Goblin Song
 

Burn, burn tree and fern!
Shrivel and scorch! A fizzling torch
To light the night for our delight,
Ya hey!

Bake and toast 'em, fry and roast 'em
till beards blaze, and eyes glaze;
till hair smells and skins crack,
fat melts, and bones black
in cinders lie
beneath the sky!

So dwarves shall die,
and light the night for our delight,
Ya hey!
Ya-harri-heyl
Ya hoy!


which became:


Water, water stone and sand
Swell and stifle! Whistling rifle!
Darken the day for them to despair
Derry dol!

Sow and reap us, gather and heap us
After cheeks pale and their breaths rale
After horn shows and hide peels
Meat denses and blood heals
And fires leap
Over the earth!

And giants will live!
So dark the day for them to despair
Derry dol!
Dol derry dol!
Derry dol!

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The song citizens of Esgaroth sang in praise of dwarves
 

The King beneath the mountains,
The King of carven stone,
The lord of silver fountains
Shall come into his own!

His crown shall be upholden,
His harp shall be restrung,
His halls shall echo golden
To songs of yore re-sung.

The woods shall wave on mountains
And grass beneath the sun;
His wealth shall flow in fountains
And the rivers golden run.

The streams shall run in gladness,
The lakes shall shine and burn,
And sorrow fail and sadness
At the Mountain-king's return!

***

The President over the oakery
The President of molten fat
The servant of wooden bakery
Have gone from where he sat

His shoes have been downtrodden
His pipes've been snapped in two
His shack with flood was sodden
His creed gone to the blue

The desert filled his tillages
The sand mounts o'er the moon
Privation seized his villages
His lead is kept by loon

The lakes are dried in sorrow
The rivers're bleak and wet
All glee have gone from morrow
He's gone from where he sat!

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Little Princess Mee
 

Lovely was she
As in elven-song is told:
She had pearls in hair
All threaded fair;
Of gossamer shot with gold
Was her kerchief made,
And a silver braid
Of stars about her throat.
Of moth-web light
All moonlit-white
She wore a woven coat,
And round her kirtle
Was bound a girdle
Sewn with diamond dew.

She walked by day
Under mantle grey
And hood of clouded blue;
But she went by night
All glittering bright
Under the starlit sky,
And her slippers frail
Of fishes' mail
Flashed as she went by
To her dancing-pool,
And on mirror cool
Of windless water played.
As a mist of light
In whirling flight
A glint like glass she made
Wherever her feet
Of silver fleet
Flicked the dancing-floor.

She looked on high
To the roofless sky,
And she looked to the shadowy shore;
Then round she went,
And her eyes she bent
And saw beneath her go
A Princess Shee
As fair as Mee:
They were dancing toe to toe!

Shee was as light
As Mee, and as bright;
But Shee was, strange to tell,
Hanging down
With starry crown
Into a bottomless well!
Her gleaming eyes
In great surprise
Looked up to the eyes of Mee:
A marvellous thing,
Head-down to swing
Above a starry sea!

Only their feet
Could ever meet;
For where the ways might lie
To find a land
Where they do not stand
But hang down in the sky
No one could tell
Nor learn in spell
In all the elven-lore.

So still on her own
An elf alone
Dancing as before
With pearls in hair
And kirtle fair
And slippers frail
Of fishes' mail went Mee:
Of fishes' mail
And slippers frail
And kirtle fair
With pearls in hair went Shee!

***

Huge Swineherd Him

Ugly was he
As the orckish prose reveals
With bone in a nose
Still bendy as hose
Of a wood and a nail to kill
Is his club hand-made
And his shield all laid
With spikes about its brim.
Foul his hide all dark
Stained with bloody mark
Of one Eye so cruel and grim
All round his loin
Skulls and ribs be going
Of unhappy elves he slew

He crawled by night
Outrun by fright
In seek of live flesh to hew
And he slipped by day
As a spot dim grey
Over the darkling lake
Oh, his boots all strong
Withered earth oft prong
Like enormous cruel rake
When he arched his back
Thirsted for slash an hack
With his cruel and ruddy fang
Foul helm of brass
All stained and crass
O'er hairy shoulder was hung
When the pin-sharp claws
Of his clutching paws
Through the sinew and bone he tore

He gazed all down
As o'er the mobbed town
Through pale and shining door
All square he sat
Into roomy vat
Empty he thought it but,
A swineherd Ai
With winked eye
They ended right butt to butt!

