The adventures of Tom Bombadil

Old Tom Bombadil was a merry fellow;
bright blue his jacket was and his boots were yellow,
green were his girdle and his breeches all of leather;
he wore in his tall hat a swan-wing feather.
He lived up under Hill, were the Withywindle
ran from a grassy well down into the dingle.

Old Tom in summertime walked about the meadows
gathering the buttercups, running after shadows,
tickling the bumblebees that buzzed among the flowers,
sitting by the waterside for hours upon hours.

There his beard dangled long down into the water:
up came Goldberry, the River-woman's daughter;
pulled Tom's hanging hair. In he went a-wallowing
under the water-lilies, bubbling and a-swallowing.

"Hey, Tom Bombadil! Whither are you going?"
said fair Goldberry. "Bubbles you are blowing,
frightening the finny fish and the brown water-rat,
startling the dabchicks, and drowing your feather-hat.

"You bring it back again, there's a pretty maiden!"
said Tom Bombadil. "I do not care for wading.
Go down! Sleep again where the pools are shady
far below willow-roots, little water-lady!"

Back to her mother's house in the deepest hollow
swam young Goldberry. But Tom, he would not follow;
on knotted willow-roots he sat in sunny weather,
drying his yellow boots and his draggled feather.

Up woke Willow-man, began upon his singing,
sang Tom fast asleep under branches swinging;
in a crack caught him tight: snick! it closed together,
trapped Tom Bombadil, coat and hat and feather.

"Ha, Tom Bombadil! We be you a-thinking,
peeping inside my tree, watching me a-drinking
deep in my wooden house, tickling me with feather,
dripping wet down my face like a rainy weather?"

"You let me out again, Old Man Willow!
I am stiff lying here; they're no sort of pillow
your hard crooked roots. Drink your river-water!
Go back to sleep again like the River-daughter!"

Willow-man let him loose when he heard him speaking;
locked fast his wooden house, muttering and creaking,
whispering inside the tree.  Out from willow-dingle
Tom went walking on up the Withywindle
Under the forest-eaves he sat a while a-listening:
on the boughs piping birds were chirruping and whistling.
Butterflies about his head went quivering and winking,
until grey clouds came up, as the sun was sinking.

Then Tom hurried on.  Rain began to shiver,
round rings spattering in the running river;
a wind blew, shaken leaves chilly drops were dripping;
into a sheltering hole Old Tom went skipping.

Out came Badger-brock with his snowy forehead
and his dark blinking eyes.  In the hill he quarried
with his wife and many sons.  By the coat they caught him,
pulled him inside their earth, down their tunnels brought him.

Inside their secret house, there they sat a-mumbling:
"Ho, Tom Bombadil! Where have you come tumbling,
bursting in the front door? Badger-folk have caught you.
You'll never find it out, the way that we have brought you!"

"Now, old Badger-brock, do you hear me talking?
You show me out at once! I must be a-walking.
Show me to your backdoor under briar roses;
then clean grimpy paws, wipe your earthly noses!
Go back to sleep again on your straw pillow,
like fair Goldberry and Old Man Willow!"

Then all the Badger-folk said: "We beg your pardon!"
They showed Tom out again to their thorny garden,
went back and hid themselves, a-shivering and a-shaking,
bloked up all their doors, earth together raking.

Rain had passed.  The sky was clear, and in the summer-gloaming
Old Tom Bombadil laughed as he came homing,
unlocked his door again, and opened up sutter.
In the kitchen round the lamp moths began to flutter;
Tom through the window saw waking stars come winking,
and the new slender moon early westward sinking.

Dark came under Hill.  Tom, he lit a candle;
upstairs creaking went, turned the door-handle.
"Hoo, Tom Bombadil! Look what night has brought you!
I'm behind the door.  Now at last I'v caught you!
You'd forgotten Barrow-wight dwelling in the old mound
up there on hill-top with the ring of stones around.
He's loose again.  Under earth he'll take you.
Poor Tom Bombadil, pale and cold he'll make you!"

"Go out! Shut the door, and never come back after!
Take away gleaming eyes, take your hollow laughter!
Go back to grassy mound, on your stony pillow
lay down your bony head, like Old Man Willow,
like young Goldberry, and Badger-folk in burrow!
Go back to buried gold and forgotten sorrow!"

