Стихотворения
из "Братства Кольца" "
Three Rings for the
Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of Stone,
Nine for 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.
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 weary feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
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 shall fade! Away shall fade!
Fire and lamp, and meat and bread,
And then to bed! and then to bed!
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 hang by her were sown,
In windy fields now bright and clear
We see your silver blossom blown!
O Elbereth! Giltoniel!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on the Western Seas.
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.
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 that rain or rippling streams
is Water Hot that smokes and steams.
O! Water cold we may pour at need
down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed;
but better is Beer, if drink we lack,
and Water Hot poured down the back.
O! Water is fair that leaps on high
in a fountain white beneath the sky;
but never did fountain sound so sweet
as splashing Hot Water with my feet!
Farewell we call to
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 Elves yet dwell
In glades beneath the misty fell,
Through moor and waste we ride in haste,
And whither then we cannot tell.
With foes 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!
O! Wanderers in the
shadowed land
despair not! For though dark they stand,
al 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...
Hey dol! merry dol! ring
a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!
Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!
Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered
starling.
Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,
Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,
There my pretty lady is, River-woman's daughter,
Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the
water.
Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing
Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him
singing?
Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! and merry-o,
Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o!
Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away!
Tom's in a hurry now. Evening will follow day.
Tom's going home again water-lilies bringing.
Hey! come merry dol! Can you hear me singing?
Hop along, my little
friends, up the Withywindle!
Tom's going on ahead candles for to kindle.
Down west sinks the Sun: soon you will be groping.
When the night-shadows fall, then the door will
open;
Out of the window-panes light will twinkle yellow.
Fear no alder black! Heed no hoary willow!
Fear neither root no bough! Tom goes on before
you.
Hey now! merry dol! We'll be waiting for you!
Hey! Come derry dol! Hop alone, my hearties!
Hobbits! Ponies all! We are fond of parties.
Now let the fun begin! Let us sing together!
Now let the song begin! Let us sing together
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy
weather,
Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather,
Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather,
Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on he water:
Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!
O slender as a willow-wand!
O clearer than clear water!
O reed by the living pool! Fair river-daughter!
O spring-time and summer-time, and spring again
after!
O wind on the waterfall, and the leaves' laughter!
I had an errand here:
gathering water-lilies,
green leaves and lilies white to please my pretty
lady,
the last ere the year's end to keep them from the
winter,
to flower by her pretty feet till the snows are
melted.
Each year at summer's end I go to find them for
her,
in a wide pool, deep and clear, far down
Withywindle;
there they open first in spring and there they
linger latest.
By that pool long ago I found the River-Daughter,
fair young Goldberry sitting in the rushes.
Sweet was her singing then, and her heart was
beating!
And that proved well for you - for now I shell no
longer
go down deep again along the forest-water,
not while the year is old. Nor shall I be passing
Old Man Willow's house this side of spring-time,
not till the merry spring, when the River-daughter
dances down the withy-path to bathe in the water.
Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom
Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by reed and willow,
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!
Cold be hand and heart and bone,
and cold be sleep under stone:
never more to wake on stony bed,
never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead.
In the black wind the stars shall die,
and still on gold here let them lie,
till the dark lord lifts his hand,
over dead sea and withered land.
Old Tom Bombadil is a
merry fellow,
Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are
yellow.
None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the
Master:
His songs are stronger sons, and his feet are
faster.
Get out, you old Wight! Vanish in the sunlight!
Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go
wailing,
Out into the barren lands far beyond the
mountains!
Come never here again! Leave you barrow empty!
Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world
is mended.
Wake now my merry lads! Wake and hear me calling!
Warm now be heart and limb! The cold stone is
fallen;
Dark door is standing wide; dead hand is broken.
Night under Night is flown, and the Gate is open!
Hey! now! Come hoy now! Whither do you wander?
Up, down, near or far, here, there or yonder?
Sharp-ears, Wise-nose, Swish-tail and Bumpkin,
White-socks my little lad, and old Fatty Lumpkin!
Tom's country ends here: he will not pass the
borders.
Tom has his house to mind, and Goldberry is
waiting!
There is an inn, a merry
old inn
beneath the old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself come down
one night ti drink his fill.
The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays a 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 good cheer among the guests,
Ho 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 of 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 of 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 of 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!
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 shadow shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shell be king.
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.
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