The Fellowship of the Ring

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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Three Rings for the Elven-Kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-Lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for the 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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Upon the hearth the fire is red,
Beneath the roof there is a bed;
But not yet weary are our feet,
Still round the corner we may meet
A sudden tree or 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 round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate,
And though we pass them by today,
Tormorrow we may come this way
And take the hidden paths that run
Towards the Moon or to the Sun.
Apple, thorn, 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,
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 then to bed! And then to bed!
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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 your eyes and bright thy breath!
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee
In a far land beyond the Sea.

O stars that in your Sunless Year
With shining hand by her were sown,
In windy fields hour bright and clear
We see your silver blossom blown!

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on Western Seas.
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Ho! Ho! Ho! to 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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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 throut and be glad indeed;
but better is Beer, if drink we lak,
and Water Hot poured down the 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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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 is passed,
Our journey done, our errand sped.

We must away! We must away!
We ride before the break of day!
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O! Wanderings in the shadowed land
despair not! For though dark they stand,
all woods there be an 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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The Poems of Tom Bombadil

Hey dol! merry! ring a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bobadil!
--------

Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!
Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.
Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,
There my pretty lady is, River-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
Gold berry, Gold berry, 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?
----------

Hop along, my little friends, up the Withywindle!
Tom's going on ahead candles for to kindle.
Down west sinks 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!
---------

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!

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 shady pool, lilies in the water:
Old Tom Bombadil an dthe River-daughter.
----------

O slendor 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!
---------

Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow;
Bright blue his jacket is and his boots are yellow.
----------

I had an errand there: gathering water-lillies,
green leaves and lillies 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 snow are melted.
Each year at summer's end I go to find them for her,
in a side 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, and heart was beating!

And that proved well for you--for now I shall no longer
go down deep 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.
-----------
Of the Wrights

Cold be hand and heart and bone,
and cold be sleep under stone:
never more to wake on stony bed,
never, till the Sun fails and 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 withered land.
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Bombadil (Again)

Get out you old wright! 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 darkness,
Where gates stand forever shut, till the world is mended.
------------

Wake now my merry lads! Wake and here me calling!
Warm must be heat and limb! The cold stone is fallen;
Dark door is standing wide; dead hand is broken.
Night under night is flown an dthe Gate is open!
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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 had a typsy cat
that plays the five-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he runs his bow,
Now squeeking high, now purring low,
Now sawing in the middle.

The Landlord keeps a little dog
that is mighty fond of jokes;
When there's a good cheer among the guests,
He cocks an ear at all the jests
and laughs until he chokes.

They also keep a hornéd cow
as proud as any queen;
But music turns her head like ale,
And makes her wave her tuftéd tail
and dace upon the green.

And O! the rows of silver dishes
and 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 ther 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 typsy 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 will be rising soon!'

So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,
a jig that would wake the dead:
He sqeeked and sawed and quickened the tune,
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon;
'Its after three!' he said.

They rolled the Man slowly up the hill
and bundled him into the Moon,
While his horses galloped up in rear,
And the cow came capering like a deer,
and the 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 at a run
with the silver Sunday spoon.

The round Moon rolled behind the hill,
as the sun raised up 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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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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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 marched under leaves,
And where the Elven river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peared between the hemlocks leaves
And saw in the 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 hastend, strong and fleet,
And grasped at mountains glistening.
Through woven woods in Elven home
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 quavoring
Now whithered lay the hemlock sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beaden 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 leaves shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hilltop 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 arm lay glistening.

As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadow 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 night shade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.
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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 nuncle Tim,
As should be a-layin' in graveyard.
Caveyard! Paveyard!
This many a year has Tim been gone,
And I thought he were lying in a 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 o' lead,
Afore I found his skin bone.
Tin bone! Thin bone!
He can spare a share for poor old Troll,
For he don't need his shin bone.'

Said Tome: "I don't see why the likes o' thee
Without axin' leave should go makin' free
With the shank of the skin of 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 of pins,' says Troll, and grins,
'I'll eat thee too, and gnaw they skins.
A bit of fresh meat will go down sweet!
I'll try my teeth on thee now.
Hee now! See now!
I'm tired o' gnawing on old bones and skins;
I've a mind to dine on thee now.'

