«The Adventures of Tom Bombadil», John Tolkien

The Red Book contains a large number of verses. A few are included in the narrative of the Downfall of the Lord of the Rings, or in the attached stories and chronicles; many more are found on loose leaves, while some are written carelessly in margins and blank spaces. Of the last sort most are nonsense, now often unintelligible even when legible, or half-remembered fragments. From these marginalia are drawn Nos. 4, II, 13; though a better example of their general character would be the scribble, on the page recording Bilbo's When winter first begins to bite:

• The wind so whirled a weathercock
• He could not hold his tail up;
• The frost so nipped a throstlecock
• He could not snap a snail up.
• 'My case is hard' the throstle cried,
• And 'All is vane' the cock replied;
• And so they set their wail up.

The present selection is taken from the older pieces, mainly concerned with legends and jests of the Shire at the end of the Third Age, that appear to have been made by Hobbits, especially by Bilbo and his friends, or their immediate descendants. Their authorship is, however, seldom indicated. Those outside the narratives are in various hands, and were probably written down from oral tradition.

In the Red Book it is said that No. 5 was made by Bilbo, and No. 7 by Sam Gamgee. No. 8 is marked SG, and the ascription may be accepted. No. 12 is also marked SG, though at most Sam can only have touched up an older piece of the comic bestiary lore of which Hobbits appear to have been fond. In The Lord of the Rings Sam stated that No. 10 was traditional in the Shire.

No. 3 is an example of another kind which seems to have amused Hobbits: a rhyme or story which returns to its own beginning, and so may be recited until the hearers revolt. Several specimens are found in the Red Book, but the others are simple and crude. No. 3 is much the longest and most elaborate. It was evidently made by Bilbo. This is indicated by its obvious relationship to the long poem recited by Bilbo, as his own composition, in the house of Elrond. In origin a 'nonsense rhyme', it is in the Rivendell version found transformed and applied, somewhat incongruously, to the High-elvish and NСЉmenorean legends of EРґrendil. Probably because Bilbo invented its metrical devices and was proud of them. They do not appear in other pieces in the Red Book. The older form, here given, must belong to the early days after Bilbo's return from his journey. Though the influence of Elvish traditions is seen, they are not seriously treated, and the names used (Derrilyn, Thellamie, Belmarie, Aerie ) are mere inventions in the Elvish style, and are not in fact Elvish at all.

The influence of the events at the end of the Third Age, and the widening of the horizons of the Shire by contact with Rivendell and Gondor, is to be seen in other pieces. No. 6, though here placed next to Bilbo's Man-in-the-Moon rhyme, and the last item. No. 16, must be derived ultimately from Gondor. They are evidently based on the traditions of Men, living in shorelands and familiar with rivers running into the Sea. No. 6 actually mentions Belfalas (the windy bay of Bel), and the Sea-ward Tower, Tirith Aear , or Dol Amroth. No. 16 mentions the Seven Rivers [?] that flowed into the Sea in the South Kingdom, and uses the Gondorian name, of High-elvish form, Firiel, mortal woman. [?] In the Langstrand and Dol Amroth there were many traditions of the ancient Elvish dwellings, and of the haven at the mouth of the Morthond from which 'westward ships' had sailed as far back as the fall of Eregion in the Second Age. These two pieces, therefore, are only re-handlings of Southern matter, though this may have reached Bilbo by way of Rivendell. No. 14 also depends on the lore of Rivendell, Elvish and Numenorean, concerning the heroic days at the end of the First Age; it seems to contain echoes of the NСЉmenorean tale of Turin and Mim the Dwarf.

Nos. 1 and 2 evidently come from the Buckland. They show more knowledge of that country, and of the Dingle, the wooded valley of the Withywindle, [?] than any Hobbits west of the Marish were likely to possess. They also show that the Bucklanders knew Bombadil, [?] though, no doubt they had as little understanding of his powers as the Shirefolk had of Gandalf's: both were regarded as benevolent persons, mysterious maybe and unpredictable but nonetheless comic. No. I is the earlier piece, and is made up of various hobbit-versions of legends concerning Bombadil. No. 2 uses similar traditions, though Tom's raillery is here turned in jest upon his friends, who treat it with amusement (tinged with fear); but it was probably composed much later and after the visit of Frodo and his companions to the house of Bombadil.

