Old Hill oor Kornies

Old Hill

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

Mena Koth

Soortgelyke frases

Old Paul Hill
Henfordh Breweni

Old Carnon Hill
Mena Karnen Koth

voorbeelde

Old Hill
/ Mena Koth / / /

A legend goes that the Devil and his Hounds patrolled the town by way of South Street, Workhouse Lane (Moorland Road) and this Old Hill.
Yn henhwedhel an Jowl ha’y Hons a batrolya an dre yn unn ow holya Stret Soth, Bownder an Oberji (Fordh an Woon) ha’n Mena Koth ma.

Down the hill is a pedestrian & cycle route that eases away from the busy road onto the old East Hill.
An vre war-nans yma hyns kerdhoryon ha diwrosow hag a dhiberth yn lent dhyworth an fordh vysi bys yn Mena Est koth.

Old Carnon Hill
Carnon Downs / Mena Karnen Koth / / /

Old Paul Hill
Newlyn / Henfordh Breweni / / /

At last they set off. They led their ponies down the hill; and then mounting they trotted quickly along the valley. They looked back and saw the top of the old mound on the hill, and from it the sunlight on the gold went up like a yellow flame. Then they turned a shoulder of the Downs and it was hidden from view.
Wor’tiwedh, i a dhallathas. I a gemmeras aga hoba yn-nans an vre, yskynna, ha goresek skon a-hys an nans. I a viras war-dhelergh ha gweles penn an krug koth war an vre, hag a-dhiworto an howsplann orth an owr a splannas haval orth flamm melyn. Ena, i a dreylyas dres skoedh an goenyow ha kudhys veu a-dhiworta.

Back onto East Hill you will see an old stone warehouse on the opposite side which still possesses an iron hoist, originally used for lifting heavy sacks and goods.
War Vena Est arta hwi a wra gweles gwaraji koth a ven orth an tu konter hag a'n jeves hwath garan a horn, devnydhys yn terowel rag drehevel seghyer ha gwara poos.

When I was eight we moved house, moving to another house on the same housing estate. The new house was at the bottom of the estate, nearer to the shops and the bus stop. My mother didn’t have to carry heavy bags of shopping up the steep hill to the old house any more.
Pan en vy eth bloodh, ni a janjyas chi, ow remova dhe gen chi war an keth trevbark. Yth esa an chi nowydh war woles an trevbark, nes dhe’n gwerthjiow ha’n savla kyttrin. Nyns o res dhe’m mamm degi seghyer poos a brenassa yn-bann an vre serth dhe’n chi kyns na fella.

Goin' up Camborne Hill, coming down Goin' up Camborne Hill, coming down The horses stood still The wheels went around Going up Camborne Hill coming down White stockings, white stockings she wore White stockings, white stockings she wore White stockings she wore The same as before Going up Camborne Hill coming down Goin' up Camborne Hill, coming down Goin' up Camborne Hill, coming down The horses stood still The wheels went around Going up Camborne Hill coming down I knowed her old father old man I knowed her old father old man I knowed her old man He blawed in the band Going up Camborne Hill coming down Goin' up Camborne Hill, coming down Goin' up Camborne Hill, coming down The horses stood still The wheels went around Going up Camborne Hill coming down He heaved in the coal, in the steam He heaved in the coal, in the steam He heaved in the coal The steam hit the beam Going up Camborne Hill coming down Goin' up Camborne Hill, coming down Goin' up Camborne Hill, coming down The horses stood still The wheels went around Going up Camborne Hill coming down
Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans An margh stag yth o An ros eth a-dro Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans Hy lodrow, hy lodrow o gwynn Hy lodrow, hy lodrow o gwynn Hy lodrow o gwynn A-ugh hy diwlin Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans An margh stag yth o An ros eth a-dro Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans Yth aswonnis hy thas hi den koth Yth aswonnis hy thas hi den koth Yth aswonnis hy thas Y’n bond a warias Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans An margh stag yth o An ros eth a-dro Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans An glow ev a halyas y’n eth An glow ev a halyas y’n eth Y halyas an glow Ha’n eth oll a-dro Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans An margh stag yth o An ros eth a-dro Owth yskynna Bre Gammbronn war-nans

