(ŠJohn McGaraghan 1992)</p>

I've been across the Brandywine, I've been across the forest,<br>
My legs are sore, my back is bent, but spirits are the sorest.<br>
Where the Withywindle winds, a whistling sprite commanding,<br>
Old Man Willow sleeping, now, and all the party standing</p>

Tell us, Bombadil, oh won't you, Father of the Land,<br>
Won't you lend your service to this sad and weary band?<br>
Sing to us oh Golden Berry, River's daughter tell;<br>
Will the master of the land lead us to Rivendell?</p>

In this land of song and dream, the weary fades away,<br>
we learn to watch and wait and feel the coming of the day.<br>
Intoxicated with the sights and songs of praise and wonder,<br>
all these wicked thoughts of fear and darkness lay asunder</p>

Misty Mountains shrouded now in future and in fear,<br>
but future, past, and present all are one in Mirrormere.<br>
Won't you come, Tom Bombadil, we need you now to make it,<br>
but he replied the land is mine, and I cannot forsake it.</p>

A Prancing Pony, and a couple pints of brew,<br>
a Strider dark appears to help us through.<br>
A haggard look as if he'd had a trip and back from hell,<br>
a look to help us through to Rivendell <br>
A somber journey home for him,<br>
home to Rivendell . . .<br>
. . .home, to Rivendell</p>

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