The verses, of hobbit origin, here presented have generally two features in common. They are fond of strange words, and of rhyming and metrical tricks – in their simplicity Hobbits evidently regarded such things as virtues or graces, though they were no doubt mere imitations of Elvish practices. They are also at least on the surface, lighthearted or frivolous, though sometimes one may uneasily suspect that more is meant than meets the ear. No. 15, certainly of hobbit origin, is an exception. It is the latest piece and belongs to the Fourth Age; but it is included here, because a hand has scrawled at its head Frodos Dreme. That is remarkable, and though the piece is most unlikely to have been written by Frodo himself, the title shows that it was associated with the dark and despairing dreams which visited him in March and October during his last three years. But there were certainly other traditions concerning Hobbits that were taken by the 'wandering-madness', and if they ever returned, were afterwards queer and uncommunicable. The thought of the Sea was ever-present in the background of hobbit imagination; but fear of it and distrust of all Elvish lore, was the prevailing mood in the Shire at the end of the Third Age, and that mood was certainly not entirely dispelled by the events and changes with which that Age ended.

1

THE ADVENTURES OF TOM BOMBADIL

• Old Tom Bombadil was a merry fellow;
• bright blue his jacket was and his boots were yellow,
• green were his girdle and his breeches all of leather;
• he wore in his tall hat a swan-wing feather.
• He lived up under Hill, where the Withywindle
• ran from a grassy well down into the dingle.

• Old Tom in summertime walked about the meadows
• gathering the buttercups, running after shadows,
• tickling the bumblebees that buzzed among the flowers,
• sitting by the waterside for hours upon hours.

• There his beard dangled long down into the water:
• up came Goldberry, the River-woman's daughter;
• pulled Tom's hanging hair. In he went a-wallowing
• under the water-lilies, bubbling and a-swallowing.В 

• 'Hey, Tom Bombadil! Whither are you going?'
• said fair Goldberry. 'Bubbles you are blowing,
• frightening the finny fish and the brown water-rat,
• startling the dabchicks, and drowning your feather-hat!'

• 'You bring it back again, there's a pretty maiden!'
• said Tom Bombadil. 'I do not care for wading.
• Go down! Sleep again where the pools are shady
• far below willow-roots, little water-lady!'

• Back to her mother's house in the deepest hollow
• swam young Goldberry. But Tom, he would not follow;
• on knotted willow-roots he sat in sunny weather,
• drying his yellow boots and his draggled feather.

• Up woke Willow-man, began upon his singing,
• sang Tom fast asleep under branches swinging;
• in a crack caught him tight: snick! it closed together,
• trapped Tom Bombadil, coat and hat and feather.

• 'Ha, Tom Bombadil! What be you a-thinking,
• peeping inside my tree, watching me a-drinking
• deep in my wooden house, tickling me with feather,
• dripping wet down my face like a rainy weather?'

• 'You let me out again, Old Man Willow!
• I am stiff lying here; they're no sort of pillow,
• your hard crooked roots. Drink your river-water!
• Go back to sleep again like the River-daughter!'

• Willow-man let him loose when he heard him speaking;
• locked fast his wooden house, muttering and creaking,
• whispering inside the tree. Out from willow-dingle
• Tom went walking on up the Withywindle.

• Under the forest-eaves he sat a while a-listening:
• on the boughs piping birds were chirruping and whistling.
• Butterflies about his head went quivering and winking,
• until grey clouds came up, as the sun was sinking.

• Then Tom hurried on. Rain began to shiver,
• round rings spattering in the running river;
• a wind blew, shaken leaves chilly drops were dripping;
• into a sheltering hole Old Tom went skipping.

• Out came Badger-brock with his snowy forehead
• and his dark blinking eyes. In the hill he quarried
• with his wife and many sons. By the coat they caught him,
• pulled him inside their earth, down their tunnels brought him.

