Primula's Adaptations from Classic Poetry - 2

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Poetry Index

Contents of this page:

Bill the Pony's Ride
The Bill
Fire and Lice
The Ring Not Taken
The Ring of the Ancient Mithrandir
The Steward's Strong Son
The Cooking of Dwarvish Stew
Musing on Mortality, for Legolas
The Lady Eowyn - with  Daerpethron
Oliphaunt Revisited
Paul Revere's Ride
The Bells
Fire and Ice
The Road Not Taken
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
The Village Blacksmith
The Shooting of Dan McGrew
The Lady of Shallot
The Oliphaunt

Bill the Pony's Ride
(Based on "Paul Revere's Ride" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

LISTEN, my children, this is not phony,
To the amazing tale of Bill the Pony,
On the thirtieth of September, thirty-eighteen;
Hardly a hobbit is now seen
Who remembers that famous horse was bony.

Bob said to the hobbits, "All the horses stolen!
By hook or by crook in the dark last night,
All the stables and lofts just an empty hole in
The yard of the Pony, as if they took flight, --
One, over land, and two towards the sea;
And none on the opposite side will be,
Ready to ride or carry your supplies
Through any Middle Earth valley or rise,
And tho' I was early up, I heard no neighs nor cries."

Then he said "Good-day!" and with muffled oath
Began to search up and downtown both.
Just as the sun rose over the wall,
There grinning wide at the hedge so tall
Went Ferny, Bill, an "Orcish Man" his race;
A gapping grin, with each tooth and space
Across his leer like a prison-face,
And his lanky black hulk, that was magnified
By his own repulsive smelly hide.

Meanwhile, he spies all through alley and street
Slithers and watches with eager ears,
Till in the quiet around him he hears
The flustered hobbits at the Innkeep's door,
The sound of dismay, and the tramp of feet,
As the sharpest eyes of the Innkeeper,
Search, desperate, for their steeds along the street.

Then he went to his house by the Old East Hedge,
By the wooden fence, with stealthy mind,
To his darkened stable back behind,
And startled the pigeons from the edge,
Off the rotten rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade, --
By the crumbling door, thin but tall,
To the scummy window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look out
A moment, past a dried-up spout,
At the sunlight oozing over all.

Beside him, in the stable, lay the horse,
As if night-enshrouded in the shed,
Wrapped in despair and rarely fed.
Then he could hear, like a coughing wheeze,
The painful horse-breath, as it puffed
Creeping along with snuffly snuffs,
And seeming to whisper, "Enough is enough!"
A moment only he notices the smell
Of the place and the hour, is secretly pleased
At his lonely stable and the horse;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something, hoping to gain,
Where the hedge widens to meet the lane, --
A line of credit, that'll bend and break
From his rising greed, like a rotten crate.

Meanwhile, impatient a mount to find,
Booted and cloaked, with a hurried stride
On the opposite side walked Bob of Bree.
Now though a thief he couldn't abide,
As he gazed on the landscape he could see
That with dishonest Ferny must be dealt,
And paused and tightened his money belt;
But he watched as he recalled his pledge,
The stable doors by the Old East Hedge.
That he'd find them a horse - tho' this one was ill,
Lonely and spectral and somber and still.
But lo! as he looks, in this pony's eyes
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He asks for the price, though bargain it's not,
He lingers, then pays, lo! full in his sight
Our pony hero is in that stable bought!

A clatter of hoofs in the village street,
A shape in the sunlight, a nag: bottom-rung,
But behold, from his muzzle, in passing, a tongue
Stuck out by a steed who was fearless and neat:
Great of heart! And in spite of his starving all night -
The fate of a world was depending on flight
Into the Wild - with this steed it was right.
Kindness indeed warmed his heart with its heat.

It was ten by the village clock,
When they finally went past the walls of Bree.
They heard the sneering of the man,
And the insults, then Sam took a stand
And felt an apple leave his hand,
Smacking Ferny's nose quite perfectly.

