Hobbits are, or were, no concern of his. Yet he is great among the Wise. He is the chief of my order and the head of the Council. His knowledge is deep, but his pride has grown with it, and he takes ill any meddling.

And, Legolas, when the torches are kindled and men walk on the sandy floors under the echoing domes, ah! Then, Legolas, gems and crystals and veins of precious ore glint in the polished walls; and the light glows through folded marbles, shell-like, translucent as the living hands of Queen Galadriel. There are columns of white and saffron and dawn-rose, Legolas, fluted and twisted into dreamlike forms; they spring up from many-coloured floors to meet the glistening pendants of the roof: wings, ropes, curtains fine as frozen clouds; spears, banners, pinnacles of suspended palaces! Still lakes mirror them: a glimmering world looks up from dark pools covered with clear glass; cities, such as the mind of Durin could scarce have imagined in his sleep, stretch on through avenues and pillared courts, on into the dark recesses where no light can come, And plink! A silver drop falls, and the round wrinkles in the glass make all the towers bend and waver like weeds and corals in a grotto of the sea. Then evening comes: they fade and twinkle out; the torches pass on into another chamber and another dream. There is chamber after chamber, Legolas; hall opening out of hall, dome after dome, stair beyond stair; and still the winding paths lead on into the mountains’ heart. Caves! The Caverns of Helm’s Deep! Happy was the chance that drove me there! It makes me weep to leave them.

Though sword shall be rusted, And throne and crown perish With strength that men trusted And wealth that they cherish, Here grass is still growing, And leaves are yet swinging, The white water flowing.

Knowing the truth about the vanishing did not lessen their opinion of Bilbo at all; for they saw that he had some wits, as well as luck and a magic ring—and all three are very useful possessions.

So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their ending! said Bilbo, and he turned his back on his adventure.

Elven Hymn to ElberethSnow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!O Queen beyond the Western Seas!O Light to us that wander hereAmid the world of woven trees!Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to theeIn a far land beyond the Sea.O stars that in the Sunless YearWith shining hand by her were sown,In windy fields now bright and clearWe see your silver blossom blown!O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!We still remember, we who dwellIn this far land beneath the trees,Thy starlight on the Western Seas.A Elbereth Gilthoniel,silivren penna mírielo menel aglar elenath!Na-chaered palan-dírielo galadhremmin ennorath,Fanuilos, le linnathonnef aear, si nef aearon!A Elbereth Gilthoniel!o menel palan-dírielle nallon sí di'nguruthos!A tiro nin, Fanuilos!A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!silivren penna mírielo menel aglar elenath!We still remember, we who dwellIn this far land beneath the trees,Thy starlight on the Western Seas.

Poor Mr. Baggins—it was a weary long time that he lived in that place all alone, and always in hiding, never daring to take off his ring.

It seemed like all the way to tomorrow and over it to the days beyond.

The leaves were long, the grass was green,The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,And in the glade a light was seenOf stars in shadow shimmering.Tinuviel was dancing thereTo music of a pipe unseen,And light of stars was in her hair,And in her raiment glimmering.There Beren came from mountains cold,And lost he wandered under leaves,And where the Elven-river rolled.He walked along and sorrowing.He peered between the hemlock-leavesAnd saw in wonder flowers of goldUpon her mantle and her sleeves,And her hair like shadow following.Enchantment healed his weary feetThat over hills were doomed to roam;And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,And grasped at moonbeams glistening.Through woven woods in ElvenhomeShe lightly fled on dancing feet,And left him lonely still to roamIn the silent forest listening.He heard there oft the flying soundOf feet as light as linden-leaves,Or music welling underground,In hidden hollows quavering.Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,And one by one with sighing soundWhispering fell the beechen leavesIn the wintry woodland wavering.He sought her ever, wandering farWhere leaves of years were thickly strewn,By light of moon and ray of starIn frosty heavens shivering.Her mantle glinted in the moon,As on a hill-top high and farShe danced, and at her feet was strewnA mist of silver quivering.When winter passed, she came again,And her song released the sudden spring,Like rising lark, and falling rain,And melting water bubbling.He saw the elven-flowers springAbout her feet, and healed againHe longed by her to dance and singUpon the grass untroubling.Again she fled, but swift he came.Tinuviel! Tinuviel!He called her by her elvish name;And there she halted listening.One moment stood she, and a spellHis voice laid on her: Beren came,And doom fell on TinuvielThat in his arms lay glistening.As Beren looked into her eyesWithin the shadows of her hair,The trembling starlight of the skiesHe saw there mirrored shimmering.Tinuviel the elven-fair,Immortal maiden elven-wise,About him cast her shadowy hairAnd arms like silver glimmering.Long was the way that fate them bore,O'er stony mountains cold and grey,Through halls of iron and darkling door,And woods of nightshade morrowless.The Sundering Seas between them lay,And yet at last they met once more,And long ago they passed awayIn the forest singing sorrowless.

Lazy Lob and crazy Cob are weaving webs to wind me. I am far more sweet than other meat, but still they cannot find me!