Out fled Barrow-wight through the window leaping,
through the yard, over wall like a shadow sweeping,
up hill wailing went back to leaning stone-rings,
back under lonely mound, rattling his bone rings.

Old Tom Bombadil lay upon his pillow
sweeter than Goldberry, quieter than the Willow,
snugger than the Badger-folk or the Barrow-dwellers;
slept like a humming-top snored like a bellows.

He woke in morning light, whistled like a starling,
sang, "Come, derry-dol, merry-dol, my darling!"
He clapped on his battered hat, boots, and coat and feather;
opened the window wide to the sunny weather.

Wise old Bombadil, he was a wary fellow;
bright blue his jacket was, and his boots were yellow.
None ever caught old Tom in upland or in dingle,
walking the forest-paths, or by the Withywindle,
or out on the lily-pools in boat upon the water.
But one day Tom, he went and caught the River-daughter,
in green gown, flowing hair, sitting in the rushes,
singing old water-songs to birds upon the bushes.

He caught her, held her fast! Water-rats went scuttering
reeds hissed, herons cried, and her heart was fluttering.
Said Tom Bombadil: "Here's my pretty maiden!
You shall come home with me! The table is all laden:
yellow cream, honeycomb, white bread and butter;
roses at the window-sill and peeping round the shutter.
You shall come under Hill! Never mind your mother
in her deep weedy pool: there you'll find no lover!"

Old Tom Bombadil had a merry wedding,
crowned all with buttercups, hat and feather shedding;
his bride with forgetmenots and flag-lilies for garland
was robed all in silver-green.  He sang like a starling,
hummed like a honey-bee, lilted to the fiddle,
clasping his river-maid round her slender middle.

Lamps gleamed within his house, and white was the bedding;
in the bright honey-moon Badger-folk came treading,
danced down under Hill, and Old Man Willow
tapped, tapped at window-pane, as they slept on the pillow,
on the bank in the reeds River-woman sighing
heard Barrow-wight in his mound crying.

Old Tom Bombadil heeded not the voices,
taps, knocks, dancing feet, all the nightly noises;
slept till the sun arose, then sang like a starling:
"Hey!  Come derry-dol, merry-dol, my darling!"
sitting on the door-step chopping sticks of willow,
while fair Goldberry combed her tresses yellow.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

O vegio Bombadillo o l'ëa un compâ aspoinïo,
co-i stivæ giani e a gippa de'n bello bleu ardïo,
con a seu çenta verde e i seu bragoin de pelle
e unna ciumma de çigno in sce l'ærto cappello.
O stava sotta o Bricco, là donde o Vortasarxo
o cöre da-a vivagna tutto zù inta vallâ.

O vegio Maxo, a-a stæ, o l'anava à pe proei,
à cheugge bottoin d'öo, à corrî appreuvo a-e ombre,
à ticossâ i scäfoin che bugna in gïo a-e scioî,
settòu da-a rente à l'ægua à tutt'öe, pe de öe.

E là a seu barba longa a locciava in sce l'ægua; 
vegne sciù Grannadöo, a figgia da Scignöa
do Sciumme, a ciappa fòrte i cavelli do Maxo,
de sotta a-i livi d'ægua a ô manda, à borboggiâ.

"E allöa, Bombadillo, donde l'é che ti væ?
- ghe dixe Grannadöo - E ampolle che ti fæ
fan trovâ poïa a-i gianchetti e finn-a a-i ratti d'ægua,
ti dæ breiga a-i serroin, ti te bagni o cappello!"

"Ammïa un pittin de dâghe 'nna cianta, bella zoena!
o dixe Bombadillo - No gh'ò coæ de nuâ.
Vanni torna à dormî donde l'ægua a fa e ombre,
sotta e reixe do sarxo, baccanetta de onde!"

E a zoena Grannadöo inte prefonditæ
a neua di grændi abimmi fin a-a cà de seu moæ.
O Maxo o no gh'à testa d'anâghe appreuvo, e a-o sô
o s'assetta, in scê reixe tutte groppi de'n sarxo
pe fâ sciugâ i stivæ giani e a ciumma scöa.