So they left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath them, tranquil and broad and deep,
Was the main Road, where the Forest balks;
And under the trees that skirt the rill,
Now soft Sam's voice, "Think I'll name you Bill,"
Was heard alongside this steed as he walked.

It was late when one night they stopped,
And they made their camp, kindling light
Beside the darkened Weathertop.
Then black in the moonlight something passed -
At that meeting they could only gasp and stare,
As Frodo fought a spectral glare.
A bit later they had to run, aghast,
But this burden Bill bore gentle through their flight.

It was later, Bill's burden gone ahead,
When they crossed the Ford near to Rivendell.
They'd heard the beating sounds of dread,
And the jangling of bells among the trees,
And felt black breath making their blood freeze
Blowing past them, the enemy fell.
And one was now safe and laying in bed
Who at the Ford was the first to fall,
Who that day was found asleep, not dead,
Tho' pierced by a Morgul blade and all.

You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How Bill and the Fellowship walked and fled, --
How Bill sheltered the hobbits from deep snowfall,
And behind them paced at their beck and call,
Following his Samwise down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to shift his load.

So through the story strode Bill the Pony;
And so up to Moria went his path with Sam.
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore -
For after "Mellon," Bill and Sam had to part,
And this steed of true faithfulness made his start
Far back in the travels of his Past,
Through all his history, to the last.
So when the hour of darkness and peril and need,
Was over, Sam found in Bree, no longer bony -
His happiest heart-beat for a steed,
In the un-hoped-for return of his Bill the Pony.


The Bill
(based on "The Bells" by Edgar Allen Poe)


Hear the hobbits with their Bill-
Pony Bill!
What a world of excitement and adventure to thrill!
How they stumble, stumble, stumble,
In the darkened air of night!
While their friends so often mumble,
Over roots they seem to tumble,
Never staying quite upright;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of inner rhyme,
To the gurgling digestion that so musically trills
From the Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill,
Bill, Bill, Bill-
From the bumbling and the rumbling of the Bill.


See the mellow happy Bill,
Glutton Bill!
What a world of happiness his feeding time has still!
Through the balmy air of night
How he eats with great delight!
From the oaten-golden grains,
And alfalfa's boon,
Weight he loves to greatly gain
From the sugar-lumps that glisten with grass stains -
Sweetest tune!
Oh, from the resulting swill,
What a gush of calories voluminously mill!
How he swells!
How it dwells
On the Ribcage! how it will
Of the rapture that comes still
To the munching and the crunching
Of the Bill, Bill, Bill,
Of the Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill,
Bill, Bill, Bill-
To the chewing and the chomping of the Bill!


Hear the loud alarming Bill-
Bossy Bill!
What an empty stomach now his turbulency fills!
In the startled ear of night
He neighs out he wants a bite!
After all, he cannot say,
He can only neigh, neigh,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the feeding he requires,
In a sad expostulation with the deafened hobbits' ire,
Whinnies higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now - now to eat or never,
Fill both sides of his hungry face soon.
Oh, the Bill, Bill, Bill!
What a noise he makes to fill
In their Ear!
How he champs, and stamps, and snores!
What a grumbling they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the neighing,
And the grunting,
How his hunger ebbs and flows:
The ear it distinctly fills,
In the whickering,
And the snuffling,
How the muzzle drools and swills,
By the sinking or the swelling in the noises of the Bill -
Of the Bill -
Of the Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill,
Bill, Bill, Bill -
All the clamor at the hunger of the Bill!


