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Where once was light now darkness falls

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"Not all who wander are lost"

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    tom bombadil

    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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    povero Tom: pallido e freddo ti farò diventare!

    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 a shutter.
    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.
    …
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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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    Ehi, Bombadil! Da dove sei venuto ruzzolando

    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?
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    Uomo-Salice lo lasciò, sentendolo parlare

    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.
    …
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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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