(This is a tale told in many versions in many lands but I couldn't find a Shire version so I thought I'd try my hand at one)
Tom Linden
The Mayor he issued this decree:
“Young maids, steer clear of Bindbole Wood,
For young Tom Linden tarries there,
He will bring you naught that’s good.
Any lass who travels there,
Must to him a tribute pay –
Some treasure which she holds most dear
She must give up, he’ll not hear nay.”
Young Lily Noakes, a bonny Miss,
Slipped on quick her finest dress,
Packed a basket, combed her hair
And off to Bindbole Wood did press.
With eager step she hurried on
Tripping lightly through the trees,
Until, ahead, she did detect
A subtle perfume on the breeze.
There, in a glade, before her stood
A thorny bush which seemed aflame
With full blown roses pink and red
From which that sensual perfume came.
She stooped to pluck not one, but two,
A spot of blood spilt on her sleeve;
From behind a voice then spake:
“Who steals my flowers without my leave?”
She turned and there before her stood,
A hobbit lad of handsome mien,
Yet dressed in cloth of finest silk –
As an elf-lord might have been.
“Who be ye, to question thus?”
She answered him with sharp retort,
“I’ve as much right here as thee.”
This Lily was a feisty sort!
She spoke her challenge loud and bold
Yet as she did she blushed and smiled,
For he was fair of speech and face
And by his charms she was beguiled.
“Now maiden you must yield to me
Some precious thing close to your heart:
With magic, else, I’ll bind you fast
That never more may you depart.”
“Gladly, that thing I’ll share with thee,
Prized most by every hobbit lass,”
And so a clean, red cloth she took
And spread it out upon the grass.
Then from the basket by her side,
With moistened lips she laid out there
A feast of pies and meats and ale
Of sweets and cakes, the finest fare.
So lustily they set about
The toothsome victuals set out there,
And when replete, she hurried home
A briar rose garland in her hair.
When to her father’s door she came
He saw the circlet on her brow
“Daughter, you’ve been to Bindbole Wood,
No good will come of this I know.
There’s many an honest hobbit lad
Around these parts – there’s Will and Ned;
Wander no more, for ‘tis my wish
To one of these thou shall be wed.”
“Nay, I shall be the one to choose,
Who, and when, and if I’ll wed;
None here can match Tom Linden fair
Who placed this crown upon my head.”
Then back she hied to Bindbole Wood
To seek once more that scented glade;
As dusk drew in she spied him there,
A-weeping, seeming sore afraid.
Soft, she wrapped him in her arms,
“Hush, my love, what ails thee?”
“List’ well, you needs must know my fear,
Hear my tale and heed my plea.
When first I came unto these woods
My pleasure was to hunt with bow
And in the chase one fateful day
Full hard I fell and was laid low.
Tall riders dressed in fine attire
Before me came in company
With one whose dreadful beauty marked
Her as the Queen of Faerie.
Then I was ta’en to Faerie realms
Where oft with her I’d dance and play,
Yet all too soon the time comes when
To Mordor she her dues must pay.
The price to stay fell Sauron’s hand,
A sacrifice of one held dear,
To slavery must be given up
This night, once every seventh year.
For on this night, All Hallows Eve,
I must be taken, guarded well
In company on a milk white steed
In Mordor’s darkness e’er to dwell.
If thy love for me is true,
Wait ‘til we pass by in the night
Then pluck me from my snowy steed
Wrap your arms around me tight.
I beg thee, do not let me fall,
With magic she’ll beguile thee;
With visions she’ll shake your belief
That what you hold is truly me.”
So Lily lay in wait that night
And saw the company proceed;
When Tom came close to where she hid
She plucked him swiftly from his steed.
The Faerie Queen was full of ire,
Blue sparks flew from her finger tips
Fury flared in her dark eyes
Dire incantations from her lips.
Then Lily held a squealing pig,
And then, it seemed, a slimy toad,
And last a snake, full four foot long
Whose coils o’er her body flowed.
Yet fast she clung to Tom’s true form
The Queen, with shame, took her defeat
“I’m bested by a hobbit lass,
With such strong will I can’t compete.”
Her bridle ringing in the night
She rode away with heavy heart:
Lily grasped Tom’s hand and led him home
And made him swear he’d ne’er depart.
Close by her father’s home they dwelt,
Enjoyed a simple Shire life;
If e’er of magic Tom would dream,
Right quick he’d answer to his wife:
“Enough o’ that, me lad!”, she’d cry
“There’s seeds to sow and fields to plough –
The magic I require of thee
Is honest sweat upon thy brow!”
What changed this flighty lass that she
Embraced this life she’d once deride?
She’d answer plain for all to hear:
“Now I’m the one who may decide!”
