The Hobbit

Mountain
     on the edge of eyesight. On its highest peak snow yet unmelted was gleaming pale.
    “So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their ending!” said Bilbo, and he turned his back on his adventure. The Tookish
     part was getting very tired, and the Baggins was daily getting stronger. “I wish now only to be in my own armchair!” he said.

Chapter
XIX
THE LAST STAGE
    It was on May the First that the two came back at last to the brink of the valley of Rivendell, where stood the Last (or the
     First) Homely House. Again it was evening, their ponies were tired, especially the one that carried the baggage; and they
     all felt in need of rest. As they rode down the steep path, Bilbo heard the elves still singing in the trees, as if they had
     not stopped since he left; and as soon as the riders came down into the lower glades of the wood they burst into a song of
     much the same kind as before. This is something like it:
    The dragon is withered,
    His bones are now crumbled;
    His armour is shivered,
    His splendour is humbled!
    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,
    And elves are yet singing
        Come! Tra-la-la-lally!
        Come back to the valley!
    The stars are far brighter
    Than gems without measure,
    The moon is far whiter
    Than silver in treasure;
    The fire is more shining
    On hearth in the gloaming
    Than gold won by mining,
    So why go a-roaming?
        O! Tra-la-la-lally
        Come back to the Valley.
    O! Where are you going,
    So late in returning?
    The river is flowing,
    The stars are all burning!
    O! Whither so laden,
    So sad and so dreary?
    Here elf and elf-maiden
    Now welcome the weary
        With Tra-la-la-lally
        Come back to the Valley,
              Tra-la-la-lally
              Fa-la-la-lally
                  Fa-la!
    Then the elves of the valley came out and greeted them and led them across the water to the house of Elrond. There a warm
     welcome was made them, and there were many eager ears that evening to hear the tale of their adventures. Gandalf it was who
     spoke, for Bilbo was fallen quiet and drowsy. Most of the tale he knew, for he had been in it, and had himself told much of it to the wizard on their homeward way or in the house of Beorn; but every now and again he would open one eye,
     and listen, when a part of the story which he did not yet know came in.
    It was in this way that he learned where Gandalf had been to; for he overheard the words of the wizard to Elrond. It appeared
     that Gandalf had been to a great council of the white wizards, masters of lore and good magic; and that they had at last driven
     the Necromancer from his dark hold in the south of Mirkwood.
    “Ere long now,” Gandalf was saying, “the Forest will grow somewhat more wholesome. The North will be freed from that horror
     for many long years, I hope. Yet I wish he were banished from the world!”
    “It would be well indeed,” said Elrond; “but I fear that will not come about in this age of the world, or for many after.”
    When the tale of their journeyings was told, there were other tales, and yet more tales, tales of long ago, and tales of new
     things, and tales of no time at all, till Bilbo’s head fell forward on his chest, and he snored comfortably in a corner.
    He woke to find himself in a white bed, and the moon shining through an open window. Below it many elves were singing loud
     and clear on the banks of the stream.
    Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together!
    The wind’s in the tree-top, the wind’s in the heather;
    The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower,
    And bright are the windows of Night in her tower.
    Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together!
    Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather!
    The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting;
    Merry is May-time, and merry our meeting.
    Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave him!
    Wind him in slumber and there let us leave him!
    The wanderer sleepeth. Now soft be his pillow! Lullaby!
    Lullaby! Alder and Willow!
    Sigh no more Pine, till the wind of the morn!
        Fall Moon! Dark be the land!
        Hush! Hush! Oak, Ash, and Thorn!
    Hushed be all water, till dawn is at hand!
    “Well, Merry People!” said Bilbo looking out. “What time by the moon is this? Your lullaby would waken a drunken goblin! Yet
     I thank you.”
    “And