LITMIR.BIZ

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But it is foreboded that that will only be when we have both lost all that we now have. And it may well be that that time is drawing near at last. For if Sauron of old destroyed the gardens, the Enemy today seems likely to wither all the woods.

      ‘There was an Elvish song that spoke of this, or at least so I understand it. It used to be sung up and down the Great River. It was never an Entish song, mark you: it would have been a very long song in Entish! But we know it by heart, and hum it now and again. This is how it runs in your tongue:

ENT.	When Spring unfolds the beechen leaf, and sap is in the bough;
	When light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow;
	When stride is long, and breath is deep, and keen the mountain-air,
	Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair!
ENTWIFE.	When Spring is come to garth and field, and corn is in the blade;
	When blossom like a shining snow is on the orchard laid;
	When shower and Sun upon the Earth with fragrance fill the air,
	I’ll linger here, and will not come, because my land is fair.
ENT.	When Summer lies upon the world, and in a noon of gold
	Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves the dreams of trees unfold;
	When woodland halls are green and cool, and wind is in the West,
	Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is best!
ENTWIFE.	When Summer warms the hanging fruit and burns the berry brown;
	When straw is gold, and ear is white, and harvest comes to town;
	When honey spills, and apple swells, though wind be in the West,
	I’ll linger here beneath the Sun, because my land is best!
ENT.	When Winter comes, the winter wild that hill and wood shall slay;
	When trees shall fall and starless night devour the sunless day;
	When wind is in the deadly East, then in the bitter rain
	I’ll look for thee, and call to thee; I’ll come to thee again!
ENTWIFE.	When Winter comes, and singing ends; when darkness falls at last;
	When broken is the barren bough, and light and labour past;
	I’ll look for thee, and wait for thee, until we meet again:
	Together we will take the road beneath the bitter rain!
BOTH.	Together we will take the road that leads into the West,
	And far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest.’

      Treebeard ended his song. ‘That is how it goes,’ he said. ‘It is Elvish, of course: lighthearted, quickworded, and soon over. I daresay it is fair enough. But the Ents could say more on their side, if they had time! But now I am going to stand up and take a little sleep. Where will you stand?’

      ‘We usually lie down to sleep,’ said Merry. ‘We shall be all right where we are.’

      ‘Lie down to sleep!’ said Treebeard. ‘Why of course you do! Hm, hoom: I was forgetting: singing that song put me in mind of old times; almost thought that I was talking to young Entings, I did. Well, you can lie on the bed. I am going to stand in the rain. Good night!’

      Merry and Pippin climbed on to the bed and curled up in the soft grass and fern. It was fresh, and sweet-scented, and warm. The lights died down, and the glow of the trees faded; but outside under the arch they could see old Treebeard standing, motionless, with his arms raised above his head. The bright stars peered out of the sky, and lit the falling water as it spilled on to his fingers and head, and dripped, dripped, in hundreds of silver drops on to his feet. Listening to the tinkling of the drops the hobbits fell asleep.

      They woke to find a cool sun shining into the great court, and on to the floor of the bay. Shreds of high cloud were overhead, running on a stiff easterly wind. Treebeard was not to be seen; but while Merry and Pippin were bathing in the basin by the arch, they heard him humming and singing, as he came up the path between the trees.

      ‘Hoo, ho! Good morning, Merry and Pippin!’ he boomed, when he saw them. ‘You sleep long. I have been many a hundred strides already today. Now we will have a drink, and go to Entmoot.’

      He poured them out two full bowls from a stone jar; but from a different jar. The taste was not the same as it had been the night before: it was earthier and richer, more sustaining and food-like, so to speak. While the hobbits drank, sitting on the edge of the bed, and nibbling small pieces of elf-cake (more because they felt that eating was a necessary part of breakfast than because they felt hungry), Treebeard stood, humming in Entish or Elvish or some strange tongue, and looking up at the sky.

      ‘Where is Entmoot?’ Pippin ventured to ask.

      ‘Hoo, eh? Entmoot?’ said Treebeard, turning round. ‘It is not a place, it is a gathering of Ents–which does not often happen nowadays. But I have managed to make a fair number promise to come. We shall meet in the place where we have always met: Derndingle Men call it. It is away south from here. We must be there before noon.’

      Before long they set off. Treebeard carried the hobbits in his arms as on the previous day. At the entrance to the court he turned to the right, stepped over the stream, and strode away southwards along the feet of great tumbled slopes where trees were scanty. Above these the hobbits saw thickets of birch and rowan, and beyond them dark climbing pinewoods. Soon Treebeard turned a little away from the hills and plunged into deep groves, where the trees were larger, taller, and thicker than any that the hobbits had ever seen before. For a while they felt faintly the sense of stifling which they had noticed when they first ventured into Fangorn, but it soon passed. Treebeard did not talk to them. He hummed to himself deeply and thoughtfully, but Merry and Pippin caught no proper words: it sounded like boom, boom, rumboom, boorar, boom boom, dahrar boom boom, dahrar boom, and so on with a constant change of note and rhythm. Now and again they thought they heard an answer, a hum or a quiver of sound, that seemed to come out of the earth, or from boughs above their heads, or perhaps from the boles of the trees; but Treebeard did not stop or turn

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