But just as thought his dinner was caught,
He found his hands had hold of nought.
Before he could mind, TOme 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 by the way to larn him.

But harder than stone is his flesh and bone
Of a troll that sits in the hills alone;
As well set your boot to the mountains' root,
For the seat of a troll don't feelt it
Peel it! Heal it!
Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan,
And he knew his foes 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 the same,
And the bone hi boned from its owner!
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Eärendil was a mariner
that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled
in Nimbrethil to journey in;
her sails her wove of silver fair,
of silver were her lanterns made,
her prow was fashioned like a swan,
and light upon her banners laid

In panopy 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 ebany,
of silver was his habergeon,
his scabbard of chalceding;
his sword of steel was valient,
of adament his helmet tall,
an eagle-plume upon his crest,
upon his breast an emerald.

Beneath the Moon and under star
he wandered far form northern strands,
bewildered on enchanted ways
beyond the days of mortal lands.
From ghashing of Narrow Ice
where shadow lies on frozen hills,
from nether heats and burning waste
he turned in haste, and roving still
on starlens waters astray
at last he came to Night of Naught, 
and passed, and ver 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 mast West to East and errandless,
unheralded he homeward sped.

There flying Elwing came to him,
and flame was in the darkness lit;
more bright then light of diamond
the fire upon her carcanet.
The Silmaril she sound on him
and crowned him with the living light
and dauntless than with burning brow
he turned his prow; and in the night
from other world 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
and 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 drowned before the Days began,
until he heard on strands of pearl
where ends the world the music long,
where ever-foaming billows roll
the yellow gold and jewels wan.

He saw the mountain silent rise
whre twilight lies upon the leaves
of Valinor and Eldamar
beheld afar beyond the Seas.
A wanderer escaped from night
to haven white he came at last,
to Elven home the green and fair
where keen th eair, where pale as glass
beneath th eHill of Ilmarin
a-glimmer in a valley sheer
the lampit towers of Tirion
are mirrored on the shadomere.

He tarried there form errantry,
and melodies they taught to him,
and sages old him marvels told,
and harps of gold they brougth to him.
They clothed him then in Elven-white,
and seven lights before him sat,
as throught the Calacirian
to hidden land forlorn he went.
He csame unto the timeless halls
whree shining fall the countless yars,
and endless reigns the Eldar 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 there in.

A ship then new they built for him
of mithril and of elven-glass
with shining prow, no shaven oar
nor sail she bore on silver mast:
the Silmaril as lantern light
and banner bright with living flare
to gleam there on by Elbereth
herself was set, who thither came
and wings immortal made for him,
and laid on him undying doom,
to sail th eshoreless skies to 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
him home throught shadows journeying,
and burning as an island star
on high above the mists he came,
a distant flare 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 year's of yore
But him mighty doom was laid
till Moon should fade, an orbed star
to pass, and tary nevermore
on Hither Shores where Mortals are;
For ever still a herald on 
an errand that should never rest
to beam his hining lam afar,
the Flammifer of Westernese.
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Seek for the sword that was broken:
In Imladris it dwell;
There shall be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells.
There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand,
For Islinder's Bane shall waken,
And the Halfling forth shall stand.
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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 the blade that was broken:
The crownless again shall be king.
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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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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 thnk
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.
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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 and stone
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted well;
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 in Nargothrond
And Gondolin who now beyond 
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day.

A king was he on carven throne
In many-pillered 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 shad of night
There shone forever 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 fishs' mail,
Buckler and corselet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in hoard.

Unwearied then were Durin's foke;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstals sang,
And at the gates the trumpets rang.

The world is grey, the mountains cold,
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-dum.
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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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 brow,
A light was on her hair
As sun upon the golden boughs
In Lorien 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 on 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 and in shade;
For lost of yore was Nimrodel 
And in the Mountains strayed.

The elven ship in haven grey
Beneath teh 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 te ship from elven strands
Across the streaming tide.

When dawn came dim and 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 teh 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 Lothlorien.

The wind was in his flowing hair
The foam aobut 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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