One night to drink his fill.
The ostler has a tipsy cat That plays a five-stringed fiddle; And up and down he runs his bow, Now squeaking high, now purring low, Now sawing in the middle.
The landlord keeps his little dog That is mighty fond of jokes; When there's good cheer among the guests, He cocks an ear at all the jests And laughs until he chokes.
They also keep an horned cow As proud as any queen; But music turns her head like ale, And makes her wave her tufted tail, And dance upon the green.
And O! the rows of silver dishes And the store of silver spoons! For Sunday there's a special pair, And these they polish up with care On Saturday afternoons.
The Man in the Moon was drinking deep, And the cat began to wail; A dish and a spoon on the table danced, The cow in the garden madly pranced, And the little dog chased his tail.
The Man in the Moon took another mug, And then rolled beneath his chair; And there he dozed and dreamed of ale, Till in the sky the stars were pale, And dawn was in the air.
Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat: 'The white horses of the Moon, They neigh and champ their silver bits; But their master's been and drowned his wits, And the Sun'll be rising soon!'
So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle, A jig that would wake the dead: He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune, While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon: 'It's after three!' he said.
They rolled the Man slowly up the hill, And bundled him into the Moon, While horses galloped up in rear, And the cow came capering like a deer, And a dish ran up with the spoon.
Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle, The dog began to roar, The cow and the horses stood on their heads; The guests all bounded from their beds, And danced upon the floor.
With a ping and a pong the fiddle strings broke! The cow jumped over the Moon, And the little dog laughed to see such fun, And the Saturday dish went off at a run With the silver Sunday spoon.
The round Moon rolled behind the hill, As the Sun raised her head. She hardly believed her fiery eyes; For though it was day, to her surprise They all went back to bed!
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There was loud and long applause, Frodo had a good voice, and the song tickled their fancy.
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Chapter Ten
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Gandalf wrote:……'PPS Make sure that it is the real Strider. There are many strange men on the roads. His true name is Aragorn'.
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All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.
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Chapter Eleven
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Gil-galad was an Elven-king, Of him the harpers sadly sing: The last whose realm was fair and free Between the Mountains and the Sea.
His sword was long, his lance was keen, His shining helm afar was seen; The countless stars of heaven's field Were mirrored in his silver shield.
But long ago he rode away, And where he dwelleth none can say; For into darkness fell his star In Mordor where the shadows are.
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Chapter Eleven
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'I will tell you the tale of Tinuviel,' said Strider, 'in brief - for it is a long tale of which the end is not known; and there are none now, except for Elrond, that remember it aright as it was told of old. It is a fair tale, though it is sad, as are all the tales of Middle-earth, and yet it may lift up your hearts,' He was silent for some time, and then he began not to speak but to chant softly:
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The leaves were long, the grass was green, The hemlock-umbels tall and fair, And in the glade a light was seen Of stars in shadow shimmering. Tinuviel was dancing there To music of a pipe unseen, And light of stars was in her hair, And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold, And lost he wandered under leaves, And where the Elven-river rolled He walked alone and sorrowing. He peered between the hemlock-leaves And saw in wonder flowers of gold Upon her mantle and her sleeves, And her hair like shadow following.
Enchantment healed his weary feet That over hills were doomed to roam; And forth he hastened, strong and fleet, And grasped at moonbeams glistening. Through woven woods in Elvenhome She lightly fled on dancing feet, And left him lonely still to roam In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound Of feet as light as linden-leaves, Or music welling underground, In hidden hollows quavering. Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves, And one by one with sighing sound Whispering fell the beechen leaves In the wintry woodland wavering.
He sought her ever, wandering far Where leaves of years were thickly strewn, By light of moon and ray of star In frosty heavens shivering. Her mantle glinted in the moon, As on a hill-top high and far She danced, and at her feet was strewn A mist of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again, And her song released the sudden spring, Like rising lark, and falling rain, And melting water-bubbling. He saw the elven-flowers spring About her feet, and healed again He longed by her to dance and sing Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came, Tinuviel! Tinuviel! He called her by her elvish name; And there she halted listening. One moment stood she, and a spell, His voice laid on her: Beren came, And doom fell on Tinuviel That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes Within the shadows of her hair, The trembling starlight of the skies He saw there mirrored shimmering. Tinuviel the elven-fair Immortal maiden elven-wise, About him cast her shadowy hair And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore O'er stony mountains cold and grey Through halls of iron and darkling door And woods of nightshade morrowless. The Sundering Seas between them lay, And yet at last they met once more, And log ago they passed away In the forest singing sorrowless.
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Strider sighed and paused before he spoke again. 'That is a song,' he said, 'in the mode that is called ann-thennath among the Elves, but is hard to render in our Common Speech, and this is but a rough echo of it.
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Chapter Twelve
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Standing up, with his hands behind his back, as if he was at school, Sam began to sing to an old tune.