L'Òmmo-Sarxo o s'addescia e co-a canson ch'o canta
fïto o fa addormî o Maxo sott'a-e ramme che ô ninn-an;
con un creppo o l'abbæra, ciac! O l'acciappa streito
o Maxo Bombadillo, vestî, ciumma e berretto.

"Â, Maxo Bombadillo, mi me pâ che ti ciòcchi;
t'aggueiti into mæ ærboo, ti spionezzi che beivo
drento a-a mæ cà de legno, e pòi ti me bollìtighi
co-a ciumma, e ti me stissi da gran ægua in sciô möro?"

"E làscime anâ feua, ti, Vegio Òmmo Sarxo!
che son chì tutto réddeno; no en di oegê segùo,
ste reixe intortignæ e dùe. Beivi a teu ægua, 
vànni torna à dormî comme a figgia do sciumme!" 

De sentîlo parlâ, l'òmmo Sarxo o te ô mòlla;
o se særa inta cà de legno à mormoggiâ
e lì o scrosce e o continua drento à l'ærboo à ciccioâ.
E o Maxo o se ne va d'inta vallâ do Sarxo,
e tutto o Vortasarxo o se remonta à pê.
In sce l'oexin do bòsco o se mette in oegion:
gh'é di öxelli in scê ramme, che pâ che gh'an a musa,
scigöan e fan gazzæa. E parpaggeue ghe végnan
à parpaggiâ d'in gïo a-a testa e à parpellâ,
scin che s'ammuggia e nuvie grixe, e o sô o se ne va.

Allöa o Maxo o camminn-a. Tanto se mette à ceuve,
schitta d'in gïo di çerci into riâ ch'o strixella;
sciuscia o vento e da-e feugge ch'o lòccia o fa stissâ
de gosse freide; o Maxo o se va à refollâ
tutto à säti inte'n beuggio pe attrovâ proteçion.

Vegne feua Meistro Tascio, co-a seu fronte de neive
e i euggi che parpéllan, scùi. O cava into bricco
co-a moggê e con ben ben de figgeu. Pe-o vestî
acciàppan Bombadillo e ô spóncian drento a-a sbæra,
tutto zù inte seu tann-e se ô pòrtan, sotta tæra.

Drent'a-a seu cà segretta s'asséttan e mogógnan:
"Ô, Maxo Bombadillo! Donde ti vegni à cazze?
Ti ne cacci zù o pòrtego? Òua t'emmo acciappòu.
Mai ciù t'attroviæ a stradda, pe-a quæ t'emmo portòu!"
 

"Ma òua, vegio Tascio, stamme ben à sentî.
Famme vedde a-a spedïa a stradda da sciortî,
a pòrta de servixo sotta e reuse sarvæghe;
stózzite e sampe brutte e o naso pin de tæra!
Vàttene à dormî torna in sce l'oegê de paggia,
pægio de Grannadöo bella e de l'Òmmo-Sarxo!"

E lantô tutto o pòpolo Tascio: "Ciammemmo scuse!",
ghe móstran a sciortïa d'into giardin de spinn-e,
van in derrê e s'ascóndan, e trémmoan e trappéllan,
særan ben e seu pòrte, con ammuggiâ da tæra.

E l'ægua a s'é abbastâ. O çê o l'é ciæo; à l'arbô
da seiann-a da stæ o Maxo Bombadillo
o rïe, quand'o l'arriva à cà e o leva i færi
da pòrta e o l'arve i scùi di barcoin. In coxinn-a
se mette à xeuattâ e parpaggeue da neutte,
e o Maxo da-o barcon o stâ à ammiâ e stelle
che s'addéscian e lùxan e 'nna stiggia messoïa
de lunn-a a chinn-a fïto, lonxi lazzù à ponente. 

Vegne scùo sotta o bricco. O Maxo, co-a candeia
açeisa, o monta i scæn che scrosce e o va de d'äto.
O gïa o pommo da pòrta. "Ô Maxo Bombadillo!
Mïa cöse t'à portòu a neutte! Son chì derrê
da pòrta: t'ò acciappòu, in sciâ fin. Ti t'æ ascordòu
che gh'é o Lëmo de Cheulloe ch'o sta into vegio peuzo
lasciù, in çimma do bricco con o çercio de prìe.
Òua o s'é libeòu. O te portià là, sotta
tæra, meschin de'n Maxo, o te faià freido e futo!"

