The Fellowship of the Ring's Poetry V2 - A Continuing Transcription Process

I got bored so I decided to transcribe the poetry from The Lord of the Rings so I could read it any time with having to fumble through my book or memorizing pages. Since I just completed transcribing from the Fellowship of the Ring yesterday, there's a fair chance that it's not complete. So this is just first version, since I've likely missed a poem or three, as well I haven't finished proof reading it myself, (or started). So, please comment and complain so I know what needs to be changed, fixed or added.




Oh, and don't think I forgot about Tom Bombadil. I'm doing his songs separately and hope to get them typed up sometime
soon.




Because different publications have been printed, well, differently, I've also added information instead of simply the page for the poems. I used one of Methuen's "AUTHORIZED CANADIAN EDITION", so if you have it, the pages will correspond.
If not, I added the book number (soon to be I through VI) and the chapter.




I hope you enjoy it. And just for so you know, my favourite poem is Bilbo's in The Fellowship of the Ring: Book II: Chapter 3: Page 291.








The Poetry of

The Lord of the Rings

The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I




Poetry written by:

JRR Tolkien




Poetry Transcribed by:

Richard Schwarting






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 1: Page 44-45, 82-83



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.





-Bilbo Baggins (44-45)


-Frodo Baggins (82-83)






The Fellowship of the Ring: Preface: Preface, Book I: Chapter 2: Page 59-60



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.




-On the One Ring


-Gandalf







The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 3: Page 86-87



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,

Tomorrow we may come this way

And take the hidden paths that run

Towards the Moon or to the Sun.

Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,




Let them go! Let them go!

Sand and stone and pool and dell,

Fare you well! Fare you well!




Home is behind, the world ahead,

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadows to the edge of night,

Until the stars are all alight.

Then world behind and home ahead,

We'll wander back to home and bed.

Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,

Away shell fade! Away shell fade!

Fire and lamp, and meat and bread,

And then to bed! And then to bed!




-Frodo and Sam









The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 3: Page 88-89



Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!

O Queen beyond the Western Seas!

O light to us that wander here

Amid the world of woven trees!




Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!

Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!

Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee

In a far land beyond the Sea




O stars 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!




O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!

We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees,

Thy starlight on the Western Seas.




-the Elves in the forest






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 4: Page 99



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.




-Sam and Pippin (and Frodo?)









The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 5: Page 111



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 thirsty throat and be glad indeed;

but better is Beer, if drink we lack,

and Water Hot poured down our back.




O! Water is fair and leaps on high

in a fountain white beneath the sky;

but never did fountain sound so sweet

as splashing Hot Water with my feet!




-Pippin









The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 5: Page 116



Farewell we call to the 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 the Elves yet dwell

In glades beneath the misty fell,

Through moor and waste we ride in haste,

And whither then we cannot tell.




With fores ahead, behind us dread,

Beneath the sky shall be our bed,

Until at last our toil be passed,

Our journey done, our errand sped.




We must away! We must away!

We ride before the break of day




-Merry and Pippin









The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 6: Page 123



O! Wanderers in the shadowed land

despair not! For though dark they stand,

all woods there be must end at last,

and see the open sun go past:

the setting sun, the rising sun,

the day's end, or the day begun.

For east or west all woods must fail...




-Frodo Baggins






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 9: Page 170-172



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 the five-stringed fiddle;

And up and down he runs his bow,

Now squeaking high, now purring low,

now sawing in the middle.




The landlord keeps 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 horned cow

as proud as any queen;

But music turns her head like ale,

And makes her wave her tufted tail

and dance upon the green.




And O! the rows of silver dishes

and the store of silver spoons!

For Sunday there's a special pair,

And these they polish up with care

on Saturday afternoons.




The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,

and the cat began to wail;

A dish and a spoon on the table danced,

The cow in the garden madly pranced,

and the little dog chased his tail.




The Man in the Moon took another mug,

and then rolled beneath his chair;

And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,

Till in the sky the stars were pale,

and dawn was in the air.




Then the Ostler said to his tipsy cat:

'The white horses of the Moon,

They neigh and champ their silver bits;

But their master's been and drowned his wits,

and the Sun'll be rising soon!




So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,

a jig that would wake the dead:

He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,

While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:

'It's after three!' he said.




They rolled the Man slowly up the hill

and bundled him into the Moon.

While his horses galloped up in rear,

And the cow came capering like a deer,

and a dish ran up with the spoon.




Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;

the dog began to roar,

The cow and the horses stood on their heads;

The guests all bounded from their beds

and danced upon the floor.




With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke!

The cow jumped over the Moon,

And the little dog laughed to see such fun,

And the Saturday dish went off at a run

with the silver Sunday spoon.




The round Moon rolled behind the hill,

as the Sun raised up her head

She hardly believed her fiery eyes;

For though it was day, to her surprise

they all went back to bed!




-Frodo Baggins






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 10: Page 182, Book II: Chapter 2: Page 260-261



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.




-Gandalf (182)

-Bilbo (260-261)






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 11: Page 197-198



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 Gamgee









The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 11: Page 204



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 shadows shimmering.

Tinuviel was dancing there

To music of a pipe unseen,

And light of stars was in her hair,

And in her raiment glimmering.




There Beren came from mountains cold,

And lost he wandered under leaves,

And where the Elven-river rolled

He walked alone and sorrowing.

He peered between the hemlock-leaves

And saw in wonder flowers of gold

Upon her mantle and her sleeves,

And her hair like shadow following.