Ai was as grim,
As Him and as prim
But Ai was, easy to cry
Flutterin' like bat
Upside in the vat
Up to the domed sky!
His dirty ears
Pointed like spears
Rubbed to ears of Him
Irksome a thing
With a loud ding
Vat drowned in lake so dim!


Not only the butts
Of both those mutts
But ears and noses and eyes
Were alloyed
In pairs were toyed
Both buzzed like cruel flies!
Everyone said
Be them live or dead
That their seat may be found at ease
By the smelly stench
Of the last year's tench
And the oily lamp of grease!
But still they sit
In a vat so neat
One great lump o'meat
Still buzzing like before!
In great lump o'meat
In a vat so neat
There still they sit
Behind the locked door!

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The Hoard
 

When the moon was new and the sun young
of silver and gold the gods sung:
in the green grass they silver spilled,
and the white waters they with gold filled.
Ere the pit was dug or Hell yawned,
ere dwarf was bred or dragon spawned,
there were Elves of old, and strong spells
under green hills in hollow dells
they sang as they wrought many fair things,
and the bright crowns of the Elf-kings.
But their doom fell, and their song waned,
by iron hewn and by steel chained.
Greed that sang not, nor with mouth smiled,
in dark holes their wealth piled,
graven silver and carven gold:
over Elvenhome the shadow rolled.


There was an old dwarf in a dark cave,
to silver and gold his fingers clave;
with hammer and tongs and anvil-stone
he worked his hands to the hard bone.
and coins he made, and strings of rings,
and thought to buy the power of kings.
But his eyes grew dim and his ears dull
and the skin yellow on his old skull;
through his bony claw with a pale sheen
the stony jewels slipped unseen.
No feet he heard, though the earth quaked.
when the young dragon his thirst slaked.
and the stream smoked at his dark door.
The flames hissed on the dank floor,
and he died alone in the red fire;
his bones were ashes in the hot mire.


There was an old dragon under grey stone;
his red eyes blinked as he lay alone.
His joy was dead and his youth spent,
he was knobbed and wrinkled, and his limbs bent
in the long years to his gold chained;
in his heart's furnace the fire waned.
To his belly's slime gems stuck thick,
silver and gold he would snuff and lick:
he knew the place of the least ring
beneath the shadow of his black wing.
Of thieves he thought on his hard bed,
and dreamed that on their flesh he fed,
their bones crushed, and their blood drank:
his ears drooped and his breath sank.
Mail-rings rang. He heard them not.
A voice echoed in his deep grot:
a young warrior with a bright sword
called him forth to defend his hoard.
His teeth were knives, and of horn his hide,
but iron tore him, and his flame died.


There was an old king on a high throne:
his white beard lay on knees of bone;
his mouth savoured neither meat nor drink,
nor his ears song; he could only think
of his huge chest with carven lid
where pale gems and gold lay hid
in secret treasury in the dark ground;
its strong doors were iron-bound.
The swords of his thanes were dull with rust,
his glory fallen, his rule unjust,
his halls hollow, and his bowers cold,
but king he was of elvish gold.
He heard not the horns in the mountain-pass,
he smelt not the blood on the trodden grass,
but his halls were burned, his kingdom lost;
in a cold pit his bones were tossed.

There is an old hoard in a dark rock,
forgotten behind doors none can unlock;
that grim gate no man can pass.
On the mound grows the green grass;
there sheep feed and the larks soar,
and the wind blows from the sea-shore.
The old hoard the Night shall keep,
while earth waits and the Elves sleep


**********************


The aged earth will lie all cold, senile
With crust of mould and rotting vile
Iron rust will cover ruins bare
Brown dust for bleeding feet to fare
When the mountains crumble an’ sweep
Giants will die, and humans weep
New-born orks will sprawl out, cover all
Out o’darkling caves, and the trees will fall
Ruin they will bring, hack and blood
Cruelest of slaves, out they’ll come like flood
Chance will rule, no law, the stronger hand
Spoiled be alike the sea and the land
Wretched they’ll be, and they will not last
Like ants o’er hill and plain marching fast
Crumpled steel and dusted lead
With the wind blown like a seed

