Having once read The Lord of the Rings I proceeded to acquire everything I could find by Tolkien. One that I found early on was The Adventures of Tom Bombadil and other verses (1963), a collection of poems supposedly "made by Hobbits, especially by Bilbo and his friends." One of the shorter and darker ones is "The Mewlips."
THE MEWLIPS The shadows where the Mewlips dwellAre dark and wet as ink,And slow and softly rings their bell,As in the slime you sink. You sink into the slime, who dareTo knock upon their door,While down the grinning gargoyles stareAnd noisome waters pour. Beside the rotting river-strandThe drooping willows weep,And gloomily the gorcrows standCroaking in their sleep. Over the Merlock Mountains a long and weary way,In a mouldy valley where the trees are grey,By a dark pool's borders without wind or tide,Moonless and sunless, the Mewlips hide. The cellars where the Mewlips sitAre deep and dank and coldWith single sickly candle lit;And there they count their gold. Their walls are wet, their ceilings drip;Their feet upon the floorGo softly with a squish-flap-flip,As they sidle to the door. They peep out slyly; through a crackTheir feeling fingers creep,And when they've finished, in a sackYour bones they take to keep. Beyond the Merlock Mountains, a long and lonely road,Through the spider-shadows and the marsh of Tode,And through the wood of hanging trees and the gallows-weed,You go to find the Mewlips and the Mewlips feed.
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