• Inside their secret house, there they sat a-mumbling:
• 'Ho, Tom Bombadil' Where have you come tumbling,
• bursting in the front-door? Badger-folk have caught you.
• You'll never find it out, the way that we have brought you!'

• 'Now, old Badger-brock, do you hear me talking?
• You show me out at once! I must be a-walking.
• Show me to your backdoor under briar-roses;
• then clean grimy paws, wipe your earthy noses!
• Go back to sleep again on your straw pillow,
• like fair Goldberry and Old Man Willow!'

• Then all the Badger-folk said: 'We beg your pardon!'
• They showed Tom out again to their thorny garden,
• went back and hid themselves, a-shivering and a-shaking,
• blocked up all their doors, earth together raking.

• Rain had passed. The sky was clear, and in the summer-gloaming
• Old Tom Bombadil laughed as he came homing,
• unlocked his door again, and opened up a shutter.
• In the kitchen round the lamp moths began to flutter:
• Tom through the window saw waking stars come winking,
• and the new slender moon early westward sinking.

• Dark came under Hill. Tom, he lit a candle;
• upstairs creaking went, turned the door-handle.
• 'Hoo, Tom Bombadil! Look what night has brought you!
• I'm here behind the door. Now at last I've caught you!
• You'd forgotten Barrow-wight dwelling in the old mound
• up there on hill-top with the ring of stones round.
• He's got loose again. Under earth he'll take you.
• Poor Tom Bombadil, pale and cold he'll make you!'

• 'Go out! Shut the door, and never come back after!
• Take away gleaming eyes, take your hollow laughter!
• Go back to grassy mound, on your stony pillow
• lay down your bony head, like Old Man Willow,
• like young Goldberry, and Badger-folk in burrow!
• Go back to buried gold and forgotten sorrow!'

• Out fled Barrow-wight through the window leaping,
• through the yard, over wall like a shadow sweeping,
• up hill wailing went back to leaning stone-rings,
• back under lonely mound, rattling his bone-rings.

• Old Tom Bombadil lay upon his pillow
• sweeter than Goldberry, quieter than the Willow,
• snugger than the Badger-folk or the Barrow-dwellers;
• slept like a humming-top, snored like a bellows.

• He woke in morning-light, whistled like a starling,
• sang, 'Come, derry-dol, merry-dol, my darling!'
• He clapped on his battered hat, boots, and coat and feather;
• opened the window wide to the sunny weather.

• Wise old Bombadil, he was a wary fellow;
• bright blue his jacket was, and his boots were yellow.
• None ever caught old Tom in upland or in dingle,
• walking the forest-paths, or by the Withywindle,
• or out on the lily-pools in boat upon the water.
• But one day Tom, he went and caught the River-daughter,
• in green gown, flowing hair, sitting in the rushes,
• singing old water-songs to birds upon the bushes.

• He caught her, held her fast! Water-rats went scuttering
• reeds hissed, herons cried, and her heart was fluttering.
• Said Tom Bombadil: 'Here's my pretty maiden!
• You shall come home with me! The table is all laden:
• yellow cream, honeycomb, white bread and butter;
• roses at the window-sill and peeping round the shutter.
• You shall come under Hill! Never mind your mother
• in her deep weedy pool: there you'll find no lover!'

• Old Tom Bombadil had a merry wedding,
• crowned all with buttercups, hat and feather shedding;
• his bride with forgetmenots and flag-lilies for garland
• was robed all in silver-green. He sang like a starling,
• hummed like a honey-bee, lilted to the fiddle,
• clasping his river-maid round her slender middle.

• Lamps gleamed within his house, and white was the bedding;
• in the bright honey-moon Badger-folk came treading,
• danced down under Hill, and Old Man Willow
• tapped, tapped at window-pane, as they slept on the pillow,
• on the bank in the reeds River-woman sighing
• heard old Barrow-wight in his mound crying.

• Old Tom Bombadil heeded not the voices,
• taps, knocks, dancing feet, all the nightly noises;
• slept till the sun arose, then sang like a starling:
• 'Hey! Come derry-dol, merry-dol, my darling!'
• sitting on the door-step chopping sticks of willow,
• while fair Goldberry combed her tresses yellow.