There’ll be youthful giant on a stripped plain
Steel and lead he’ll give away bain
With nails and planks he’ll toy at will
And with such a play his feet heal
And cubes he’ll break, and squares he’ll smash
Combined rule for him’ll be hash
His toes’ll be quick, his fingers fast
His stomach huge and waist so vast
He’ll spy the sparrows flying by
And pebbles falling from the sky
He’ll mark them go, all pigeons old
As they pass over waters cold
He’ll be reborn in green of pool
And never will he loose his wool

There’ll be dove over black mire
Of all his tribe the king and sire
Among their thousands youngster frail
With finest feather of hue grey-pale
Free for one day them all to lead
With jet-black eye of fiery bead
Droplets falling down his pearly wing
Steely voice for his song to sing
He will give no care for the giant’s cube
And he’ll bother not with the orkish tube
O’er the mire he’ll settle, pigeonhole to build
Palace for himself, wordmoot for his guild
Strong he’ll grow, of eye and of the heart
Fast he’ll be as wind, as storm, as flying dart
He will see them go, monks in hats of cork
Who will heed him not, wielding rusted forks
Heading off his mire, where he’ll grow so strong
Ruling flying hosts and cooing throngs

There they will be humble monks of Fork
Keen of sight beneath their hats of cork
Shaven rosy cheeks utter sign of health
Feasting day and night, needing there no stealth
They will sing by day, they will dance by night
They will keep no goods and will travel light
Over shining water, mirror of the sky
Like to clouds white in the breeze to fly
Their forks they’ll polish to make them shine
The fame of their cook will gather guests to dine
Their huts so warm, shelter in the lee
The keep of love, joy and leaping glee
Tables will snow food and wine will fall like rain
Fiddles hum the tune to praise their happy reign
Realm they’ll found for seekers after quick to find
Rest with peace of heart, neath the sign of hind

There the wealth will be given free
For each who asks on the count of three
There the door will be open wide
All secrets be gone, and no vice to hide
The Day shall shine, the sea shore be calm
Air be sweet, flowers bloom and exhale balm
Woods will rise anew, all the ice be rived
Sprinkling silver dew o’er the earth revived

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Barrel Song
 

Down the swift dark stream you go
Back to lands you once did know!
Leave the halls and caverns deep,
Leave the northern mountains steep,
Where the forest wide and dim
Stoops in shadow grey and grim!
Float beyond the world of trees
Out into the whispering breeze,
Past the rushes, past the reeds,
Past the marsh's waving weeds,
Through the mist that riseth white
Up from mere and pool at night!
Follow, follow stars that leap
Up the heavens cold and steep;
Turn when dawn comes over land,
Over rapid, over sand,
South away! and South away!
Seek the sunlight and the day,
Back to pasture, back to mead,
Where the kine and oxen feed!
Back to gardens on the hills
Where the berry swells and fills
Under sunlight, under day!
South away! and South away!
Down the swift dark stream you go
Back to lands you once did know!


************************************


Up the light slow slope I toil
From the sea I never roil
On from home on plains widespread
In the south free from dread
Where meadows wide and free
Bask in sunlight full of glee
In I go to river’s source
Up to highlands on my course
By I pass the shady groves
On my slow and hazy roves
In the heat of midday sun
On the dry sand oft I run
When the moon comes down to ground
Stars to earth by morn are bound
Yet the eve comes creeping on
Over desert than I’m gone
North I come, with hardy toil
Seeking night which none can spoil
On to highland and the rock
Where heights all passers mock
Where pines so proud and tall
Never pay the axeman’s toll
Where dark of roots is strong
Where stags come crowned with prongs
Up the light slow slope I toil
From the sea I never roil

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Song dwarves sung at Bilbo's
 

Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord
There many a gloaming golden hoard
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day,
To claim our long-forgotten gold.

Goblets they carved there for themselves
And harps of gold; where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves.

The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night.
The fire was red, it flaming spread;
The trees like torches biased with light,

The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces pale;
The dragon's ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail.

The mountain smoked beneath the moon;
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled their hall to dying -fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Far over the misty mountains grim
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him!