See the rolling of the Bill-
Bloated Bill!
With a world of regret now their company is filled!
In the silence of the Pass,
How they shudder at the gas,
At the smelly clouds they face in their work!
For every sound that floats
From the burps within his throat
Is a groan.
And the hobbits - ah, the hobbits -
They that didn't make him stop it,
Greedy One.
Now who, rolling, rolling, rolling,
In disgruntled monotony,
Feel no glory in so rolling
Across the stones their pony.
They are neither sad nor happy-
They hear neither toot nor honking -
They were Fools:
And their horse, it is their goal;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
For a windbreak from the Bill!
And his rounded belly will
With the deflating of the Bill!
As with gasses he is filled;
Keeping time, time, time,
To a barrel-rolling rhyme,
To the burping of the Bill -
Of the Bill:
Keeping time, time, time,
To a barrel-rolling rhyme,
To the bloating of the Bill -
Of the Bill, Bill, Bill:
To the floating of the Bill;
Keeping time, time, time,
They hear nil, nil, nil,
To a barrel-rolling rhyme,
To the gassing of the Bill -
Of the Bill, Bill, Bill:
To the passing of the Bill,
Of the Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill -
Bill, Bill, Bill -
To the moaning and the groaning of the Bill.


Fire and Lice
"Or Gandalf Regards Saruman's Beard"
(based on "Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost)

One heard that I did end in fire;
And thought it nice.
From what I've heard of his desire
I hold that he who favored fire
Didn't know I could perish twice!
I think I know enough of fate
To say for his discomfort lice
Are really great
And would suffice.


(Based on Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's "Excelsior!")

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an hobbit village passed
A mage, who bore, 'mid this and that,
Upon his head the strangest hat,

His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a firework on the beach,
And like a silver clarion rung
The wisdom of his witty tongue,

From Elven home he led their flight
But winged spies had them in sight;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from their lips escaped a groan.

Beware the awful avalanche!
Beware the Watcher in the pool!
Then into Moria's long, dark night,
He led the way, through depth and height,

"You Shall Not Pass!" the old man said.
Fire bellowed behind them as they fled,
The roaring chasm was deep and wide!
And o'er that roaring voice they cried:

"Oh stay," the Lady said, "and rest
Your weary heads, you are our guests!"
But tears stood in their bright blue eyes,
And still they answered, with a sigh,

At break of day, as Forestward
The weary few of Fellowship
Gave one old man a startled stare,
They cried as an arrow sparked in air,

White Rider, always faithful, found
Halflings safe and King a-crowned,
Still grasping in his hand his staff.
Now say his name with heartfelt laugh:

Then in the twilight soft and gray,
As slipped the ship out from the Bay,
As from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,


The Ring Not Taken
(or Gandalf's Dilemna)
(based on Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken")

Two Rings were forged by ancient hands
And sorry I could not carry both
And be uncorrupted, long did I stand,
And gazed at the One with golden band.

But kept the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was Elven and wanted wear;
Though except for that, when passing there
I could have worn them about the same.

The One Ring tempted with its power,
Glinted in that young, trembling hand,
Whispered I'd need it in coming hour -
My desire to do good and make evil cower.

And both that evening equally lay
With fire, one fair, the other black.
But I spurned the One for a different fray!
Yet knowing how choice leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two Rings diverged by the fire, and I -
I kept the one first entrusted, aye...
And that has made all the difference.


The Ring of the Ancient Mithrandir
(based on "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" by Samuel T. Coleridge)


It is an ancient Wizard friend,
And he stoppeth here for me.
'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

'For Bilbo's door is opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din,'

He holds me with his aged hand,
"There was a Ring,' quoth he,
'Hold off! unhand me, the meal's soon!'
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He held me with his glittering eye -
The Ringbearer stood still,
And listened like a three years' child:
The Wizard hath his will.

The Ringbearer sat on a stool:
He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient mage,
The bright-eyed Mithrandir:

"The Ring was lost, but now is found,
Verily did it drop
Beneath the caves, below the hills,
Below the mountain top.

Bilbo came up and then he left,
Out of the caves came he!
The Ring shone bright, he held it tight
As he traveled free."

Longer and longer every hour,
Shining Elven lamps at night -
The Ringbearer here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud delight.

But his staff he's placed across the hall,
Blocking the door is he;
Nodding his head as on he goes,
Thus they tarry miserably.

The Ringbearer he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient mage,
The bright-eyed Mithrandir.

