Note: This was intended as something written by Sam at around the age of 18. It's rather quaint, but so I think many hobbit songs would be.

Sam’s Song

I heard a tale of silver ships
And Elves with shining eyes
And Oliphaunts and orcs with whips
And stars that sail the skies

I heard a tale of ladies fair
And bright jewels of living flame
How Lúthien made a web of hair
And Beren won his fame

But fairer than the stars that sail
And flowers in the spring that rise
Fairer than the fairest tale
Is the smile in my Rosie’s eyes.

The Starlight on the Western Seas

Teardrops fall
A martyred hope
Pinned to the dust of the earth
Slowly dies
Unmourned by the world
And the tears flow
Undaunted, unopposed
In rivulets to the Sea

Little by little
The tides increase—
Perfect, pure water,
The music of life,
Purified by grief—
The glimmering stars,
Tears unnumbered,
Mingle their holy radiance
With the grief of earth

Hope, martyred,
Slain in the dust,
By holy tears is raised
The Sea gives back
The gift of life
In never-ending waves

Note: I've included the song Sam sings in the tower of Cirith Ungol for easy reference. It is Tolkien's, and not mine! (Though I'm sure you all knew that, but just to be safe...) The other is meant to be Frodo's reply: Tolkien writes that Sam heard a song in reply to his, but he does not say what the song was. Because Sam's song points out his hopeful nature so strongly, I chose to make these examinations of character, and have given them the hobbits' Elvish titles: Harthad Uluithiad, or Hope Unquenchable (Sam), and Bronwe athan Harthad, Endurance beyond Hope (Frodo).

Harthad Uluithiad
Hope Unquenchable

In western lands beneath the Sun
the flowers may rise in Spring,
the trees may bud, the waters run,
the merry finches sing.
Or there maybe ‘tis cloudless night
and swaying beeches bear
the Elven-stars as jewels white
amid their branching hair.

Though here at journey’s end I lie
in darkness buried deep,
beyond all towers strong and high,
beyond all mountains steep,
above all shadows rides the Sun
and Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
nor bid the Stars farewell.

Bronwe athan Harthad
Endurance beyond Hope

Though light of Sun and glow of Star
are far beyond me here,
I’ll sing of lands I’ve known afar,
I’ll sing of lost friends dear.
I’ll sing aloud songs in the night,
though shadows low’r round me,
for Lórien still fair with light,
where grows the golden tree.

Though here the Stars are faded fast
and weary falls the night,
I offer all hope at the last,
for joy remains in light:
though all be ashes in the air
and blood beneath the lash,
my last mem’ry of aught that’s fair
I yield to fire and ash.

Well, after 'The Wounded Hand' I was in an Elanor mood. :) Elanor Gamgee falls asleep on the Hill above Bag End, and in a dream learns the meaning of love.

Love

I lay upon a green green hill,
a-staring at the sky
and sang a song of days long past
as clouds went drifting by.

The Sun went down, the Moon arose
and stars flamed in the sky—
I lay upon that green green hill
as dreams went drifting by.

The Moon sailed on across the sky
but there before my eyes
one dream there stopped, and sat with me—
both beautiful and wise.

He sat beside me on the hill
with quiet eyes and fair
I might have thought a star had come
to me from heaven’s air.

I questioned him on many things
in earth and sea and skies
and all the ways that folk must go
when shadow o’er them lies.

Why the highest should suffer most
and where the answer lies
for sorrow in the tales I love
and tears in Sam-dad’s eyes.

He looked at me and said ‘Dear child,
‘tis love that suffers so.
And love it is that makes green fields
rise from out the fallow.

Deep love it is that takes the weight
that others fear to bear,
and lights anew the darkened sky
and makes all sorrows fair.’

Then wondering I took his hand
and marveled not to find
that there were only four fingers
with my own five entwined.

The Running Stream

The White Lady of Rohan
Despairing of all hope:
A flower tall and white,
Fair and radiant in the morning,
Standing early-withered but still beautiful
Before the fall.

What is love but murder:
Slaying all other emotions,
Driving at last to madness?
The oncoming wave, sweeping o'er land and sea
A tide tall as mountains looming
Darkness Unescapable.

What then is life, if love should pass?
Darkness, darkness, and reeds sighing by the stream,
And flowers strewn on a mound of grass.
O happy maid, sing while you may!
For weeping at last will come, and life with love
Will pass away.

Then who is Death, that he should be feared?
No madness, no regret, a last long sleep
Lying still and cold on the River Lethe.
Thus flow all rivers at last to the Sea
And all hopes bear, garlanded in flowers,
To a bitter death.