********************************


Nigh under sunlit plains so hot
From peaks so high there mist stays not
They soon will ride when eve’s astride
To bury trove of lead in pot

The giants today are dumb and mute
But nails they drive with tinkle cute
High up on moors, where trees are poor
They moo and dance and play their lutes

From modern lackey, orkish slave
So few and dull was taken prey
Though they hacked it all, and heaps so tall
They piled up in effort brave

Some copper collars there they tore
And orbs of iron down they bore
And icy pools, with venom and drools
They made unclean and went ashore

Nigh under sunlit plains so hot
From peaks so high where mist stays not
They soon will ride when eve’s astride
To abnegate their lead in pot

Some forks they bent, and knives alike
And smashed double-bass with one strike
They danced fast on top of vast
Their yells were loud, and long their pike

The moss was quiet under stones
The heat was full of buzzing drones
The pool was green, no smoke was seen
As meadow filled with irksome crones

No sound was heard up on the slope
As elves forsook their only hope
And snails were calm, as hold on palm
And tents were held on sturdy rope

The air was clear in rays of sun
As giants dumb but keen for run
Came back from walk, and silent talk
Of lead and pot was banned for fun

Nigh under sunlit plains so bright
From peaks so high where cool is night
They soon will ride when eve’s astride
To yield their lead, and pots will light

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Aragorn Verse
 

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.


*************************

Nothing of lead shines forever
Everyman staying is slack
Newcome is weak and can’t lever
Leaves to bring shade to one’s back

Flames to be put out to slumber
Rays to be lost in the web
Rusted’ll be ax and no lumber
Down'll come by forester’s cab

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Bilbo's Eärendil song
 

The verse to follow is not exact reverse (for than it would be very difficult to retain any meaning at all). But it follows in metrics and, I hope, spirit, though tells quite a different story, and in that, I hope, is a reverse of an original.

****************************

Eärendil 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
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
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
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 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
nor 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.
gut on him mighty doom was laid,
till Moon should fade, an orb‚d 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.



*******************************


Ugluk the Strong, on foot he journeyed
And hurried through Calenardhon
He’d hewn some heads of those who yearned
No rest for weary, push them on
His blade was made of cruel steel
Of copper was its hideous hilt
With leather boot and nailed heel
Suppressed he all the cheek and tilt

His many score of goblin-men
In plates of black and leather bound’
With crooked pikes from mountain den
Were keen of eye with scent of hounds
Their arms so strong, and pacing stead
Their razor claws and teeth of beast
Their strengh of feet on man-flash fed
Brought halflings to the West from East
Their blackened blades, and eyed shields
Of no avail they proved though
For quicker’s horse on open field
And arrow shot of wooden bow


Though orks them be, yet under Sun
On route so short they took to flight
Be clear their goal, and free their run
But none returned to the heights
Between the meadows and the wood
Where brightly shone fair Arien
They met their death, none raven food
In smoke and fire their pride was riven
For night they longed, but none shall come
For those to set their foot on grass
Of horse-lords’ land of starry dome
And running waters sprinkling-glass

The will of wizard pushed them on
But swift and keen were Riders’ eyes
So none came out with the dawn
And woody grove for no ork sighs

Though Mahaur and host of lads
Be there to help Ugluk with arms
Though stout them be and strong their hands
They had not luck and brought no harm
Grishnakh there was, one fallen soul
The Ring to seize, to claim, to win
With arms of might, with breath of foul
To drag his prey to forest dim
Yet cunning mind and skilful word
And arrow swift by chance onbrought
Have saved halflings from his sword
The path of fate anew was wrought
Their feet it took to wander free
To wood of old, of life and might
There two met third, and all them three
Were soon away, out of ear and sight

Through tangled branch, o’er twisted root
Under brooding dark malicious thought
O’er leagues of rotten leaf and soot
Of killed trees them Treebeard brought
To meet the chiefs of mighty race
The treeherds strong and green of eyes
To hark the speech of lazy pace
To witness mighty anger rise
They’ve seen the Ents who marched forth
They’ve seen the Huorns who creep unheed
And treeherds going forth to war
Avenging twig and leaf and seed
Their foe be strong, his walls be high
And circle of stone be mighty hewn
His skill be spell, his end was nigh
For noisy river ents have sewn
And Cunning Mind was doomed to fail
As goblin-men by forest lay
Of stony circle defence was frail
And might of tree’s not kept at bay

