Ég ætla að byrja á því að segja að fyrir þá sem ekki hafa lesið Lord of the rings þá kemur #SPOILER#.

Í öllum bókum Tolkien´s þá eru mörg ljóð. Ég ætla ekki að fyra að þylja upp þau öll en koma með það sem ég held mest uppá. Mér finnst líka gaman þegar maður les Lord of the rings aftur þá sér maður hvar hann er að koma með einskonar vísbendingar um það sem gerist síðar. Það gerir hann í þessu ljóði sem Frodo les í bréfi Gandalf´s sem Butterbur lét hann fá.

All that is gold does not glitter,
not all those who wander are lost;
the old that is strong does not wither,
deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
a light from the shadows shall spring;
renewed shall be blade that was broken,
the crownless again shall be king.

,,There was a long silence. At last Frodo spoke with hesitation. ‘I believed that you were a friend before the letter came,’ he said, ‘or least I wished to. You have frightened me several times tonight, but never in the way the servants of the Enemy would, or so I imagine. I think one of his spies would-well, seem fairer and feel fouler, if you understand.’ ‘I see, ’ laughed Strider. ‘I look foul and feel fair. Is that it? All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander era lost.’
'Did the werses aply to you then?' asked Frodo. ‘I could not make out what they were about. But how did you know that they were in Gndalfs letter, if you have never seen it?’ ‘I did not know,’ he answered. ‘But I am Aragorn, and those verses go with that name.’ He drew out his sword, and they saw that the blade was indeed broken a foot below the hilt. ‘Not much use is it Sam?’ Said Strider. ‘But the time is near when it shall be forged anew’“

Mér fannst svo sem ekki mikið koma til vísnanna hjá Tom Bombadil en ég ætla samt að birta eina.

Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
Tom Bom, jolly Tom Tom Bombadillo!

Ég bíð með eftirvæntingu að sjá entana í TTT. Að sjá þá marsera til Isengard well…

To Isengar! Though Isengard be ringed ang barred with
doors of stone;
though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and
bare as bone,
we go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the
door;
for bole and bough are burning now, furnace roars-we
go to war!
To land of gloom with trap of doom, with roll of drum, we
come, we come;
to Isengard with doom we come!
With doom we come, with doom we come!

Einn uppáhalds persóna mín er Gollum og verð ég því að birta eina af gátum hans úr th e Hobbit.

It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.
It lies behind stars and under hills,
and empty holes it fils.
It comes first and follows after,
ends life, kills laughter.

Svo síðast en ekki síðst verður maður að koma með eitt ljóð úr kaflanum ,,Of Beren and Lúthen” úr the Silmerillion.

He chanted a song of wizardry,
of piercing, opening treachery,
revealing, uncovering, betraing.
Then sudden Felagund there swaying
sang in his answer a song of staying.
Resisting, battling against power,
of secrets kept, strenght like a tower,
and trust unbroken, freedom, escape;
of snares eluded, broken traps,
the prison openin, the chain that snaps.
Backwards and forwards swayed their song.
Reeling and foundering, as ever more strang
the chanting swelled, Felagrund fought,
and all the magic ang might he brought
of Elvenesse into his words.
Softly in the gloom the heard the birds
singing afar in Nargothrond,
the sighing of the Sea beyond,
beyond the western world, on sand,
on sand of pearls in Elvenland.
Then the gloom gathered; darkness growing
in Valinor, the red blood flowing
beside the Sea, where the Noldor slew
the Foamriders, and stelling drew
their white ships with their white sails
fromwolf havls. THe ravens flee.
The ice mutters in the mouths of the Sea.
THe captives sad in Angband mourn.
Thunder rumbles, the fires burn-
and Finrod fell before the throne.

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Takk fyrir.