Hymn of the Departing Elves

O Elbereth! to thee we cry
‘neath shadowed hills and darkened sky
across the great far-sund’ring seas
we see thy light through tangled trees.

Be near us, Lady, high and clear,
for we are all in darkness here
and shadowed terrors haunt the night
lend us your aid, o! grant us light!

And when death-horror round us falls
o! hear us from thine airy halls!
Rend asunder the night’s dark veil
with thine holy light, pure and pale.

The mourning exile thou wilt heed
who callest to thee in his need
and weeps for loss in Middle-earth
longing for the land of his birth.

Though tree and leaf are wild and fair,
and stars glimmer in darkened air,
still here we know all leaves must fly
and all we love pass with a sigh.

When spring is spent and all songs fade,
when gone is joy from tree and glade,
and weary hearts turn to the West
then guide us home to isles blest.

Note: I've been reading Beowulf lately in my Medieval English lit class, and felt inspired to try something in the Anglo-Saxon (Old English) poetic style. So this is a small fragment of the Rohirric 'Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers,' in translation, of course. ;) There are supposed to be caesurae (or poetic line breaks) in the middle of each line, but the formatting won't cooperate...

Mount Doom

Fire-bright, gasping, the dark ring-hold shakes,
trembles in moorings, shadow dark hall,
abode of flames. Fiends fall shrieking,
ancient night-flyers, hateful to men,
dread death-spirits, pierced by fire.
Weary they fall, the wanderers,
hard-driven, unyielding after mighty deeds,
great glory won, the praise of kings,
honor from spear-lords. Alone, broken they lie,
victory-defeated, the little hill-folk;
nine-fingered Frodo, the many-sorrowed,
fair in loss, in deadly ring-wound,
most noble lord, elven-bright way-farer,
and Samwise Stout-heart, best of companions—
no man may say that when dark the road
he acted faithlessly, broke oath with his sworn lord—
truest of thanes, most worthy of honor,
of many rich gifts. Few brave warriors,
great sword-thanes, would have dared that deed,
feuding with Sauron, dark shadow-dweller,
strong in sorceries, dread servant of Morgoth—
a halfling felled him, a hole-dweller brought him low,
humblest of All-father’s creatures. Now fallen they lie,
the fearless halflings, doom-shadowed,
ringed with flame, awaiting death, soul-release,
brave in the face of fate, cruel fire.
All-father saw, the One gave heed,
abandoned not the ring-bearers, his dear children,
to bitter fate in fire, flaming earth-wrack.
Through the lofty airs, bright-winged, war-brave,
the eagles came, mighty high-flyers, fierce in air,
bearing with them Gandalf, strong in wisdom,
wise in war-strength; he slew the fire-terror,
giant shadow-stalker, ancient enemy of Durin’s race.
Now he came hastening, riding on the wind, eager,
seeking the halflings, fire-weary, shadow-cloaked,
strong in weakness. Down swept Gwaihir,
wind-swift, silent in air, mighty sky-rider,
and down came Landroval, in flight no less swift,
skilled lord of upper airs. They lifted the halflings,
cradled in claws, borne out of the fire,
bitter ash-heap, and raised in air cold and clear,
weary and wounded, borne away in honor,
princes of the west, to well-earned rest.

Note: Just a little musing that came to me while sitting in the gardens one autumn day. Some thoughts from Frodo after the completion of his Quest. I only recently discovered it again, and thought I'd post it. I hope you enjoy it.

Writing Out of Doors

I suppose it’s simple enough to write with only four fingers. At any rate it’s not so bad as writing with your left hand…

The leaves are falling again. The yellow leaves in the grass look almost like the golden sunstar elanor, and the wood is still golden above. A pair of gulls just flew by, pale against a bright blue sky, crying in their mournful voices for the sea. The Sea! oh, how it calls to me, though I cannot half imagine why. I have seen it in my dreams. It is sad, I think, but not unhappy, fair and wise and wild. They told me in Rivendell that it calls to those whose hearts are akin. I wonder about that, for I am none of those things. I think it is simply a gift.

It is growing chill now beneath Sam’s mallorn, but I am loath to go in. The whole earth is singing today, a sad but peaceful sort of song. I think if there were words they would be memory and loss, but not of the angry or self-pitying sort. They simply are. This too is a gift. I suppose it is always so, when things are in danger, that someone has to lose them so everyone else can find and keep them. But the leaves are no less beautiful when they lie on the ground. And they are still singing. It’s a lovely song, though, almost unearthly, as if they’ve gained some great thing by their loss, and they have joy in the midst of their grief. And I suppose that is always so, too…

~an excerpt from the journal of Frodo Baggins, 25 Winterfilth 1420