The
wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight between the Farthings four,
And the wizard grey came riding—
Riding—riding—
The wizard grey came riding, up to the Bag End door.
He
spoke to the hobbit Frodo, so fair with clefted chin,
With coat of the tawny velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: so bright and clear each eye
And the Ring he held gave a twinkle,
From within the fire a-twinkle,
His uncle’s gift a-twinkle, bright as the jewelled sky.
Sam
was heard in the garden, as he gasped in the dark back yard,
And the wizard threw open the shutters, then all was locked and barred;
They fled past the rounded window, and they took the Ring so rare
And the time grew ever shorter,
The time grew ever shorter,
As they fled to the Prancing Pony, and they met the Ranger there.
And
dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Nob the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
He saw ghosts black with madness, who scattered fear like hay,
And they thirsted deep for slaughter,
They came to seize and slaughter,
But Strider watched and listened, and he heard the hobbit say—
"I
fear those dark companions, they’re after a prize to-night,
But I shall carry this thing of gold before the morning light;
Yet, while it presses me sharply, and harries me through the day,
They look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll take the Ring by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He
rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could lift his hand,
But he challenged the Wraiths at the river! His face burnt like a brand
As a white cascade of water came tumbling over the rest;
And he fell into dreams in the moonlight,
(Oh, strange, dark dreams in the moonlight!)
They tore at his soul in the moonlight, that child of the kindly West.
The
hobbits walked on in the dawning; they walked from morn to noon;
And out o' the bloody sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the moon rose over Mordor, a land so harsh and raw,
A troop of orcs came marching—
Marching—marching—
The Dark Lord’s host came marching, for the Ring that the Halfling bore.
They
found no ease on the stairway, they Shelob found instead,
And she poisoned Frodo and bound him, and Sam believed him dead;
The orcs took Frodo to the Tower, with black swords at their side
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Sam had learned, to his horror, that Frodo was locked inside.
They
had forced him up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had searched and stripped him naked, but no Ring found on his breast.
"Now, keep good watch!" and they whipped him.
Sam grit his teeth to say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to him by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
He
saved his master bravely, and they went on as they could
They battled ever onwards till they were wet with sweat or blood,
They stumbled and struggled in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
years,
Till, then, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
He reached the dreadful summit! The chance at last was his!
The
tip of one finger touched it; he strove no more for the rest!
Up, he stood up to attention, with the Ring upon his breast,
He was beyond all hearing; he would not strive again;
For the choice lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of his veins in the moonlight throbbed to the Ring's
refrain.
The
Dark Lord saw! Had they heard it? The screams were ringing clear;
The frantic race, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the sliver of moonlight, as Frodo fought for his will,
The Nazgul nine came riding,
Riding, riding!
The Wraiths on wings were climbing! He stood up, straight and still!
They
shrieked, in the dreadful silence! They screamed, in the echoing night!
Nearer they came and nearer! His face was like a light!
His eyes grew wide for a moment; he drew one last deep breath,
Then Gollum moved in the firelight,
A treacherous move in the firelight,
Severed his hand in the firelight and saved him—with his death.
All
turned; the shadow fell from the West; most did not know who stood
Bowed, with his head o'er the chasm, stained with his own red blood!
Not till the dawn they heard it, their faces shone to hear
How Frodo, the Shireborn hobbit,
The gentle clear-eyed hobbit,
Had saved their lives in the firelight, and lost in the darkness there.
Gollum
had gone like a madman, shrieking his joy to the sky,
With his miseries behind him and his Precious brandished high!
And Frodo returned to his homeland; a lad in a velvet coat
And he wrote of his Quest on the highway,
The dark and dreadful highway,
And he sat and remembered the highway, with a white jewel at his throat.
And
still of a summer's night, they say, when the wind was in the trees,
When the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road was a ribbon of moonlight between the Farthings four,
A hobbit tired came riding—
Riding—riding—
A hobbit tired came riding, up to the distant shore.
Over
the sands he wandered, a hobbit whose soul was scarred;
He embraced his friends there closely, whose love could not be marred;
He took a ship to the Havens, and he will be waiting there
for the friend who dearly loved him,
One who dearly loved him,
For all who dearly loved him, Frodo the Halfling fair.