2

BOMBADIL GOES BOATING

• The old year was turning brown; the West Wind was calling;
• Tom caught a beechen leaf in the Forest falling.
• 'I've caught a happy day blown me by the breezes!
• Why wait till morrow-year? I'll take it when me pleases.
• This day I'll mend my boat and journey as it chances
• west down the withy-stream, following my fancies!'

• Little Bird sat on twig. 'Whillo, Tom! I heed you.
• I've a guess, I've a guess where your fancies lead you.
• Shall I go, shall I go, bring him word to meet you?'

• 'No names, you tell-tale, or I'll skin and eat you,
• babbling in every ear things that don't concern you!
• If you tell Willow-man where I've gone, I'll burn you,
• roast you on a willow-spit. That'll end your prying!'

• Willow-wren cocked her tail, piped as she went flying:
• 'Catch me first, catch me first! No names are needed.
• I'll perch on his hither ear: the message will be heeded.
• "Down by Mithe", I'll say, "just as sun is sinking"
• Hurry up, hurry up! That's the time for drinking!'

• Tom laughed to himself: 'Maybe then I'll go there.
• I might go by other ways, but today I'll row there.'

• He shaved oars, patched his boat; from hidden creek he hauled her
• through reed and sallow-brake, under leaning alder,
• then down the river went, singing: 'Silly-sallow,
• Flow withy-willow-stream over deep and shallow!'
• 'Whee! Tom Bombadil! Whither be you going,
• bobbing in a cockle-boat, down the river rowing?'

• 'Maybe to Brandywine along the Withywindle;
• maybe friends of mine fire for me will kindle
• down by the Hays-end. Little folk I know there,
• kind at the day's end. Now and then I go there'.
• 'Take word to my kin, bring me back their tidings!
• Tell me of diving pools and the fishes' hidings!'

• 'Nay then,' said Bombadil, 'I am only rowing
• just to smell the water like, not on errands going'.

• 'Tee hee! Cocky Tom! Mind your tub don't founder!
• Look out for willow-snags! I'd laugh to see you flounder'.

• 'Talk less, Fisher Blue! Keep your kindly wishes!
• Fly off and preen yourself with the bones of fishes!
• Gay lord on your bough, at home a dirty varlet
• living in a sloven house, though your breast be scarlet.
• I've heard of fisher-birds beak in air a-dangling
• to show how the wind is set: that's an end of angling!'

• The King's fisher shut his beak, winked his eye, as singing
• Tom passed under bough. Flash! then he went winging;
• dropped down jewel-blue a feather, and Tom caught it
• gleaming in a sun-ray: a pretty gift he thought it.
• He stuck it in his tall hat, the old feather casting:
• 'Blue now for Tom', he said, "a merry hue and lasting!'

• Rings swirled round his boat, he saw the bubbles quiver.
• Tom slapped his oar, smack! at a shadow in the river.

• 'Hoosh! Tom Bombadil! 'Tis long since last I met you.
• Turned water-boatman, eh? What if I upset you?'

• 'What? Why, Whisker-lad, I'd ride you down the river.
• My fingers on your back would set your hide a-shiver.'
• 'Pish, Tom Bombadil! I'll go and tell my mother;
• "Call all our kin to come, father, sister, brother!
• Tom's gone mad as a coot with wooden legs: he's paddling
• down Withywindle stream, an old tub a-straddling!"'

• 'I'll give your otter-fell to Barrow-wights. They'll taw you!
• Then smother you in gold-rings! Your mother if she saw you,
• she'd never know her son, unless 'twas by a whisker.
• Nay, don't tease old Tom, until you be far brisker!'

• 'Whoosh! said otter-lad, river-water spraying
• over Tom's hat and all; set the boat a-swaying,
• dived down under it, and by the bank lay peering,
• till Tom's merry song faded out of hearing.