'And now dark Sauron came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong;
He started plans for o'ertaking things,
And chased me West along.

With soaking hat and dripping brows,
Dark spies pursued me, in rain and cold
Still threads of shadows from this foe,
Seek outward, bending down my head,
Though I rode fast, thinking on the past
As North and West I fled.

And now I found I'd missed the point:
I need Gollum's story told.
Soon slime, knee-high, was floating by,
As green as emerald.

The land of slime and of fearful sounds, where
no living thing was to be seen.
For through the bogs and mossy clogs
He sent a dismal keen:
No shape of man nor beast I ken -
For slime was all between.

The slime was here, the slime was there,
The slime was all around
It glurped and slurped, and bubbled and burped,
Such noises did resound!

At length did I find Aragorn;
Through the bog he came;
As if he had been a-seeking for me,
I hailed him by his name.

He caught the sneak, it ne'er would eat,
And round the ground it crawled,
And slime it spit with a coughing-fit;
How Gollum sneered and bawled!

And a trail of tales sprung up behind;
But Aragorn did follow,
Through every day, no food or play,
Til his cheeks became most hollow!

It'd twist or snivel both truth and drivel,
We'd catch it's whisp'ring whine;
Sobs all the while, through fish-breath vile,
How it hates even moonshine.

'Ah yes,' says ancient Mithrandir,
How this fiend had found and long had borne
This Ring of gold -Now that I know,
He could leave with Aragorn.



'The Sun now rose upon my right:
Out of the mists came he,
Still I went Northwest, and on my left
It went down behind the trees.

It was good that they were left behind,
And so Aragorn did follow
Our plan to take it toward the Lake
To the elves deep dungeons hollow.

But I knew now what hellish thing,
Had come to bring our woe:
For I averred that I knew the words
That would show up in the fire.
Ah wretched! said I, this test to try,
To know this Ring so dire!

Nor dim nor cool, it was Sauron's tool,
This glorious Ring of fear:
Then all averred, I'd read the words
That brought the darkness near.
'Twas dread, I knew, what that Ring would do,
To bring the darkness near.

The fair breeze blew, the long miles flew,
His hill-home I could see;
I was the worst that ever burst
Into his private tea.

Down dropt the news, the tale dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad, this thing;
And he did plead, did we really need
The testing of his Ring!

All in a hot and copper fire,
The evil Ring would heat.
Right into fire I cast that band,
I barely kept my seat.

Spark after spark, spark after spark,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion:
A-waiting for a glowing rune
To write an evil notion.

Fire, fire, everywhere,
And all the flames did grow;
Fire, fire, everywhere,
It seemed to heat too slow.

The very deed did wroth my mind
That ever this should be!
Yea, runic things did crawl with fire
Upon it, we could see.

Aflame, aflame, in fiery name
The rune-fires danced that day;
To speak the language was a toil,
Left feeling old and grey.

And so in flames assured we were
Of the spirit that plagued us so;
No place to hide: it would follow us
And would find its Ring, I know.

My very tongue, its utterance done,
Felt withered at the root;
We did not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

Ah! Terrible day! The frightened looks
From my friend my heart stung!
A burdensome thing, that the evil Ring
About his neck was hung.



A weary time! a weary time!
How gazed our eyes so tired,
We'd had much speaking, since I had
Thrown that thing in the fire.

At first it seemed to him a plan,
And then it seemed amiss;
We planned and planned, until at last I
Did a certain time insist.

Except, amiss, he waits so long!
And danger nears and nears:
For tho' he dodged the leaving-time,
There's no hope it would veer.

With throat unslaked, some black lips spake
His name and uttered a wail;
Through all the land they search for him!
I came again, I urged him on,
And cried, "You flee or fail!"

With throat well slaked, with wine and cakes,
He slowly heeds my call.
Mercy! He sold his home, prepared to roam
And finally his pack drew on,
As if he were leaving all.

Run! Run! (I cried) You've time no more!
Hither I will see you well:
Move on to Bree, I'll hope to meet,
And "Underhill's"name to tell!