Avenged be now yew and pine
And rowan, birch and oak tall
And sage no more, with coward’s whine
Had paid of broken staff the toll
His former clothing, elven-white
Was took by worthy one at last
Nan-Curunir, it’s tower’s height
Was freed from malice strong and fast
No foes to come to Rohan’s field
No sullen ork or goblin-man
No wives to weep o’er broken shield
No child be took to ogre’s den
No cunning words, and crooked lies
To poison Rider’s ear and heart
And mortal circle where man’s path lies
Was freed from dark and cunning art

New garden round tower was laid
By skill of treehedrs wise of age
New life to sprout, new forest maid
To flourish where barren cage
Of metal wheels and cogs of steel
Was built to wound groaning earth
No cage is left, mo metal wheel
So came to ruin power-dearth
Of one once great, of angel white
Of wisdom old for Ring which craved
Not he himself, bereft of might
Gone forth he found there no grave

From Orthank’s mighty jagged fang
Where black and strong the wall stood still
The wizard forced, heart-piercing tang
To seek new path in night of chill
But halflings, those to stir the wrath
Of brooding forest silence grim
Went back to warmth and fire of hearth
In darkling tunnel grey and dim
To smoked rings of pipe-weed ripe
To feast on ruins plunder wrougt
To greet their friends with glass and pipe
And merry be with what fate brought

But Cunning Mind o’er westlands passed
To be from now hole-dwellers’s foe
And land of Shire to make a-messed
To bring on calm-folk soring woe
To fell the trees and burn anew
And bring the ruin to every home
To smash with skill, but build askew
Replace with shack the hall and dome
But failed goal, for slave him slain
One hungry, wretched, venom-fraught
Once mighty spirit soulless stayed
And western breeze brought him to naught

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Mewlips
 

The shadows where the Mewlips dwell
Are dark and wet as ink,
And slow and softly rings their bell,
As in the slime you sink.

You sink into the slime, who dare
To knock upon their door,
While down the grinning gargoyles stare
And noisome waters pour.

Beside the rotting river-strand
The drooping willows weep,
And gloomily the gorcrows stand
Croaking in their sleep.

Over the Merlock Mountains a long and weary way,
In a mouldy valley where the trees are grey,
By a dark pool's borders without wind or tide,
Moonless and sunless, the Mewlips hide.

The cellars where the Mewlips sit
Are deep and dank and cold
With single sickly candle lit;
And there they count their gold.

Their walls are wet, their ceilings drip;
Their feet upon the floor
Go softly with a squish-flap-flip,
As they sidle to the door.

They peep out slyly; through a crack
Their feeling fingers creep,
And when they've finished, in a sack
Your bones they lake to keep.

Beyond the Merlock Mountains, a long and lonely road.
Through the spider-shadows and the marsh of Tode,
And through the wood of hanging trees and the gallows-weed,
You go to find the Mewlips — and the Mewlips feed


**********************************

The shining shore where Moofeet go
Is pearly-pale like milk
There swift and loud pipes they blow
And soft is sand like silk

The flowers pop up from the turf
The windows shine with light
And waves are gentle with the surf
As shore they kiss by night

The lofty pine there stands on cliff
To face the salty breeze
And seagulls proud crowd the reef
Or master wind with ease

Down to Shallow Islet swift and winding path
Turns and writhes through, springs and leaps a-rath
On the shores of foamy surf, under starry sky
Harking to the wash on-shore, there the Moofeet lie

The halls by sea where Moofeet stall
Are full of golden shine
With lamps and torches on the walls
And merry guests to dine

Their windows wide and floors of sand
All round adorned with webs
All sing and dance on sea and land
When one shows out its neb

They rush and run, their gates are high
They stamp their hooves and bark
And when they’ll whistle, far and nigh
All foes will flee to lurk

Up from Shallow Islet swift and joyful way
Turns and writhes through and no one goes astray
To the shores of foamy surf, under starry dome
Merry will the feast be there, where’s the Moofoot’s home.

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The Cat
 

The fat cat on the mat
may seem to dream
of nice mice that suffice
for him, or cream;
but he free, maybe,
walks in thought
unbowed, proud, where loud
roared and fought
his kin, lean and slim,
or deep in den
in the East feasted on beasts
and tender men.
The giant lion with iron
claw in paw,
and huge ruthless tooth
in gory jaw;
the paid dark-starred,
fleet upon feet,
that oft soft from aloft
leaps on his meat
where woods loom in gloom-
far now they be,
fierce and free,
and tamed is he;
but fat cat on the mat
kept as a pet,
he does not forget.