• Old Swan of Elvet-isle sailed past him proudly,
• gave Tom a black look, snorted at him loudly.
• Tom laughed: 'You old cob, do you miss your feather?
• Give me a new one then! The old was worn by weather.
• Could you speak a fair word, I would love you dearer:
• long neck and dumb throat, but still a haughty sneerer!
• If one day the King returns, in upping he may take you,
• brand your yellow bill, and less lordly make you!'
• Old Swan huffed his wings, hissed, and paddled faster;
• in his wake bobbing on Tom went rowing after.

• Tom came to Withy-weir. Down the river rushing
• foamed into Windle-reach, a-bubbling and a-splashing;
• bore Tom over stone spinning like a windfall,
• bobbing like a bottle-cork, to the hythe at Grindwall.

• Hoy! Here's Woodman Tom with his billСѓ-beard on!'
• laughed all the little folk of Hays-end and Breredon.
• 'Ware, Tom' We'll shoot you dead with our bows and arrows'
• We don't let Forest-folk nor bogies from the Barrows
• cross over Brandywine by cockle-boat nor ferry'.
• 'Fie, little fatbellies! Don't ye make so merry!

• I've seen hobbit-folk digging holes to hide 'em,
• frightened if a horny goat or a badger eyed 'em,
• afeared of the moony-beams, their own shadows shunning.
• I'll call the orks on you: that'll send you running!'

• 'You may call, Woodman Tom. And you can talk your beard off.
• Three arrows in your hat! You we're not afeared of!
• Where would you go to now? If for beer you're making,
• the barrels aint deep enough in Breredon for your slaking!'

• 'Away over Brandywine by Shirebourn I'd be going,
• but too swift for cockle-boat (he river now is flowing.
• I'd bless little folk that took me in their wherry,
• wish them evenings fair and many mornings merry'.

• Red flowed the Brandywine: with flame the river kindled.
• as sun sank beyond the Shire, and then to grey it dwindled.
• Mithe Steps empty stood. None was there to greet him.
• Silent the Causeway lay. Said Tom: 'A merry meeting!'

• Tom slumped along the road, as the light was failing.
• Rushey lamps gleamed ahead. He heard a voice him hailing.
• 'Whoa there!' Ponies stopped, wheels halted sliding.
• Tom went plodding past. never looked beside him.

• 'Ho there! beggarman tramping in the Marish!
• What's your business here? Hat all stuck with arrows!
• Someone's warned you off, caught you at your sneaking?
• Come here! Tell me now what it is you're seeking!
• Shire-ale. I'll be bound, though you've not a penny.
• I'll bid them lock their doors, and then you won't get any''

• 'Well, well. Muddy-feet! From one that's late for meeting
• away back by the Mithe that's a surly greeting!
• You old farmer fat that cannot walk for wheezing,
• cart-drawn like a sack, ought to be more pleasing.
• Penny-wise tub-on-legs! A beggar can't be chooser,
• or else I'd bid you go, and you would be the loser.
• Come, Maggot! Help me up! A tankard now you owe me.
• Even in cockshut light an old friend should know me!'

• Laughing they drove away, in Rushey never halting,
• though the inn open stood and they could smell the mailing.
• They turned down Maggot's Lane, rattling and bumping,
• Tom in the farmer's cart dancing round and jumping.
• Stars shone on Bamfurlong, and Maggot's house was lighted;
• fire in the kitchen burned to welcome the benighted.

• Maggot's sons bowed at door, his daughters did their curtsy,
• his wife brought tankards out for those that might be thirsty.
• Songs they had and merry tales the supping and the dancing;
• Goodman Maggot there for all his belt was prancing,
• Tom did a hornpipe when he was not quaffing,
• daughters did the Springle-ring, goodwife did the laughing.

• When others went to bed in hay, fern, or feather,
• close in the inglenook they laid their heads together,
• old Tom and Muddy-feet, swapping all the tidings
• from Barrow-downs to Tower Hills: of walkings and of ridings;
• of wheat-ear and barley-corn, of sowing and of reaping;
• queer tales from Bree, and talk at smithy, mill, and cheaping;
• rumours in whispering trees, south-wind in the larches,
• tall Watchers by the Ford, Shadows on the marches.

