by Frodo Baggins
his footsteps on the Hill were heard;
before the dawn he went away
on journey long without a word.
From Wilderland to Western shore,
form northern waste to southern hill
through dragon-lair and hidden door
and darkling woods he walked at will.
With Dwarves and Hobbits, Elves and Men,
with mortal and immortal folk,
with bird on bough and beast in den,
in their own secret tounges 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 on the stone,
in Khazad-d�m his wisdom died.
by Samwise Gamgee
the flowers may rise in Spring,
the trees may bud, the waters run,
the merry finches sing.
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night
and swaying beeches bear
the Elven-stars as jewels white
amid their branching hair.
Though here at journey's end I lie
in darkness buried deep,
beyond all towers strong and high,
beyond all mountains steep,
above all shadows rides the Sun
and Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
nor bid the Stars farewell.
by Bilbo Baggins
Out from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
Let others follow it who can!
Let them a journey new begin,
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet.
by Neneithel
Tune: The Kerry Dance.
Tune can be heard here.
Drifting out of the cosy inn
Waking dreams for the little hobbits,
While the older ones dance and spin.
Tankards frothing, drinkers quaffing
Tales being told by a roaring fire.
To be back there with my old friends
Is the only thing I desire.
Home is over there, calling on the air,
Samwise, hurry home.
In the Shire there are shining lanterns,
Lighting hobbits to fresh-made beds.
Happily they cast off their labours,
Fine white linen beneath their heads.
In the Shire there are thoughts of breakfast
Supper was not that long ago.
Two old women tut at the idle
As they sit half the night to sew.
Needles gleaming, infants dreaming,
Tales of dragons on their minds,
This cold night I miss such comfort
In the home so far behind.
Home is over there, calling on the air,
Samwise, hurry home.
In the Shire, pretty Rosie Cotton,
Hums a tune as she combs her hair.
Though I'd say Elven eyes are lovely,
Rosie's eyes are beyond compare.
In the world, as I now have seen,
There is no other maid to match her,
She's as fair as an Elven queen.
Rosie singing, music bringing,
Teaching sweetness to nightingales.
When I think of our great distance,
That's when all of my courage fails.
Home is over there, calling on the air,
Samwise, hurry home.
When this terrible time is over
And our difficult task is done,
I'll return to my Shire, my shelter,
Growing greenly beneath the sun.
In the Shire, I'll again be dancing,
In the Shire I'll again be free.
Maybe I'll even find the courage
To ask Rosie to marry me.
Ribbons whirling, ringlets curling
Round her pretty face in her dance.
Others may dream of great kingdoms
I will dream of my Rosie's glance.
Rosie's over there, calling on the air,
Samwise, hurry home.
In the Shire, I'll again be dancing,
In the Shire I'll again be free.
Maybe I'll even find the courage
To ask Rosie to marry me.
