sandp_fellowship

The Fellowship of the Ring

This first song is when Frodo is still in the Shire. He is on his way to Buckleberry and meets with elves. This is the song they sing (translated).

Snow-white! Show-white! O lady clear!
     O Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O light to us that wander here
     Amid this 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 that in the Sunless Year
     With shining hand by her were sown,
in windy fields now bright and clear
     We see your silver blossom blown!

Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!
     we still remember, we who dwell
In this far land bereath the trees,
     Thy starlight on the Western Seas.

This song is our personal favorite and it is sung when Frodo, Sam, and Pippin, still on their way towards Crickhollow. They sit down to rest and sing this.

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.

Well, that is it for the Fellowship of the Ring Songs. If you have enjoyed them, visit the songs from the Two Towers and the Return of the King!

Back Home

Some of you may have recognized this from the move, although this is sung when Pippin and Merry are in a bar. Their song is edited to include part of the bath song.

Hey Ho! To the bottle I go,
To heal my heart and drown my woe.
Rain may fall and wind may blow,
But there'll still be many miles to go.

Sweet is the sound of the falling rain,
And the stream that leaps from hill to plain, But better than rain or rippling brook
Is a mug of beer inside this Took!

Overwhelmed by their adventures Frodo, Sam and Pippin have finally come to Frodo's house at Crickhollow. They relax in a hot tub prepared by Merry, and Pippin sings this bath song.

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 Steams 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 then 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!

A drunken Frodo sings this silly song at the common house in the Prancing Pony Inn. (try to imagine Elijah Wood singing this)

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 string fiddle;
And up and down he runs his bow,
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
     now sawing in the middle.

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

They also keep a 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 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;
The dish and the spoon on the table danced,
And 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 thier silver bits;
But thier 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!' said he.

They rolled the man slowly up the hill
     and bundled him into the Moon,
While his horses galloped up in the 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 thier heads;
The guests all bounded from thier 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 up her head.
She hardly believed her fiery eyes;
For though it was day, to her surprise
     they all went back to bed!

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.

Sam tells the other Hobbits about the fall of GIl-galad.

Next is the Riddle of Strider which Gandalf writes in his letter to Frodo.

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those whowander are lost;
The old that is strong does not whither,
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.

Strider tell the Hobbits the story of Luthien Tinuviel at the request of Sam. It tells of the meeting of Luthien and her lover Beren.

The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in a glade a light was seen
Of stars and shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
The light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.

There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost her 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 mandle 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 moon beams glistening.
Through woven wood 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 whither 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.

Agan 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 long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.

While looking at the three stone trolls Bilbo had defeated, Sam remembers this song.

Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,
And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;
For many a year h 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-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 is dead as a lump o' lead,
Afore I found his shinbone.
Tinbone! Thinbone!
He can spare a share for a poor old troll,
For he don't need his shinbone."

Said Tom: "I don't see why teh likes o' thee
Without axin' leave should go makin' free
With the shank or the shin o' my father's kin;
So hadn 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 they 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 skins;
I;ve a mind to dine on thee now."

But just as he thought his dinner was caught,
He found his hand 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 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!

Bilbo wrote this song in Rivendel with a little help from Aragorn. It tells of Earendil and the Silmaril.

Earendil was a mariner
that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled
in Nimbethil 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 chained 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 brest an emerald.

Beneath the Moon and under star
he wandered far from northern strands,
bewildered by enchanted ways
beyond the days of mortal lands.
From gnashing of the Narrow Ice
where shadow lies on frozen hills,
from nether heatsand 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 then 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
and long-forsaken seas distressed:
from east to west he passed away.

Through Evernigt he back was borne
on black and foaming 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 mountains silent rise
where twilight lies upon the knees
of Valinor, and Eldamar
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 of 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 Calaciran
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
nor sail she bore on silver mast:
the Silmaril as lantern light
and banner bright with libing flame
to gleam theron 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 orved 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,
the Flammifer of Westernesse.

Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi kripatul

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 th Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to fine them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

Bilbo sings this song as he gives Frodo the set mirthril rings and Sting before setting out on his journey.

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.

Gimli sings this song of Moria in the day of Durin while the company was traveling in the mines.

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 teh 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 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;
Veneath 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-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.

Legolas sings this song of the Maiden Nimrodel while passing over the stream Nimrodel.

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 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 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 ship 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
Thier plumes of blinding spray.

Amroth beheld the fading shore
Now low beyond the swell,
He 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 Lothlorien.

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 tiding Elven-folk have heard
Of Amroth evermore.

The following is part of Frodo's Lament for Gandalf which Sam remembers.

When evening in the Shire was grey
his footsteps on the Hill were heard;
before teh 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 thier own secret tongues he spoke.

A deadly sword, a healing hand,
a back that bent beneath its 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 thorny staff.

He stood upon the bridge alone
and Fire and Shadow both defied;
his staff was broken ont he stone,
in Khazad-dum his wisdom died.

This song Galadriel sings as the Fellowship is departing from Lothlorien.

I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind ther ecame 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.
Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,
In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion.
There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,
While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears.
O Lorien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;
The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away.
O Lorien! Too long have I 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?

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 tintillar i eleni
omaryo airetari-lirinen.
Si man i yulma nin enquantuva?
An si Tinalle Varda Oiolosseo
ve fanyar maryat Elentari ortane,
ar ilye tier undulave lumbule;
ar sindanoriello caita mornie
i falmalinnar iimbe met, ar hisie
untupa Calaciryo miri oiale
SI vanwa na, Romello vanwa, Valimar
Namarie! Nai hiruvalye Valimar.
Nai elye hiruva. Namarie

Galadriel sings this Elvish song of the West as a final parting when the Fellowship leaves the golden woods of Lothlorien.

Translation:
Ah! like gold fall the leaves in the wind, long years numberless as the wings of trees! The years have passed like swift draughts of sweet mead in loft halls beyond the West, beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly. Who now shall refill the cup for me? For now the Kindler, Varda, the Queen of the Stars, from Mount Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds, and all paths are drowned deep in shadow; and out of a grey country darkness lies on the foaming waves between us, and mist covers the jewels of Calacirya forever. Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar! Farwell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar. Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farwell!