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Troll sat alone on his seat of stone, And munched and mumbled a bare old bone; For many a year he had gnawed it near, For meat was hard to come by. Done by! Gum by! In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone, And meat was hard to come by.
Up came Tom with his big boots on Said he to Troll: 'Pray, what is yon? For it looks like the shin o' my uncle Tim, As should be a-lyin' in graveyard. Caveyard! Paveyard! This many a year has Tim been gone, And I thought he were lyin' in graveyard.
'My lad,' said Troll, 'this bone I stole. But what be bones that lie in a hole? Thy nuncle was dead as a lump of lead, Afore I found his shinbone. Tinbone! Thinbone! He can spare a share for a poor old troll, Fore he don't need his shinbone.'
Said Tom: 'I don't see why the likes o' thee Without axin' leave should go makin' free With the shank or the shin o' my father's kin; So hand the old bone over! Rover! Trover! Though dead he be, it belongs to he; So hand the old bone over!'
'For a couple o' pins,' says Troll, and grins, 'I'll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins. A bit o' fresh meat will go down sweet! I'll try my teeth on thee now. Hee now! See now! I'm tired o' gnawing old bones and shins; I've a mind to dine on thee now!'
But just as he thought his dinner was caught, He found his hands had hold of naught. Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind And gave him the boot to larn him. Warn him! Darn him! A bump o' the boot on the seat, Tom thought Would be the way to larn him.
But harder than stone is the flesh and bone Of a troll that sits in the hills alone. As well set your boot to the mountain's root, For the seat of a troll don't feel it. Peel it! Heal it! Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan, And he knew his toes could feel it.
Tom's leg is game, since home he came, And his bootless foot is lasting lame; But Troll don't care, and he's still there With the bone he boned from its owner. Doner! Boner! Troll's old seat is still the same, And the bone he boned from its owner!
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'Well that's a warning to us all!' laughed Merry. 'It is as well you used a stick, and not your hand, Strider!' 'Where did you come by that, Sam?' asked Pippin, 'I've never heard those words before.' Sam murmured something inaudible. 'It's out of his own head, of course,' said Frodo. 'I am learning a lot about Sam Gamgee on this journey. First he was a conspirator, now he's a jester. He'll end up becoming a wizard - or warrior!' 'I hope not,' said Sam. 'I don't want to be neither!'
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Book Two Chapter One
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Eädrendil was a mariner That tarried in Arvernien; He built a boat of timber felled In Nimbrethil to journey in; Her sails he wove of silver fair, Of silver were her lanterns made Her prow was fashioned like a swan, And light upon her banners laid.
In panoply of ancient kings, In chainéd rings he armoured him; His shining shield was scored with runes To ward all wounds and harm from him; His bow was made of dragon-horn, His arrows shorn of ebony, Of silver was his habergeon; His scabbard of chalcedony; His sword of steel was valiant, Of adamant his helmet tall, An eagle-plume upon his crest, Upon his breast an emerald.
Beneath the Moon and under star He wandered far from northern strands, Bewildered on enchanted ways Beyond the days of mortal lands. From gnashing of the Narrow Ice Where shadow lies on frozen hills, From nether heats and burning waste He turned in haste, and roving still On starless waters far astray At last he came to Night of Naught, And passed, and never sight he saw Of shining shore nor light he sought. The winds of wrath came driving him, And blindly in the foam he fled From west to east and errandless, Unheralded he homeward sped.
There flying Elwing came to him, And flame was in the darkness lit; More bright than light of diamond The fire upon her carcanet. The Silmaril she bound on him And crowned him with the living light And dauntless then with burning brow He turned his prow, and in the night From Otherworld beyond the Sea There strong and free a storm arose, A wind of power in Tarmenel; By paths that seldom mortal goes His boat it bore with biting breath As might of death across the grey As long-forsaken seas distressed; From east to west he passed away.
Through Evernight he back was borne On black and roaring waves that ran O'er leagues unlit and foundered shores That drownded before the Days began, Until he heard on strands of pearl When ends the world the music long, Where ever-foaming billows roll The yellow gold and jewels wan. He saw the Mountain silent rise Where twilight lies upon the knees Beheld afar beyond the seas. A wanderer escaped from night To haven white he came at last, To Elvenhome the green and fair Where keen the air, where pale as glass Beneath the Hill and Ilmarin A-glimmer in a valley sheer The lamplit towers of Tirion Are mirrored on the Shadowmere.
He tarried there from errantry And melodies they taught to him, And sages old him marvels told, And harps of gold they brought to him, They clothed him then in elven-white, And seven lights before him sent, As through the Calacirian To hidden land forlorn he went, He came unto the timeless halls Where shining fall the countless years, And endless reigns the Elder King In Ilmarin on Mountain sheer, And words unheard were spoken then Of folk of Men and Elven-kin, Beyond the world were visions showed Forbid to those that dwell therein.
