Around the green hills on a hot summer day,
A young hobbit lady was wending her way.
A wound on her leg was bound up with a band,
An embellished longbow she held in her hand.
She came down from the hills to the village of Bree,
And she sought out a citizen mercenary.
"A fell barrow-wight has ten arrows of me,
That I bought from a shop up in King's Norbury."
"A fell barrow-wight has ten arrows of me,
And I would have them back," said the hobbit lady.
"For the ten silver pieces I ask as my fee,
You may buy more than that," said the mercenary.
"It is many miles' travel to King's Norbury,
Loth am I to set out on such a journey.
"I have twelve arrows left, and my dwarven longbow.
So will you hunt with me? Now say yea or no."
Loth was he for such cause to risk his own life,
But there was a young girl he would have for his wife.
With ten silver coins from the hobbit lady,
He would buy her a present of fine jewelry.
So they set out that day from the village of Bree,
The proud hobbit maid and the mercenary.
In some brushwood a boar set upon the bold pair,
But the two quickly slew it and rode off from there.
In the green barrow-downs the two mounted a hill.
In a circle of stones, the fell wight was there still.
She shot a war arrow from her fine longbow,
And the mercenary into battle did go.
Coolly the hobbit lady left the fight,
Leaving her champion to battle the wight,
And nocked her war arrows to her longbow's string,
And through the hot air they swiftly did sing.
The mercenary then did mutter a curse,
For the foul barrow-spirit was little the worse.
"Shoot quick, hobbit lady, shoot well," he did cry,
"For I am sorely wounded and soon must I die."
Swift did she fire from her dwarven bow,
And now to the string put her last war arrow.
As she aimed it, the evil wight swung his longsword;
With a death cry, her hireling fell dead on the sward.
Then she shot her last arrow, it sped straight and fair;
With a death cry, the barrow-wight vanished in air.
The pile of her arrows now lay there to see,
And two swords, and the corpse of the mercenary.
She's taken his silver, and taken his sword,
And buried his body there under the sward.
Now the mound on that hill long ago has decayed,
Where he died for the arrows of a cruel hobbit maid.
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