• Old Maggot slept at last in chair beside the embers.
• Ere dawn Tom was gone: as dreams one half remembers,
• some merry, some sad, and some of hidden warning.
• None heard the door unlocked; a shower of rain at morning
• his footprints washed away, at Mithe he left no traces,
• at Hays-end they heard no song nor sound of heavy paces.

• Three days his boat lay by the hythe at Grindwall,
• and then one mom was gone back up Withywindle.

• Otter-folk, hobbits said, came by night and loosed her,
• dragged her over weir, and up stream they pushed her.

• Out from Elvet-isle Old Swan came sailing,
• in beak took her painter up in the water trailing,
• drew her proudly on; otters swam beside her
• round old Willow-man's crooked roots to guide her;
• the King's fisher perched on bow, on thwart the wren was singing,
• merrily the cockle-boat homeward they were bringing.
• To Tom's creek they came at last. Otter-lad said: 'Whish now!
• What's a coot without his legs, or a unless fish now?'
• O! silly-sallow-willow-stream! The oars they'd left behind them!
• Long they lay at Grindwall hythe for Tom to come and find them.

3

ERRANTRY

• There was a merry passenger,
• a messenger, a mariner:
• he built a gilded gondola
• to wander in, and had in her
• a load of yellow oranges
• and porridge for his provender;
• he perfumed her with marjoram
• and cardamom and lavender.

• He called the winds of argosies
• with cargoes in to carry him
• across the rivers seventeen
• that lay between to tarry him.
• He landed all in loneliness
• where stonily the pebbles on
• the running river Derrilyn
• goes merrily for ever on.
• He journeyed then through meadow-lands
• to Shadow-land that dreary lay,
• and under hill and over hill
• went roving still a weary way.

• He sat and sang a melody,
• his errantry a-tarrying;
• he begged a pretty butterfly
• that fluttered by to marry him.
• She scorned him and she scoffed at him,
• she laughed at him unpitying;
• so long he studied wizardry
• and sigaldry and smithying.

• He wove a tissue airy-thin
• to snare her in; to follow her
• he made him beetle-leather wing
• and feather wing of swallow-hair
• He caught her in bewilderment
• with filament of spider-thread;
• he made her soft pavilions
• of lilies, and a bridal bed
• of flowers and of thistle-down
• to nestle down and rest her in;
• and silken webs of filmy white
• and silver light he dressed her in.

• He threaded gems in necklaces,
• but recklessly she squandered them
• and fell to bitter quarrelling;
• then sorrowing he wandered on,
• and there he left her withering,
• as shivering he fled away;
• with windy weather following
• on swallow-wing he sped away.

• He passed the archipelagoes
• where yellow grows the marigold,
• where countless silver fountains are,
• and mountains are of fairy-gold.
• He took to war and foraying,
• a-harrying beyond the sea,
• and roaming over Belmarie
• and Thellamie and Fantasie.

• He made a shield and morion
• of coral and of ivory,
• a sword he made of emerald,
• and terrible his rivalry
• with elven-knights of Aerie
• and Faerie, with paladins
• that golden-haired and shining-eyed
• came riding by and challenged him.

• Of crystal was his habergeon,
• his scabbard of chalcedony;
• with silver tipped at plenilune
• his spear was hewn of ebony.
• His javelins were of malachite
• and stalactite—he brandished them,
• and went and fought the dragon-flies
• of Paradise, and vanquished them.

• He battled with the Dumbledors,
• the Hummerhorns, and Honeybees,
• and won the Golden Honeycomb;
• and running home on sunny seas
• in ship of leaves and gossamer
• with blossom for a canopy,
• he sat and sang, and furbished up
• and burnished up his panoply.

• He tarried for a little while
• in little isles that lonely lay,
• and found there naught but blowing grass;
• and so at last the only way
• he took, and turned, and coming home
• with honeycomb, to memory
• his message came, and errand too!
• In derring-do and glamoury
• he had forgot them, journeying
• and tourneying, a wanderer.
• So now he must depart again
• and start again bis gondola,
• for ever still a messenger,
• a passenger, a tarrier,
• a-roving as a feather does,
• a weather-driven mariner.

4

LITTLE PRINCESS MEE