A ship then new they built for him Of mithril and of elven-glass With shining prow; no shaven oar N or sail she bore on silver mast; The Silmaril as lantern light And banner bright with living flame To gleam thereon by Elbereth Herself was set, who thither came And wings immortal made for him, And laid on him undying doom, To sail the shoreless skies and come Behind the Sun and light of Moon.
From Evereven's lofty hills Where softly silver fountains fall His wings him bore, a wandering light, Beyond the mighty Mountain Wall, From World's End then he turned away, And yearned again to find afar His home through shadows journeying, And burning as an island star On high above the mists he came, A distant flame before the Sun, A wonder ere the waking dawn Where grey the Norland waters run.
And over Middle-earth he passed And heard at last the weeping sore Of women and of elven-maids In Elder Days, in years of yore. But on him mighty doom was laid Till Moon should fade, an orbéd star To pass, and tarry never more On Hither Shores where mortals are; For ever still a herald on An errand that should never rest To bear his shining lamp afar, To Flammifer of Westernesse.
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Chapter One
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They got up and withdrew quietly into the shadows, and made for the doors. Sam they left behind, fast asleep still with a smile on his face. In spite of his delight in Bilbo's company Frodo felt a tug of regret as they passed out of the Hall of Fire. Even as they stepped over the threshold a single clear voice rose in song.
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A Elbereth Gilthoniel, Silivren penna miriel O menel aglar elenath! Na-chaered palan-diriel A galadhremmin ennorath, Fanuilos, le linnathon Nef aear, sí nef aearon!
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Chapter Two
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'In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark, and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying!
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Seek for the Sword that was broken In Imladris it dwells; There shall be counsels taken Stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token That Doom is near at hand For Isildur's Bane shall waken, And the Haltling forth shall stand.
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Of these words we could understand little, and we spoke to our father, Denethor, Lord of Minas Tirith, wise in the lore of Gondor…..' said Boromir…..
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Chapter Three
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'But there it is,' said Bilbo' ' You can't wait now till spring, and you can't go till the reports come back.
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When winter first begins to bite And stones crack in the frosty night, When pools are black and trees are bare 'tis evil in the Wild to fare.
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But that I am afraid will be just your luck'. 'I am afraid it will,' said Gandalf. 'We can't start until we have found out about the Riders'.
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Chapter Three
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'Don't try!' said the old hobbit, turning round and slapping him on the back. 'Ow!' he cried. 'You are too hard now to slap! But there you are: Hobbits must stick together, and especially Baginses. All I ask in return is: take as much care of yourself as you can, and bring back all the news you can, and any old songs and tales you can come by. I'll do my best to finish my book before you return. I should like to write the second book, if I am spared.' Bilbo broke off and returned to the window again, singing softly.
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I sit beside the fire and think Of all that I have seen. Of meadow-flowers and butterflies In summers that have been.
Of yellow leaves and gossamer In autumns that there were With morning mist and silver sun And wind upon my hair.
I sit beside the fire and think Of how the world will be When winter comes without a spring That I shall ever see.
For still there are so many things That I have never seen In every wood in every spring There is a different green.
I sit beside the fire and think Of people long ago, And people who will see a world That I shall never know.
But all the while I sit and think Of times there were before I listen for returning feet And voices at the door.
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It was a cold grey day near the end of December. The East Wind was streaming through the bare branches of the trees, and seething in the dark pines on the hills.
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Chapter 4
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Gimli rose and standing in the dark he began to chant in a deep voice, while the echoes ran away into the roof.
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The world was young, the mountains green, No stain yet on the Moon was seen, No words were laid on stream or stone When Durin woke and walked alone. He named the nameless hills and dells; He drank from yet untasted wells; He stooped and looked in Mirrormere, And saw a crown of stars appear, As gems upon a silver thread, Above the shadow of his head
The world was fair, the mountains tall, In Elder Days before the fall. Of mighty kings of Nargothrond And Gondolin, who now beyond The Western Seas have passed away; The world was fair in Durin's Day.
A king he was on carven throne In many-pillared halls of stone With golden roof and silver floor, And runes of power upon the door. The light of sun and star and moon In shining lamps of crystal hewn Undimmed by cloud or shade of night There shone for ever fair and bright.
There hammer on the anvil smote, There chisel clove, and graver wrote, There forged was blade, and bound was hilt; The delver mined, the mason built, There beryl, pearl, and opal pale, And metal wrought like fishes' mail, Buckler and corslet, axe and sword, And shining spears were laid in hoard.
Unwearied then were Durin's folk; Beneath the mountains music woke: The harpers harped, the minstrels sang And at the gates the trumpets rang.