*********************************


Though mice feed on rice
And may look for a nook
For the paw to go
And the hook to rook
But they fly on high
In their dreams
To the dark to hark
Silent screams
To where bats knit and tat
Or upside on the bough
In angle tangle go dangle
Leather wings to sough
Trough the air with dare
Glide and slide
Hunting moth and bug
Pip and gride
Up and down they yaw
Eat no seed
Things they are on wings
Not on feet!
Where twig'n'leaf no reef
For them ever form
Though their home be worm
And by day they dorm
Though they feed on rice
Kept in barn, still mice
Dream of flight by night!

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Oliphaunt
 

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.

***

He’s blue as the sea
Belly vast as a lea
Tail like a hose
He makes the sky doze
As he dives to the deep
To take his nap of sleep
With scales on his back
To the North is his tack
Beady black eye
Lung of mighty sigh
Seething back and forth
Making water froth
Never comes ashore
The whale of ole’ lore!
Mighty and wise
One of awful size
In the waves to play
While all sailors pray
‘May he turn aside’
‘Hark! his teeth a-gride’
But he knows his lore
Not to come ashore!

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Gil-Galad
 

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.


***
(1)

Kemen-ungol was a maiden brave
Of her no man have seen the grave
The first to die of darkling spell
The first to pass beyond the knell

Her thread was fast, her webs were bright
The glittering hair and eyes of light
The love she wove, the knitter true
The truth, the beauty, gold on blue

And so the envy, hatred long
Have sent the death to maiden strong
The windy plains of Shadow land
Still cover grave with dust and sand

***

(2)

One snaga-lad, an orkish-slave
Fought well yet was not lain to grave
One of the thousands slain in war
Defender of his Dark Lord’s door

He had no name, but only rank
Into the marshes there he sank
Where ages since The Bearer came
Upon One Eye to play the game

His face The Bearer in water saw
And shied his candle burning low;
For one to fear the Sun and Light
Now shimmered with peril through the night.

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Shadow Bride
 

There was a man who dwelt alone,
as day and night went past
he sat as still as carven stone,
and yet no shadow cast.
The white owls perched upon his head
beneath the winter moon;
they wiped their beaks and thought him dead
under the stars of June.

There came a lady clad in grey
in the twilight shining:
one moment she would stand and stay,
her hair with flowers entwining.
He woke, as had he sprung of stone,
and broke the spell that bound him;
he clasped her fast, both flesh and bone,
and wrapped her shadow round him.

There never more she walks her ways
by sun or moon or star;
she dwells below where neither days
nor any nights there are.
But once a year when caverns yawn
and hidden things awake,
they dance together then till dawn
and a single shadow make.


***

There is a maid who always taunts
Her brothers thirty-three
Her mum and dad, and uncle and aunt
She teases from her tree
Black mice she carries under arm
Be it winter or fall
She tickles their tummies and feeds them barm
As on their backs they roll

The gent to love her barely clad
Is running wild and sad
Her tease and taunt have drove him mad
Too old was he, she said
She sleeps with ease, and wakes in glee
Whatever idlers think
Her dance is gracious, movement free
Her shadow jumps and kinks

Before she did and hence she’ll climb
Her lofty maple tree
Her mocking laugh will often dumb
Unhappy thirty-three
But often still when wind a-howls
And no one sees her go
She weeps alone into her shawl
And watches gulls ashore

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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 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 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!


***


Be not lorn! We splash in the mud at morn!
That bakes our skin into scale and horn
Wiseman is he that springs into dirt
Tearing off his pants and shirt!

O! Bitter is thought of the burning fire
And swelling heat to dry the mire
For good is swamp to stroll along
Of leeches and slime we sing a song!

O! Hungry one may devour some bread
Or salad fresh with a gulp of dread
But better is ooze and tadpoles green
Some newts, some snakes and a toad’s splin!

O! Sun may shine in the sky above
But better is shade down the chilly cove
For mucous floor and leaking walls
Are better than any nobleman’s halls!

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