Saruman of Rings knew all;
Known for his great insight.
At once I rode to Isengard
Where dwelt the wizard White;
For Radagast brought word to me
From Saruman the White.

And straight away I sought advice,
(Elbereth send me grace!)
For I did not understand his sneers
Nor his proud, bright flashing face.

Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How proud he grows and grows!
Are these his plans, to grasp at Power,
In many-colored robes?

Are those his hands that seek the Ring,
To wear, and thus to rule?
And is that Power all he craves?
Is this his Choice? We have our staves,
To face a wizard's duel!

His fire was red, his words were fierce,
I flashed a yellow fire-ball:
Like stars of the night, his eyes did pierce,
In Nightmare Life-and-Death did we
Clash with our staffs, our all!

His naked greed outpowered me,
Tower's top-most held me trapt;
"The game is done! I've won, I've won!"
Quoth he, and fingers snapt.

Long the passing of the Days.
My hopes did dip; was the Ring out,
Was it safe? or caught in dark?
The far-heard wails came o'er the wind,
Ill news, those specters stark!

I listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life blood seemed to sip!
The stars seem'd dim, and thick the night,
When an Eagle's call came with sudden flight;
From the tower top did grip -
And clomb above the mountain far.
Night's cool Moon, with sweet bright stars
Lighted my nighttime trip, one after another,
One after one, by the star-dogged Moon
So quickly did we fly,
Each turned his face with a twinkling ray,
And comforted my eyes.

Far leagues he did carry me,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
Then heavy thump, to land I jump'd,
He'd brought me, O but time did fly, -
Did I run to hope or woe?
And Eagle's wing, it passed me by
Like the whizz of a cross-bow!'



I feared the wand'ring Ringbearer
Would put it on his hand!
The way art long and dark, alone
He'd be; this we hadn't planned!

I feared him lost and glittering Ring,
On his hobbit hand, so small, -
Fear not, fear not, thou Ringbearer!
I'm coming soon! I call.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone in the wide wide trees!
His wizard not there to keep
His soul from agony.

So many miles, both dry and wet;
E'en through the Marsh to ride:
And a thousand thousand neeker things
Lived on; and so did I.
I came upon the town of Bree,
And knew not what occur'd;
I looked into the Pony Inn,
And there was Butter-bur.

He looked a-frighted, and tried to say;
But or ever a word had gushed,
A whimpered whisper came, and made
My heart as dry as dust.

I closed my lids, and kept them close,
As his words like pulses beat;
"They've gone with Strider, tho' to stop I tried,"
This swept a great load off my weary eye,
And the Innkeeper off his feet.
The cold sweat melted from my limbs,
Not alone, and safe were they!
The look with which he looked on me
He'd never passed my way.

For Butterbur would remember well
My silence, then my cheer;
But oh! more memorable than that
Was my good word for his beer!
Several days, several nights, the hobbits had gone;
Strider would keep them near.

To Rivendell I began to ride,
And nowhere did stop or abide:
Quickly I was moving on,
With a hope or two beside -

I reached before the Bearer did,
Crost border waters spread;
But when crost Ringwraith Shadows - nay!
The charmed water rose alway
To fill the river bed!

When came the flooding of the Ford,
Horse-shape the water takes:
They moved in froth of shining white,
And when they reared, the elven light
Fell off in horsey flakes.

And all the Shadows, they did slip
I heard them screech and sink:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They flailed and drowned; and every trick
They tried in vain, I think.

O happy, he yet lives! no tongue
This beauty might declare;
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I gathered him unaware:
Til the kind Elves who heal came for him,
And gave him to their care.
And from my neck so free
A weight of care fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.



Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Lord Elrond should praise be given
He sent a gentle sleep, Halfelven,
To heal that little soul.

The sleeping hobbit in the bed,
Asleep quite long remained,
He dreamed while strength returned anew;
Though he awoke still drained.