The world is grey, the mountains old, The forge's fire is ashen cold; No harp is wrung, no hammer falls, The darkness dwells in Durin's halls; The shadow lies upon his tomb In Moria, in Khazad-dûm. But still the sunken stars appear In dark and windless Mirrormere; There lies his crown in water deep, Till Durin wakes again from sleep.
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'I like that!' said Sam. 'I should like to learn it. In Moria, in Khazad-dûm! But it makes the darkness seem heavier, thinking of all those lamps. Are there piles of jewels and gold lying about here still?' Gimli was silent. Having sung his song he would say no more.
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Chapter Six
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In a soft voice hardly to be heard amid the rustle of leaves above them Legolas began:
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An Elven-maid there was of old A shining star by day, Her mantle white was hemmed with gold, Her shoes of silver-grey.
A star was bound upon her brows A light was on her hair As sun upon the golden boughs In Lórien the fair.
Her hair was long, her limbs were white, And fair she was and free: And in the wind she went as light As leaf of linden-tree.
Beside the falls of Nimrodel, By water clear and cool, Her voice as falling silver fell Into the shining pool.
Where now she wanders none can tell, In sunlight or in shade, For lost of yore was Nimrodel And in the mountains strayed.
The elven-ship in haven grey Beneath the mountain-lee Awaited her for many a day Beside the roaring sea.
A wind by night in Northern lands Arose, and loud it cried, And drove the shiop from elven-strands Across the streaming tide.
When dawn came dim the land was lost, The mountains sinking grey Beyond the heaving waves that tossed Their plumes of blinding spray.
Amroth beheld the fading shore Now low beyond the swell, And cursed the faithless ship that bore Him far from Nimrodel.
Of old he was an Elven-king A lord of tree and glen, When golden were the boughs in spring In fair Lothlórien.
From helm to sea they saw him leap As arrow from the string And dive into the water deep, As mew upon the wing.
The wind was in his flowing hair, The foam about him shone, Afar they saw him strong and fair Go riding like a swan.
But from the West has come no word, And on the Hither Shore, No tidings Elven-folk have heard Of Amroth evermore.
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Chapter Eight
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When evening in the Shire was grey His footsteps on the Hill were heard, Before the dawn he went away On journey long without a word.
From Wilderland to Western shore, From northern waste to southern hill, Through dragon-lair and hidden door, And darkling woods he walked at will.
With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men, With mortal and immortal folk, With bird on bough and beast in den, In their own secret tongues he spoke.
A deadly sword, a healing hand, A back that bent beneath the load, A trumpet-voice, a burning brand, A weary pilgrim on the road.
A lord of wisdom throned he sat, Swift in anger, quick to laugh, An old man in a battered hat, Who leaned upon a throny staff.
He stood upon the bridge alone And Fire and Shadow both defied; His staff was broken on the stone, In Khazad-dûm his wisdom died.
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The finest rockets ever seen, They burst in stars of blue and green, Or alter thunder golden showers Came falling like a rain of flowers.
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Chapter Eight
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Suddenly they perceived that it was a ship, wrought and carved with elven-skill in the likeness of a bird. Two elves clad in white, steered it with black paddles. In the midst of the vessel sat Celeborn, and behind him stood Galadriel, tall and white, a circlet of golden flowers was in her hair, and in her hand she held a harp, and she sang. Sad and sweet was the sound of her voice in the cool clear air:
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I sang of leave, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew, Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew. Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea, And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree. In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion, There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years, While here beside the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears. O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day, The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away. O Lórien! Too long have dwelt upon this Hither Shore, And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor. But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me, What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?
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Aragorn stayed his boat as the Swan-ship drew alongside. The Lady ended her song and greeted them. 'We have come to bid you our last farewell,' she said, 'and to speed you with blessings from our land'.
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Chapter Eight
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Yet as is the way of Elvish words, they remained graven in is memory, and long afterwards he interpreted them, as well as he could: the language was that of Elven-song and spoke of things little known on Middle-earth.
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Ai! Laurie lantar lassi surinen Yeni unotime ve ramar aldaron! Yeni ve linte yuldar avanier Mi oromardi lisse-miruvoreva Andune pella, Vardo tellumar Nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni Omaryo airetari-lirinen.
Si man i yulma nin enquantuva?
An si Tintalle Varda Oiolosseo Ve fanyar maryat Elentari ortane Ar ilye tier undulave lumbule Ar sindanoriello caita mornie I falmalinnar imbe met, ar hisie Untupa Calaciryo miri oiale Si vanwa na, Romello vanwa, Valimar!
Namarie! Nai hiruvalye Valimar. Nai elye hiruva. Namarie!
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‘Ah! Like gold fall leaves in the wind, long years numberless as the wings of trees! The long years passed like swift draughts of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West, beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly.’
