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hilt. There was a shriek and the light vanished. In the dark there was a snarling noise.Frodo fell forward over Merry, and Merry's face felt cold. All at once back into his mind, from which it had disappeared with the first coming of the fog, came the memory of the house down under the Hill, and of Tom singing. He remembered the rhyme that Tom had taught them. In a small desperate voice he began: Ho! Tom Bombadil! and with that deep silence, in which Frodo could hear his heart beating. After a long slow moment he heard plain, but far away, as if it was coming down through the ground or through thick walls, an answering voice singing:Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow,Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow.None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the master:His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster.There was a loud rumbling sound, as of stones rolling and falling, and suddenly light streamed in, real light, the plain light of day. A low door-like opening appeared at the end of the chamber beyond Frodo's name his voice seemed to grow strong: it had a full and lively sound, and the dark chamber echoed as if to drum and trumpet.Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow,By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!There was a sudden