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in the Rivendell version found transformed and applied, somewhat incongruously, to the High-elvish and Númenórean legends of Eärendil. Probably because Bilbo invented its metrical devices and was proud of them. They do not appear in other pieces in the Red Book. The older form, here given, must belong to the early days after Bilbo’s return from his journey. Though the influence of Elvish traditions is seen, they are not seriously treated, and the names used (Derrilyn, Thellamie, Belmarie, Aerie) are mere inventions in the Elvish style, and are not in fact Elvish at all.

      The influence of the events at the end of the Third Age, and the widening of the horizons of the Shire by contact with Rivendell and Gondor, is to be seen in other pieces. No. 6, though here placed next to Bilbo’s Man-in-the-Moon rhyme, and the last item, No. 16, must be derived ultimately from Gondor. They are evidently based on the traditions of Men, living in shorelands and familiar with rivers running into the Sea. No. 6 actually mentions Belfalas (the windy bay of Bel), and the Sea-ward Tower, Tirith Aear, of Dol Amroth. No. 16 mentions the Seven Rivers¹ that flowed into the Sea in the South Kingdom, and uses the Gondorian name, of High-elvish form, Fíriel, mortal woman.² In the Langstrand and Dol Amroth there were many traditions of the ancient Elvish dwellings, and of the haven at the mouth of the Morthond from which ‘westward ships’ had sailed as far back as the fall of Eregion in the Second Age. These two pieces, therefore, are only re-handlings of Southern matter, though this may have reached Bilbo by way of Rivendell. No. 14 also depends on the lore of Rivendell, Elvish and Númenórean, concerning the heroic days at the end of the First Age; it seems to contain echoes of the Númenorean tale of Túrin and Mîm the Dwarf.

      Nos. 1 and 2 evidently come from the Buckland. They show more knowledge of that country, and of the Dingle, the wooded valley of the Withywindle,³ than any Hobbits west of the Marish were likely to possess. They also show that the Bucklanders knew Bombadil,⁴ though, no doubt, they had as little understanding of his powers as the Shirefolk had of Gandalf’s: both were regarded as benevolent persons, mysterious maybe and unpredictable but nonetheless comic. No. 1 is the earlier piece, and is made up of various hobbit-versions of legends concerning Bombadil. No. 2 uses similar traditions, though Tom’s raillery is here turned in jest upon his friends, who treat it with amusement (tinged with fear); but it was probably composed much later and after the visit of Frodo and his companions to the house of Bombadil.

      The verses, of hobbit origin, here presented have generally two features in common. They are fond of strange words, and of rhyming and metrical tricks – in their simplicity Hobbits evidently regarded such things as virtues or graces, though they were, no doubt, mere imitations of Elvish practices. They are also, at least on the surface, lighthearted or frivolous, though sometimes one may uneasily suspect that more is meant than meets the ear. No. 15, certainly of hobbit origin, is an exception. It is the latest piece and belongs to the Fourth Age; but it is included here, because a hand has scrawled at its head Frodos Dreme. That is remarkable, and though the piece is most unlikely to have been written by Frodo himself, the title shows that it was associated with the dark and despairing dreams which visited him in March and October during his last three years. But there were certainly other traditions, concerning Hobbits that were taken by the ‘wandering-madness’, and if they ever returned, were afterwards queer and uncommunicable. The thought of the Sea was ever-present in the background of hobbit imagination; but fear of it and distrust of all Elvish lore, was the prevailing mood in the Shire at the end of the Third Age, and that mood was certainly not entirely dispelled by the events and changes with which that Age ended.

      

      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, where 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 drowning 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! 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. 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

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