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THE TWO TOWERS
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Book Three
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Chapter One
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For a while the three companions remained silent, gazing after Boromir. Then Aragorn spoke. ‘They will look for him from the White Tower,’ he said, ‘but he will not return from the mountain or the sea.’ Then slowly he began to sing:
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Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass grows The West Wind comes walking, and about the walls it goes. ‘What news from the West, O wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight? Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight? ‘I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey, Into the shadows of the North, I saw him then no more. The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor, ‘O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar, But you came not from the empty lands where no men are.’
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The Legolas sang:
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From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones, The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans. ‘What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve? Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve. ‘Ask not of me where he doth dwell – so many bones there lie, On the white shores and the dark shores under the stormy sky, So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea. Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me!’ ‘O Boromir! Beyond the gate the seaward roads runs south, But you came not with the wailing gulls from the grey sea’s mouth’.
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The Aragorn sang again:
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From the Gate of the Kings the North Wind rides, and past the roaring falls, And clear and cold about the tower its loud horn calls. ‘What news from the North, O mighty wind, do you bring to me today? What news of Boromir the bold? For he is long away.’ ‘Beneath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought, His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought. His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest, And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, bore him upon its breast. ‘O Boromr! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze, To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days.
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So they ended. Then they turned their boat and drove it with all the speed they could against the stream back to Parth Galen.
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Chapter Two
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‘Gondor! Gondor!’ cried Aragorn. ‘Would that I looked on you again in happier hour! Not yet does my road lie southward to your bright streams.
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Gondor! Gondor, between the Mountains and the Sea! West Wind blew there, the light upon the Silver Tree Fell like bright rain in gardens of the Kings of old, O proud walls! White towers! O winged crown and throne of gold! O Gondor, Gondor! Shall Men behold the Silver Tree, Or West Wind blow again between the Mountains and the Sea?
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Now let us go,’ he said, drawing his eyes away from the South, and looking out west and north to the way that he must tread.
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Chapter Four
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‘An Ent?’ said Merry. ‘What’s that? But what do you call yourself? What’s your real name?’ ‘Hoo now!’ replied Treebeard. ‘Hoo! Now that would be telling! Not so hasty. And I amd doing the asking. You are in my country. What are you, I wonder? I cannot place you. You do not seem to come in the old lists that I learned when I was young. But that was a long, long time ago, and they may have made new lists. Let me see! Let me see! How did it go?
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Learn now the lore of Living Creatures! First name the four, the free peoples, Eldest of all, the elf-children, Dwarf the delver, dark are his houses, Ent the earthborn, old as mountains, Man the mortal, master of horses. Hm,hm,hm Beaver the builder, buck the leaper Bear bee-hunter, boar the fighter, Hound is hungry, hare is fearful... Hm, hm. Eagle in eyrie, ox in pasture, Hart horn-crowned, hawk is swiftest, Swan the whitest, serpent coldest...
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Hoom, hm, hoom, hm, how did it go? Room, tum, room tum, roomty toom tum. It was a long list. But anway, you do not seem to fit in anywhere!’ ‘We always seem to have got left out of the old lists, and the old stories’, said Merry. ‘Yet we’ve been about for quite a long time. We’re hobbits’. ‘Why not make a new line?’ said Pippin.
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‘Half grown hobbits, the hole-dwellers’.
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Put us in amongst the four, next to Man (the Big People) and you’ve got it’.
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Chapter Four
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In the willow-meads of Tasarinan I walked in the Spring, Ah! The sight and smell of the Spring in Nan-tasarion! And I said that was good. I wandered in Summer in the elm-woods of Ossiriand, Ah! The light and the music in the Summer by the Seven Rivers of Ossir! And I thought that was best. To the beeches of Neldoreth I came in the Autumn, Ah! The gold and the red and the sighing of leaves in the Autumn in Taur-na-neldor! It was more than my desire. To the pine-trees upon the highland of Dorthonion I climbed in the Winter. Ah! The wind and the whiteness and the black branches of Winger upon Orod-na-Thon! My voice went up and sang in the sky. And now all those lands lie under the wave, And I walk in Ambarona, in Tauremorna, in Aldalome, In my own land, in the country of Fangorn, Where the roots are long, And the years lie thicker than the leaves In Tauremornalome.
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He ended, and strode on silently, and in all the wood, as far as the ear could reach, there was not a sound.
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Chapter Four
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‘There was an Elvish song that used to be sung by the Great River. It was never and Entish song, mark you: it would have been a very long song in Entish! But we know it by heart, and hum it now and again. This is how it runs in your tongue:
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Ent When Spring unfolds the beechen leaf, and sap is in the bough,
Entwife
Ent
Entwife
Ent
Entwife
Both
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Chapter Four
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‘Orcs came with axes and cut down my trees. I came and called them by their long names, but they did not quiver, they did not hear, or answer, they lay dead.
