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    Tom Bombadil’s Song

    Torniamo con la #musicatolkieniana!
    Oggi ci fa compagnia la Tolkien Ensemble con “Tom Bombadil’s Song”:
    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!…

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    dormì fino all’alba e poi prese a cantare

    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 old Barrow-wight in his mound crying.
    …
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    Tom ebbe un matrimonio davvero assai gioioso

    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.
    …
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    Cara dol, bella dol, amor!

    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!’
    …
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    Fuggì allora lo Spettro

    ‘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!
    …
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    Fammi uscire all’istante!

    ‘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 grimy paws, wipe your earthy noses!
    Go back to sleep again on your straw pillow,
    like fair Goldberry and Old Man Willow!’
    …
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    Uomo-Salice, avanti! Fammi subito uscire!

    ‘Ha, Tom Bombadil! What 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.
    …
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    Si destò l’Uomo-Salice e prese sì a cantare

    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!
    …
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