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Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass grows The West Wind comes walking, and about the walls it goes. ‘What news from the West, O wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight? Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight?’ ‘I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey; I saw him walk in empty lands, until he passed away Into the shadows of the North. I saw him then no more. The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor.’ ‘O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar, But you came not from the empty lands where no men are.’
From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones; The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans. ‘What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve? Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve.’ ‘Ask not of me where he doth dwell – so many bones there lie On the white shores and the dark shores under the stormy sky; So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea. Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me!’ ‘O Boromir! Beyond the gate the seaward road runs south, But you came not with the
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From the Gate of Kings the North Wind rides, and past the roaring falls; And clear and cold about the tower its loud horn calls. ‘What news from the North, O mighty wind, do you bring to me today? What news of Boromir the Bold? For he is long away.’ ‘Beneath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought. His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought. His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest; And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, bore him upon its breast.’ ‘O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the
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The last words of Boromir he long kept secret.
Gondor! Gondor, between the Mountains and the Sea! West Wind blew there; the light upon the Silver Tree Fell like bright rain in gardens of the Kings of old. O proud walls! White towers! O wingéd crown and throne of gold! O Gondor, Gondor! Shall Men behold the Silver Tree, Or West Wind blow again between the Mountains and the Sea?
Good or evil, I do not know; but we are called.
Aragorn threw back his cloak. The elven-sheath glittered as he grasped it, and the bright blade of Andúril shone like a sudden flame as he swept it out. ‘Elendil!’ he cried. ‘I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, and am called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dúnadan, the heir of Isildur Elendil’s son of Gondor. Here is the Sword that was Broken and is forged again! Will you aid me or thwart me? Choose swiftly!’
the Men of the Mark do not lie, and therefore they are not easily deceived.
such was the Elvish way with all good beasts.
‘So many strange things have chanced that to learn the praise of a fair lady under the loving strokes of a Dwarf’s axe will seem no great wonder.
‘There are some things that it is better to begin than to refuse, even though the end may be dark.
‘I have heard nothing of this in my own land, save only songs that tell how the Onodrim, that Men call Ents, dwelt there long ago; for Fangorn is old, old even as the Elves would reckon it.’
little furtive figures that in the dim light looked like elf-children in the deeps of time peering out of the Wild Wood in wonder at their first Dawn.
This is just dim, and frightfully tree-ish.
looked almost like the figure of some gnarled old man, standing there, blinking in the morning-light.
They were too eager to be surprised at the remarkable way in which the cuts and sores of their captivity had healed and their vigour had returned.
I almost felt I liked the place.’
‘Almost felt you liked the Forest! That’s good! That’s uncommonly kind of you,’ said a strange voice.
do not let us b...
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‘One felt as if there was an enormous well behind them, filled up with ages of memory and long, slow, steady thinking; but their surface was sparkling with the present; like sun shimmering on the outer leaves of a vast tree, or on the ripples of a very deep lake. I don’t know, but it felt as if something that grew in the ground – asleep, you might say, or just feeling itself as something between root-tip and leaf-tip, between deep earth and sky had suddenly waked up, and was considering you with the same slow care that it had given to its own inside affairs for endless years.’
Do not be hasty,
I am an Ent,
The Ent, I am,
Not so hasty.
Learn now the lore of Living Creatures! First name the four, the free peoples: Eldest of all, the elf-children; Dwarf the delver, dark are his houses; Ent the earthborn, old as mountains; Man the mortal, master of horses:
Beaver the builder, buck the leaper, Bear bee-hunter, boar the fighter;
Hound is hungry, hare is fearful . .
Eagle in eyrie, ox in pasture, Hart horn-crownéd; hawk is swiftest, Swan the whitest, serpent coldest . . .
‘Half-grown hobbits, the hole-dwellers.
‘Hoom, hmm! Come now! Not so hasty! You call yourselves hobbits? But you should not go telling just anybody. You’ll be letting out your own right names if you’re not careful.’
‘Hm, but you are hasty folk, I see,’ said Treebeard. ‘I am honoured by your confidence; but you should not be too free all at once.
Real names tell you the story of the things they belong to in my language, in the Old Entish as you might say. It is a lovely language, but it takes a very long time to say anything in it, because we do not say anything in it, unless it is worth taking a long time to say, and to listen to.
‘Then I can answer your other questions,’ said Treebeard. ‘I am not going to do anything with you: not if you mean by that “do something to you” without your leave. We might do some things together.
They felt, oddly enough, safe and comfortable,
Some of us are still true Ents, and lively enough in our fashion, but many are growing sleepy, going tree-ish, as you might say. Most of the trees are just trees, of course; but many are half awake. Some are quite wide awake, and a few are, well, ah, well getting Entish. That is going on all the time.
That sort of thing seems to spread.
In the willow-meads of Tasarinan I walked in the Spring. Ah! the sight and the smell of the Spring in Nan-tasarion! And I said that was good.
He made them describe the Shire and its country over and over again. He said an odd thing at this point. ‘You never see any, hm, any Ents round there, do you?’ he asked. ‘Well, not Ents, Entwives I should really say.’ ‘Entwives?’ said Pippin. ‘Are they like you at all?’ ‘Yes, hm, well no: I do not really know now,’ said Treebeard thoughtfully. ‘But they would like your country, so I just wondered.’
By root and twig, but it is a strange business: up sprout a little folk that are not in the old lists, and behold! the Nine forgotten Riders reappear to hunt them, and Gandalf takes them on a great journey, and Galadriel harbours them in Caras Galadhon, and Orcs pursue them down all the leagues of Wilderland: indeed they seem to be caught up in a great storm. I hope they weather it!’
‘I used to be anxious when the shadow lay on Mirkwood, but when it removed to Mordor, I did not trouble for a while: Mordor is a long way away.
I told him many things that he would never have found out by himself; but he never repaid me in like kind. I cannot remember that he ever told me anything.
I have been idle. I have let things slip. It must stop!’
‘But I spoke hastily. We must not be hasty. I have become too hot. I must cool myself and think; for it is easier to shout stop! than to do it.’
You see, we lost the Entwives.’
We lost them, I said. We lost them and we cannot find them.’
They did not desire to speak with these things; but they wished them to hear and obey what was said to them. The Entwives ordered them to grow according to their wishes, and bear leaf and fruit to their liking; for the Entwives desired order, and plenty, and peace (by which they meant that things should remain where they had set them).
ENT. When Spring unfolds the beechen leaf, and sap is in the bough; When light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow; When stride is long, and breath is deep, and keen the mountain-air, Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair! ENTWIFE. When Spring is come to garth and field, and corn is in the blade; When blossom like a shining snow is on the orchard laid; When shower and Sun upon the Earth with fragrance fill the air, I’ll linger here, and will not come, because my land is fair. ENT. When Summer lies upon the world, and in a noon of gold Beneath the roof of
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O Orofarnë, Lassemista, Carnimírië! O rowan fair, upon your hair how white the blossom lay! O rowan mine, I saw you shine upon a summer’s day, Your rind so bright, your leaves so light, your voice so cool and soft: Upon your head how golden-red the crown you bore aloft! O rowan dead, upon your head your hair is dry and grey; Your crown is spilled, your voice is stilled for ever and a day. O Orofarnë, Lassemista, Carnimírië!’
To Isengard! Though Isengard be ringed and barred with doors of stone; Though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and bare as bone, We go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door; For bole and bough are burning now, the furnace roars – we go to war! To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum, we come, we come; To Isengard with doom we come! With doom we come, with doom we come!
Trolls are only counterfeits, made by the Enemy in the Great Darkness, in mockery of Ents, as Orcs were of Elves.