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O Orofarne Lassemista, Carnimirie! O rowan fair, upon her hair how white the blossom lay! O rowan mine, I saw you shine upon a summer’s day Your rind so bright, your leaves so light, your voice so cool and soft, Upon your head how golden-red the crown you bore aloft! O rowan dead, upon your head your hair is dry and grey, Your crown is spilled, your voice is stilled for ever and a day. O Orofarne, Lassemista, Carnimirie!
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The hobbits fell asleep to the sound of the soft singing of Bregalad, that seemed to lament in many tongues the fall of trees that he had loved.
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Chapter Four
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Then with a crash came a great ringing shout: ra-hoom-ha! The trees quivered and bent as if a gust had struck them. There was another pause, and then a marching music began like solemn drums, and above the rolling beats and booms there welled voices singing high and strong.
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We come, we come with roll of drum, ta-runda runda runda rom!
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The Ents were coming, ever nearer and louder rose their song:
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We come, we come with horn and drum, ta-runa runa runa rom!
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Bregalad picked up the hobbits and strode from his house. Before long they saw the marching line approaching, the Ents were swinging along with great strides down the slope towards them. Treebeard was at their head, and some fifty followers were behind him, two abreast, keeping step with their feet and beating time with their hands upon their flanks. As they drew near the flash and flicker of their eyes could be seen. ‘Hoom, hom! Here we come with a boom, here we come at last!’ called Treebeard when he caught sight of Bregalad and the hobbits. ‘Come join the Moot! We are off. We are off to Isengard!’ ‘To Isengard!’ the Ents cried in many voices. ‘To Isengard!’
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To Isengard! Though Isengard be ringed and barred with doors of stone, Though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and bare as bone, We go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door. For bole and bough are burning now, the furnace roars – we got to war! To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum, we come, we come. To Isengard with doom we come! With doom we come, with doom we come!
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So they sang as they marched southwards.
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Chapter Five
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‘Thus it was that I came to pass Caras Galadhon and found you but lately gone. I tarried there in the ageless time of that land where days bring healing not decay. Healing I found, and I was clothed in white. Counsel I gave and counsel I took. Thence by strange roads I came, and messages I bring to some of you. To Aragorn I was bidden to say:
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Where now are the Dunedain, Elessar, Elessar? Why do they kinsfolk wander afar? Near is the hour when the Lost should come forth, And the Grey Company ride from the North. But dark is the path appointed for thee, The Dead watch the road that leads to the Sea.
To Legolas she sent this word:
Legolas Greenleaf long under tree In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, They heart shall then rest in the forest no more!
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Chapter Six
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That I guess is the language of the Rohirrim,’ said Legolas, ‘for it is like to this land itself, rich and rolling in part, and else hard and stern as the mountains. But I cannot guess what it means, save that it is laden with the sadness of Mortal Men.’ ‘It runs thus in the Common Speech,’ said Aragorn, ‘as near as I can make it.
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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 mountains, 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?
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Chapter Six
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In Dwimordene, in Lorien Seldom have walked the feet of Men, Few mortal eyes have seen the light, That lies there ever, long and bright. Galadriel! Galadriel! Clear is the water of your well, White is the star in your white hand Unmarrred, unstained is leaf and land, In Dwimordene, in Lorien More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men.
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Thus Gandalf softly sang, and then suddenly he changed. Casting his tattered cloak aside, he stood up and leaned no longer on his staff, and he spoke in a clear cold voice.
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Book Four
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Chapter Two
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Gollum turned to the right, southward more or less, and splashed along with his feet in the shallow stony stream. He seemed greatly delighted to feel the water, and chuckled to himself, sometimes even croaking in a sort of song.
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The cold hard lands They bites our hands, They gnaws our feet, The rocks and stones Are like old bones All bare of meat. But stream and pool Is wet and cool So nice for feet! And now we wish........
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Alive without breath As cold as death Never thirsting, ever drinking Clad in mail, never clinking. Drowns on dry land Thinks an island Is a mountain, Thinks a fountain Is a puff of air So sleek, so fair! What a joy to meet! We only wish To catch a fish, So juicy-sweet!
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Chapter Three
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Sam stood up, putting his hands behind his back (as he always did when ‘speaking poetry’) and began:
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Grey as a mouse Big as a house Nose like a snake I make the earth shake, As I tramp through the grass, Trees crack as I pass, With horns in my mouth, I walk in the South, Flapping big ears, Beyond count of years, I stump round and round, Never lie on the ground, Not even to die. Oliphaunt am I, Biggest of all, Huge, old and tall, If ever you’d met me You wouldn’t forget me. If you never do, You won’t think I’m true, But old Oliphaunt am I, And I never lie.