His arm was warm, his eyes were clear,
He was, at first, confused;
For all seem'd faded like a dream,
Beyond recall, he mused.

I moved, and could not hold my tongue:
In great delight I laughed,
To think he'd almost died indeed, and
That danger now was past.

And soon he heard my long, long tale;
I made him bend his ear;
Though the fine sound of feasting hailed
Fine meals they're known for here.

How my tongue burst into life!
And a hundred word-wags came,
To and fro it was waggled about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
Til he thought me insane.

Though the coming meals did smell so good,
Still I talked and talked some more;
And the words poured out and swirled about;
I'd had to block the door.

To think that he would leave, and still
Had not heard all its sides:
My words shot as from some high crag,
No excuse, not even a crying jag,
Would keep my tale inside.

Aloud I sometimes paused a snip,
Yet now my tongue moved on!
Beneath the endless flowing Tale
The hobbit groaned anon.

He groaned, he stirred, he once uprose,
I spake, and held his eyes;
For my delight, even as a dream,
Was to make my long tale fly.

The hobbit sat, the tale moved on;
With never a pause it grew;
For Mithrandir, he can work his words,
When he is wont to do;
His captive sat like a lifeless tool
And was looking ghastly too.

This wizard in that hobbit's room
Could speak on, hour by hour:
My mind and body carried on,
I held him by word-power.

'I'm hungry, ancient Mithrandir!'
'Be calm, thou Ringbearer!
'Twas not the end, I say again,
Where was I? of course!' I spoke again.
And he droop'd down th' floor.

And when it dawned, I dropt my arms,
And looked around at last;
Sweet snores rose slowly from his mouth,
As breath from body passed.

Indeed, indeed, I knew he'd need
My story told again;
Surely he'd listened late in vain,
For Sleep had stolen in.

Sunlight a-dropping from the sky -
I heard the skylarks sing;
Trees full of all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the room and air
With their sweet jargoning!

My voice played like an instrument,
I loved to hear it toot;
So once again, my story long
I start, lest I be mute.

He woke; and still I was telling on
Through that pleasant afternoon,
My noise was like a babbling brook
As I told again of runes,
And in the sleeping house all night
Regaled him with my news.

Again, til noon I carried on,
No more protests did he breathe:
Slowly and surely went my lips,
Moving onward without reprieve

Sometimes he keeled over in sleep,
But my hand would wake him anew,
He slowly slid down to the floor
But I'd prop him, as a rule.
The fourth noon he fell off his stool,
And my lips fell open too.

Then, like a flopping doll let go,
He made a whimpered peep:
It was the last sound he made,
As he fell down in a heap.

How long he in that same fit lay,
I have not to declare;
For no more living breath returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
A fell voice in the air.

"Is it he?" quoth this, "Is this the one?
That's he who died from words,
He has in him no strength for breath -
Such a cruel fate he was laid full low
For Mithrandir talked him to death!


The Steward's Strong Son
Based on The Village Blacksmith by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Under a spreading Mallorn-tree
The Steward’s strong son stands.
This son, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is thick, and gold, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with hard-earn’d sweat,
He does whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he bows not to any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You hear him bellow and blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sword,
With faster beat or slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And hobbits traveling on with him
(He wonders whatever for),
They love to see the flashing sword,
And hear his bellowed roar,
And see that burning light that shines
Like sun from a metal door.

He goes on traveling with the rest,
And often his shield hoists;
He knows that there were promises, but
He hears the One Ring's voice,
Whispering from it’s hidden chain,
It tempts his heart with choice.

It sounds to him like the sweetest voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of it once more,
That in small hands it lies;
And with his haul, rough hand he grips
His sword and shuts his eyes.

Onward through peril he goes;
Each morning sees some path begin,
Each evening sees it close.
Something attempted, something done -
Yet it haunts each night’s repose.

We mourn for thee, o worthy friend,
For the battle thou hast fought!
Thus by the flaming desires of life
Our fortunes might be wrought;
Thus we might pay for wrongful pride
With burning deed and thought.