The Hobbit: Or There and Back Again

by J.R.R. Tolkien

will go so far as to send you on this adventure. Very amusing for me, very good for you—and

Chip the glasses and crack the plates! Blunt the knives and bend the forks! That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates – Smash the bottles and burn the corks! Cut the cloth and tread on the fat! Pour the milk on the pantry floor! Leave the bones on the bedroom mat! Splash the wine on every door! Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl; Pound them up with a thumping pole; And when you’ve finished, if any are whole, Send them down the hall to roll! That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates! So, carefully! carefully with the plates!

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 gleaming 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 blazed 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!

knocked their king Golfimbul’s head clean off with a wooden club. It sailed a hundred yards through the air and went down a rabbit-hole, and in this way the battle was won and the game of Golf invented at the same moment.

And here is our little Bilbo Baggins, the burglar, the chosen and selected burglar.

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

O! What are you doing, And where are you going? Your ponies need shoeing! The river is flowing! O! tra-la-la-lally here down in the valley! O! What are you seeking, And where are you making? The faggots are reeking, The bannocks are baking! O! tril-lil-lil-lolly the valley is jolly, ha! ha! O! Where are you going With beards all a-wagging? No knowing, no knowing What brings Mister Baggins And Balin and Dwalin down into the valley in June ha! ha! O! Will you be staying, Or will you be flying? Your ponies are straying! The daylight is dying! To fly would be folly, To stay would be jolly And listen and hark Till the end of the dark to our tune ha! ha!

Clap! Snap! the black crack! Grip, grab! Pinch, nab! And down down to Goblin-town You go, my lad! Clash, crash! Crush, smash! Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs! Pound, pound, far underground! Ho, ho! my lad! Swish, smack! Whip crack! Batter and beat! Yammer and bleat! Work, work! Nor dare to shirk, While Goblins quaff, and Goblins laugh, Round and round far underground Below, my lad!

What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows?

Thirty white horses on a red hill, First they champ, Then they stamp, Then they stand still.

Voiceless it cries, Wingless flutters, Toothless bites, Mouthless mutters.

An eye in a blue face Saw an eye in a green face. “That eye is like to this eye” Said the first eye, “But in low place Not in high place.”

It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt. It lies behind stars and under hills, And empty holes it fills. It comes first and follows after, Ends life, kills laughter.

A box without hinges, key, or lid, Yet golden treasure inside is hid,

Alive without breath, As cold as death; Never thirsty, ever drinking, All in mail never clinking.

No-legs lay on one-leg, two-legs sat near on three-legs, four-legs got some.

This thing all things devours: Birds, beasts, trees, flowers; Gnaws iron, bites steel; Grinds hard stones to meal; Slays king, ruins town, And beats high mountain down.

Fifteen birds in five fir-trees, their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze! But, funny little birds, they had no wings! O what shall we do with the funny little things? Roast ’em alive, or stew them in a pot; fry them, boil them and eat them hot?

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-hey! Ya hoy!

The wind was on the withered heath, but in the forest stirred no leaf: there shadows lay by night and day, and dark things silent crept beneath. The wind came down from mountains cold, and like a tide it roared and rolled; the branches groaned, the forest moaned, and leaves were laid upon the mould. The wind went on from West to East; all movement in the forest ceased, but shrill and harsh across the marsh its whistling voices were released. The grasses hissed, their tassels bent, the reeds were rattling—on it went o’er shaken pool under heavens cool where racing clouds were torn and rent. It passed the lonely Mountain bare and swept above the dragon’s lair: there black and dark lay boulders stark and flying smoke was in the air. It left the world and took its flight over the wide seas of the night. The moon set sail upon the gale, and stars were fanned to leaping light.

Old fat spider spinning in a tree! Old fat spider can’t see me! Attercop! Attercop! Won’t you stop, Stop your spinning and look for me? Old Tomnoddy, all big body, Old Tomnoddy can’t spy me! Attercop! Attercop! Down you drop! You’ll never catch me up your tree!

Lazy Lob and crazy Cob are weaving webs to wind me. I am far more sweet than other meat, but still they cannot find me! Here am I, naughty little fly; you are fat and lazy. You cannot trap me, though you try, in your cobwebs crazy.

Roll—roll—roll—roll, roll-roll-rolling down the hole! Heave ho! Splash plump! Down they go, down they bump!

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!

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, All sorrow fail and sadness At the Mountain-king’s return!

Under the Mountain dark and tall The King has come unto his hall! His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread, And ever so his foes shall fall. The sword is sharp, the spear is long, The arrow swift, the Gate is strong; The heart is bold that looks on gold; The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong. 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. On silver necklaces they strung The light of stars, on crowns they hung The dragon-fire, from twisted wire The melody of harps they wrung. The mountain throne once more is freed! O! wandering folk, the summons heed! Come haste! Come haste! across the waste! The king of friend and kin has need. Now call we over mountains cold, ‘Come back unto the caverns old’! Here at the Gates the king awaits, His hands are rich with gems and gold. The king is come unto his hall Under the Mountain dark and tall. The Worm of Dread is slain and dead, And ever so our foes shall fall!

The dragon is withered, His bones are now crumbled; His armour is shivered, His splendour is humbled! Though sword shall be rusted, And throne and crown perish With strength that men trusted And wealth that they cherish, Here grass is still growing, And leaves are yet swinging, The white water flowing, And elves are yet singing Come! Tra-la-la-lally! Come back to the valley! The stars are far brighter Than gems without measure, The moon is far whiter Than silver in treasure; The fire is more shining On hearth in the gloaming Than gold won by mining, So why go a-roaming? O! Tra-la-la-lally Come back to the Valley. O! Where are you going, So late in returning? The river is flowing, The stars are all burning! O! Whither so laden, So sad and so dreary? Here elf and elf-maiden Now welcome the weary With Tra-la-la-lally Come back to the Valley, Tra-la-la-lally Fa-la-la-lally Fa-la!

Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together! The wind’s in the tree-top, the wind’s in the heather; The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower, And bright are the windows of Night in her tower. Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together! Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather! The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting; Merry is May-time, and merry our meeting. Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave him! Wind him in slumber and there let us leave him! The wanderer sleepeth. Now soft be his pillow! Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow! Sigh no more Pine, till the wind of the morn! Fall Moon! Dark be the land! Hush! Hush! Oak, Ash, and Thorn! Hushed be all water, till dawn is at hand!

Roads go ever ever on, Over rock and under tree, By caves where never sun has shone, By streams that never find the sea; Over snow by winter sown, And through the merry flowers of June, Over grass and over stone, And under mountains in the moon. Roads go ever ever on Under cloud and under star, Yet feet that wandering have gone Turn at last to home afar. Eyes that fire and sword have seen And horror in the halls of stone Look at last on meadows green And trees and hills they long have known.