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The Return of the King
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Book Five Chapter Two
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Over the land there lies a long shadow, Westward reaching wings of darkness. The Tower trembles, to the tombs of kings, Doom approaches. The Dead awaken, For the hour is come for the oathbreakers, At the Stone of Erech they shall stand again And hear there a horn in the hills ringing, Whose shall be the horn be? Who shall call them From the grey twilight, the forgotten? The heir of him to whom the oath they swore. From the North shall he come, need shall drive him, He shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead.
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‘Dark ways doubtless,’ said Gimli, ‘but no darker than these staves are to me’. ‘If you would understand them better, then I bid you come with me,’ said Aragorn, ‘for that way I now shall take. But I do not go gladly only need drives me. Therefore, only of your free will would I have you come, for you will find both toil and great fear, and maybe worse.’
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Chapter Three
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On down the grey road they went beside the Snowbourn rushing on its stones, through the hamlets of Underharrow and Upbourn, where many sad faces of women looked out from dark doors, and so without horn or harp or music of men’s voices the great ride into the East began with which the songs of Rohan were busy for many long lives of men thereafter.
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From dark Dunharrow in the dim morning With thane and captain rode Thengel’s son, To Edoras he came, the ancient halls, Of the Mark-wardens mist-enshrouded, Golden timbers were in gloom mantled Farewell he bade to his free people, Hearth and high-seat, and the hallowed places, Where long he had feasted ere the light faded. Forth rode the king, fear behind him, Fate before him. Fealty kept he, Oaths he had taken, all fulfilled them. Forth rode Theoden. Five nights and days East and onward rode the Eorlingas Through Folde and Fenmarch and the Firienwood, Six thousand spears to Sunlending, Mundburg the mighty under Mindulluin, Sea-kings’ city in the South-kingdom Foe-beleaguered, fire encircled. Doom drove them on. Darkness took them, Horse and horseman, hoof beats afar Sank into silence, so the song tell us.
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It was indeed in deepening gloom that the king came to Edoras, although it was then but noon by the hour. There he halted only a short while and strengthened his host by some three score of Riders that came late to weapontake.
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Chapter Five
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At that sound the bent shape of the king sprang suddenly erect. Tall and proud he seemed again, and rising in his stirrups he cried in a loud voice, more clear than any there had ever heard a mortal man achieve before:
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With that he seized a great horn from Guthlaf his banner-bearer, and he blew such a blast upon it that it burst asunder. And straightway all the horns in the host were lifted up in music, and the blowing of the horns of Rohan in that hour was like a storm upon the plain and a thunder in the mountains.
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Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!
Suddenly the king cried to Snowmane and the horse sprang away. Behind him his banner blew in the wind, white horse upon a field of green, but he outpaced it. After him thundered the knights of his house, be he was ever before them.
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Chapter Six
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No few had fallen, and the full count of it no tale has told. So long afterward a maker in Rohan said in his song of the Mounds of Mundburg:
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We heard of the horns in the hills ringing The swords shining in the South-kingdom Steeds went striding to the Stoningland As wind in the morning. War was kindled. There Theoden fell, Thengling mighty, To his golden halls and green pastures In the Northern fields never returning, High lord of the host. Harding and Guthlaf Dunhere and Deorwine, doughty Grimboldm Herefara and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred, Fought and fell there in a far country, In the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie With their league-fellows, lords of Gondor. Neither Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea, Nor Forlong the old to the flowering vales Ever, to Arnach, to his own country Returned in truimph, nor the tall bowmen, Derufin and Duilin to their dark waters, Meres of Morthond under mountain shadows. Death in the morning and at day’s ending Lords took and lowly. Long now they sleep Under grass in Gondor by the Great River. Grey now as tears, gleaming silver, Red then it rolled, roaring water, Foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset, As beacons mountains burned at evening, Red fell the dew in Rammas Echor.
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Chapter Eight
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‘Your pardon lord!’ said the man. ‘I see you are a lore-master, not merely a captain of war. But alas! Sir, we do not keep this thing in the Houses of Healing, where only the gravely hurt or sick are tended. For it has no virtue that we know of, save perhaps to sweeten a fouled air, or to drive away some passing heaviness. Unless, of course, you give heed to rhymes of old days which women such as our good Ioreth still repeat without understanding.
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When the black breath blows And death’s shadow grows And all lights pass, Come athelas! Come athelas! Life to the dying In the king’s hand lying!
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It is but dogrel, I fear, garbled in the memory of old wives. Its meaning I leave to your judgement, if indeed it has any. But old folk still use infusion of the herb for headaches.’ ‘Then in the name of the king, go and find some old man of less lore and more wisdom who keeps some in his house!’ cried Gandalf.
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Chapter Nine
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Legolas paused and sighed, and turning his eyes southward softly he sang:
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‘Green are those fields in the songs of my people, but they were dark then, grey wastes in the blackness before us. And over the wide land, trampling unheeded the grass and the flowers, we hunted our foes through a day and a night, until we came at the bitter end to the Great River at last.’ Said Gimli.