"Sciampra de chì, sæ! Pàssime sta pòrta e ammïite ben
de stâte ciù à fâ vedde! Pòrtite via i teu euggi
luxenti, e via rebéllite sta voxe rantegosa!
Torna a-o bricco azzerbòu; in sce l'oegê de prìa
pösa a cascia da testa, pægio de l'Òmmo-Sarxo,
da zoena Grannadöo, di Tasci inte seu tann-e!
Torna à l'öo interròu, a-o teu ascordòu besiggio!"

Scappa o Lëmo de Cheulloe, co'un säto da-o barcon
de pe-o giardin o passa, comme unn'ombra in scê muäge,
o va in derrê de ronsa finn-a a-o çercio de prìe
che péndan, e o rangogna, a-o solitäio muggio
de tæra o fa retorno, e o fa cioccâ e seu òsse.

S'accoëga o vegio Maxo in sce l'oegê, ciù döçe
che Grannadöo, ciù queto che o Sarxo e ancon ciù còmodo
che o pòpolo di Tasci, ciù che o Lëmo de Cheulloe;
e o dòrme comme un succo e o ronfa comme un màntexo.

Into spægâ do giorno o s'addescia, o scigöa
comme un strunello e o canta: "Balla ghidon ghidena!
Bello mottin de sùccao!" O s'ingiarma de sprescia 
co-o seu cappello frusto, stivæ, vestî e ciumma;
o l'arve o barcon grande pe fâ intrâ ben o Sô.

O säio Bombadillo o l'ëa de longo à l'euggio,
co-o seu giacchê d'un bleu schillente e i stivæ giani.
Nisciun n'à mai ciappòu o Maxo, a-o monte ò a-o cian, 
in scî sentê do bòsco, ò arente a-o Vortasarxo,
ò in barca sorve l'ægua là donde beutta i livi.
Ma unna vòtta o l'é anæto pròpio lê à ciappâ a Figgia
do Sciumme: a l'ëa assettâ tra i zonchi, co-i cavelli
a-o vento, o vestî verde, e a cantava de vege
cansoin d'ægua a-i öxelli che gh'ëa de d'äto a-i costi.

Lê o l'abbæra e o â tegne streita! Scàppa d'asbrïo
i ratti, o canniòu o scrosce; i perdigiorni sbràggian,
e lê a gh'à o batticheu. "Te â chì a mæ bella zoena!
Ti vegniæ à cà con mi, che l'é zà misso in töa
scciumma de læte giana, brische d'amê, pan gianco,
butïro, e e reuse in çimma da ciappa do barcon
aggueitan da-a giöxìa. Ti vegniæ sotta o bricco!
Scòrdite a smeuggia fonda de desmùo de teu moæ:
là sotta de galanti segùo no t'attroviæ!"

Bombadillo o l'à fæto davvei un bello maiezzo,
co' in testa bottoin d'öo, sensa cappello e ciumma;
a sposâ a l'ëa vestïa verde arzento, e in sciâ testa
'nna resta de giamelle stradogge e de miosòti.
O cantava ch'o paiva un strunello, o mormoava
comme un avia in sce'n ton de violin e o strenzeiva
a Baccann-a de l'onda d'in gïo a-o scianco stiggio.

De lampe straluxìvan inta seu cà, a l'ëa gianca
l'arcòva, sotta a lunn-a i Tasci so'arrivæ
e an ballòu sotta o bricco; tanto che l'Òmmo-Sarxo
o piccava a-o barcon, lô in sce l'oegê dormìvan,
in sce l'erze tra i zonchi cianzeiva a Moæ do Sciumme,
e se sentiva o Lëmo de Cheulloe luâ in sciô bricco.

O vegio Bombadillo o no gh'à dæto a mente,
a-e voxe, a-i ciòcchi, a-i pê che balla, e à tutto o fô
da neutte; o l'à dormïo scin a-o spægâ do sô.
E dòppo o l'à cantòu comme un strunello: "Ëi,
balla ghidon ghidena, bello mottin de sùccao!"
e o s'é assettòu in sciô scæn da pòrta e lì o buscava
çerte astelle de sarxo, e into frattempo a bella
Grannadöo e seu tresse bionde a se pëtenava.