Enchantment healed his weary feet

That over hills were doomed to roam;

And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,

And grasped at moonbeams glistening.

Through woven woods in Elvenhome

She lightly fled on dancing feet,

And left him lonely still to roam.

In the silent forest listening.




He heard there oft the flying sound

Of feet as light as linden-leaves,

Or music welling underground,

In hidden hollows quavering.

Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,

An 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 the hill-top high and far

She danced, and at her feet was strewn

A mist of silver quivering.




When winter passed she came again,

And her song released the sudden spring,

Like rising lark, and falling rain,

And melting water bubbling.

He saw the elven-flowers spring

About her feet, and healed again

He longed by her to dance and sing

Upon the grass untroubling.




Again she fled but swift he came

Tinuviel! Tinuviel!

He called her by her elvish-name;

And there she halted listening.

One moment stood she, and a spell

His voice 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.




-Strider






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 12: Page 219-220



Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,

And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;

For many a year he had nawed 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 the 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 was 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 the likes o' thee

Without axin' leave should go makin' free

With the shank or the shin o' my father's kin;

So hand the old bone over!

Rover! Trover!

Though dead he be, it belongs to he;

So hand the old bone over!'




'For a couple o' pins,' says Troll, and grins,

'I'll eat thee too, and gnaw 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 hands had hold of naught.

Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind

And gave him the boot to larn him.

Warn him! Darn him!

A bump o' the boot on the seat, Tom thought,

Would be the way to larn him.




But harder than stone is the flesh and bone

Of a troll that sits in the hills alone.

As well set your boot to the mountain's root,

For the seat of a troll don't feel it.

Peel it! Heal it!

Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan,

And he knew his toes could feel it.




Tom's leg is game, since home he came,

And his bootless foot is lasting lame;

But Troll don't care, and he's still there

With the bone he boned from it's owner.

Doner! Boner!

Troll's old seat is still the same,

And the bone he boned from it's owner!




-Sam Gamgee


The Poetry of

The Lord of the Rings

The Fellowship of the Ring: Book II




Poetry written by:

JRR Tolkien




Poetry Transcribed by:

Richard Schwarting






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book II: Chapter 1: Page 246-249



Earendil 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 fashion like a swan,

and light upon her banners laid.




In panolpy 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 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 the 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

where 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 might 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 orbed star

to pass and tarry never more

for ever still a herald on

an errand that should never rest

to bear his shining lamp afar,

the Flammifer of Westernesse.




-Bilbo Baggins






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book II: Chapter 1: Page 250



A Elbereth Gilthoniel,

silivren penna miriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaered palan-diriel

o galadhremmin ennorath,

Fanuilos, le linnathon

nef aear, si nef aearon!




-Elrond, Arwen and Aragorn






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book II: Chapter 2: Page 259



Seek for the Sword that was broken:

In Imladris: Lord of the Rings Movie News: Lord of the Rings Movie News it dwells;

There shall be counsels taken

Stronger than Morgul-spells.

There shall be shown a token

That Doom is near at hand,

For Isildur's Bane shall waken,

And the Halfling forth shall stand.




-Boromir's dream








The Fellowship of the Ring: Book I: Chapter 10: Page 182, Book II: Chapter 2: Page 260-261



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.




-Gandalf (182)

-Bilbo (260-261)






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book II: Chapter 3: Page 286



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.




-Bilbo Baggins









The Fellowship of the Ring: Book II: Chapter 3: Page 291



I site 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.






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book II: Chapter 4: Page 329



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 the silver thread,

Above the shadow of his head.




The world was fair, the mountains tall,

In Eldar 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 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 close and graver wrote;

There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;

The delver mined, the mason built.

There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,

And metal wrought like fishes' mail,

Buckler and corslet, axe, and sword,

And shining spears were laid in hoard.




Unwearied then were Durin's folk;

beneath the mountains music woke:

The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,

And at the gates the trumpets rang.




The world is grey, the mountains old,

The forge's fire is ashen-cold;

No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:

The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;

The shadow lies upon his tomb

In Moria, in Khazad-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.




-Gimli












The Fellowship of the Ring: Book II: Chapter 6: Page 354



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

Their plumes of blinding spray.




Amroth beheld the fading shore

Now low beyond the swell,

And cursed the faithless ship that bore

Him far from Nimrodel.




Of old he was an Elven-king,

A lord of tree and glen,

When golden were the boughs in spring

In fair 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 tidings Elven-folk have heard

Of Amroth evermore.




-Legolas






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book II: Chapter 7: Page 374-375



When evening in the Shire was grey

his footsteps on the Hill were heard;

before the dawn he went away

on journey long without a word.




From Wildernland to Western shore,

from northern waste to southern hill,

through dragon-lair and hidden door

and darkling woods he walked at will.




With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men,

with mortal and immortal folk,

with bird on bough and beast in den,

in their own secret tongues he spoke.




A deadly sword, a healing hand,

a back that bent beneath it's 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 on the stone,

in Khazad-dum his wisdom died.




-Frodo Baggins






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book II: Chapter 7: Page 375



The finest rockets ever seen:

they burst in stars of blue and green,

or after thunder golden showers

came falling like a rain of flowers.




-Sam Gamgee






The Fellowship of the Ring: Book II: Chapter 8: Page 388-389



I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:

Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.

Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moonthe 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 besides 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 I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore

And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.

But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,

What ship would bear me ever back across to wide a Sea?


-Galadriel

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