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Book Six Chapter One
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Sam began to sing. His voice sounded thin and quavering in the cold dark tower, the voice of a forlorn and weary hobbit that no listening orc could possibly mistake for the clear song of an Elven-lord. He murmured old childish tunes out of the Shire, and snatches of Mr Bilbo’s rhymes that came into his mind like fleeting glimpses of the country of his home. And then suddenly new strength rose in him, and his voice rang out, while words of his own came unbidden to fit the simple tune.
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In western lands beneath the Sun The flowers may rise in Spring, The trees may bud, the waters run, The merry finches sing. Or there maybe ‘tis cloudless night And swaying beeches bear The Elven-stars as jewels white Amid their branching hair.
Though here at journey’s end I lie In darkness buried deep, Beyond all towers strong and high, Beyond all mountains steep, Above all shadows rides the Sun And Stars for ever dwell, I will not say the Day is done Nor bid the Stars farewell.
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Chapter 3
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And as the Hobbits approached swords were unsheathed, and spears shaken, and horns and trumpets sang, and men cried with many voices and in many tongues.
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‘Long live the Halflings! Praise them with great praise! Cuio i Pherian anann! Aglar’ni Pheriannath! Praise them with great praise, Frodo and Samwise! Daur a Berhael, Conin en Annun Eglerio! Praise them! Eglerio! A laita te, laita te! Andave laituvalmet! Praise them! Cormacolindor, a laita tarienna! Praise them! The Ring-bearers, praise them with great praise!’
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And so the red blood blushing in their faces and their eyes shining with wonder, Frodo and Sam went forward and saw that amidst the clamorous host were set three high-seats built of green turves. Behind the seat upon the right floated, white on green, a great horse running free, upon the left was a banner, silver upon blue, a ship swan-prowed faring on the sea, but behind the highest throne in the midst of all a great standard was spread in the breeze, and there a white tree flowered upon a sable field beneath a shining crown and seven glittering stars.
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Chapter Four
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‘And I,’ said Legolas, ‘shall walk in the woods of this fair land, which is rest enough. In days to come, if my Elven-lord allows, some of our folk shall remove hither, and when we come it shall be blessed, for a while. For a while: a month, a life, a hundred years of Men. But Anduin is near, and Anduin leads down to the Sea. To the Sea!
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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 are 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 Eressea, in Elvenholme that no man can discover, Where the leaves fall not, land of my people for ever!’
And so singing Legolas went away down the hill.
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Chapter Five
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And before the Sun had fallen far from the noon out of the East there came a great Eagle flying, and he bore tidings beyond hope from the Lords of the West, crying:
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Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor, For the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever, And the Dark Tower is thrown down.
Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard, For your watch hath not been in vain, And the Black Gate is broken, And your King hath passed through, And he is victorious.
Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West, For your King shall come again, And he shall dwell among you All the days of your life.
And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed, And he shall plant it in the high places, And the City shall be blessed.
Sing all ye people!
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Chapter Six
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Darkness came and King Theoden arose and rode through the Shadow to the fire, and died in splendou, even as the Sun, returning beyond hope, gleamed on Mindolluin in the morning.
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Out of doubt, out of dark, to the day’s rising He rode singing in the sun, sword unsheathing. Hope he rekindled, and in hope ended, Over death, over dread, over doom lifted Out of loss, out of life, unto long glory.
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Chapter Six
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‘I evidently came back by much to straight a road from my trip. I think Gandalf might have shown me round a bit. But then the auction would have been over before I got back, and I should have had even more trouble than I did. Anyway, it’s too late now, and really I think it’s much more comfortable to sit here and hear about it all. The fire’s very cosy here, and the food’s very good, and there are Elves when you want them. What more could one want?’
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The Road goes ever on and on Out from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, Let others follow it who can! Let them a journey new begin, But I at last with weary feet Will turn towards the lighted inn, My evening-rest and sleep to meet.’
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And as Bilbo murmured the last words his head dropped on his chest and he slept soundly.
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Chapter Nine
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It was evening, and the stars were glimmering in the eastern sky as they passed the ruined oak and turned and went on down the hill between the hazel-thickets. Sam was silent, deep in his memories. Presently he became aware that Frodo was singing softly to himself, singing the old walking song, but the words were not quite the same.
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Still around the corner there may wait, A new road or a secret gate, And though I oft have passed them by, A day will come at last when I Shall take the hidden paths that run, West of the Moon, East of the Sun.
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And as if in answer, from down below, coming up the road out of the valley, voices sang:
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A! Elbereth Gilthoniel! Sillivren penna miriel O menel aglar elenath, Gilthoniel! A! Elbereth! We still remember, we who dwell In this far land beneath the trees The starlight on the Western Seas.
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