Bilbo was very rich and very peculiar, and had been the wonder of the Shire for sixty years, ever since his remarkable disappearance and unexpected return. The riches he had brought back from his travels had now become a local legend, and it was popularly believed, whatever the old folk might say, that the Hill at Bag End was full of tunnels stuffed with treasure. And if that was not enough for fame, there was also his prolonged vigour to marvel at. Time wore on, but it seemed to have little effect on Mr. Baggins. At ninety he was much the same as at fifty. At ninety-nine they began to call him well-preserved, but unchanged would have been nearer the mark. There were some that shook their heads and thought this was too much of a good thing; it seemed unfair that anyone should possess (apparently) perpetual youth as well as (reputedly) inexhaustible wealth.
Pur wolusek ha pur goynt o Bylbo, hag ev re beu aneth an Shayr dre dri ugens blydhen, a-dhia y dhisomdhiskwedhyans notyadow ha dehwelans anwaytys. An rychys re dhros ev a-dhiworth y dravalyans re dheuth ha bos henhwedhel teythyek, ha krysys o yn efan, pynag o leverys gans an dus goth, an vre dhe Bag End dhe vos leun a gowfordhow stoffys gans tresor. Ha mar na vo henna lowr rag gerda, yth esa ynwedh y gris hirhas rag gul marth. Termyn eth yn rag, mes dell hevel hi a wrug boghes effeyth orth Mr Bagyns. Dhe dheg ha peswar ugens bloedh ev o ogas ha’n keth ha dhe dheg ha dew ugens. Dhe nownsek ha peswar ugens bloedh i a dhallathas leverel ev dhe vos gwithys yn ta; mes anjanjys a via nessa. Yth esa nebes dus a shakya aga fenn hag a omdybi henna dhe vos re a neppyth da; yth o anewn dhe vos dhe nebonan yowynkneth bys vykken (dell hevel) keffrys ha rychys heb finwedh (dell o leverys).

Firstly, there were anthems like Trelawny (from English), Bro Goth (from Welsh) and songs of the Gorsedh Kernow ceremony – more than a hundred years old. Next came all the folk songs much loved by us, e.g. Camborne Hill, Lamorna, The White Rose, etc. especially at closing time in the pub! This is useful for teaching Kernewek because not every singer is fluent but with well-known tunes there’s no excusefor you not to join in.
Yn kynsa, yth esa antempnys avel Trelawny (dyworth Sowsnek), Bro Goth (dyworth Kembrek) ha’n kanow yn solempnita Gorsedh Kernow – moy ages kans bledhen koth. Nessa, y teuth oll an kanow gwerin meur gerys genen ni, r.e. Bre Gammbronn, Lamorna, An Rosen Wynn, h.e. yn arbennek prys degea yn diwotti! Hemm yw dhe les rag dyski Kernewek drefen nag yw pub kaner freth yn taves mes gans an tonyow aswonys yn ta nyns eus askus ma nag os ta omjunya.

'Tom will give you good advice, till this day is over (after that your own luck must go with you and guide you): four miles along the Road you'll come upon a village, Bree under Bree-hill, with doors looking westward. There you'll find an old inn that is called The Prancing Pony. Barliman Butterbur is the worthy keeper. There you can stay the night, and afterwards the morning will speed you upon your way. Be bold, but wary! Keep up your merry hearts, and ride to meet your fortune!'
‘Tom a vydh ri dhywgh kusul dha, bys yn diwedh an jydh ma (wosa henna, res vydh agas chons da agas honan dh’agas keveylya ha’gas gidya): peswar mildir a-hyns an Fordh y fydhowgh dos erbynn tre, Bri yn-dann Bre Vri, gans darasow war-tu ha’n west. Ena y fydhowgh kavoes tavern koth yw henwys An Hoba Ow Tonsya, Barliman Buterbur yw an ost. Y’n tyller na y hyllowgh hwi godriga dres nos, ha wosa henna an myttin a vydh agas danvonn a-hys agas hyns. Bedhywgh hardh, mes gwithewgh rach! Sevewgh agas kolonn lowen ha marghogewgh rag dos erbynn agas feus!’

‘No indeed!’ she answered, and her smile faded. ‘That would indeed be a burden,’ she added in a low voice, as if to herself. ‘The trees and the grasses and all things growing or living in the land belong each to themselves. Tom Bombadil is the Master. No one has ever caught old Tom walking in the forest, wading in the water, leaping on the hill-tops under light and shadow. He has no fear. Tom Bombadil is master.’
‘Na, yn hwir!’ hi a worthybis, ha’y minhwerthin a dhifygyas. ‘Henn a via begh yn hwir,’ a geworras hi dre lev isel, haval hi dhe gewsel orti hy honan. ‘An gwydh ha’n gwels ha traow oll usi ow tevi y’n pow a’s teves aga honan. Tom Bombadyl yw an Arloedh. Nevra ny wrug nagonan maglenna Tom koth ow kerdhes y’n koes, ow klybgamma*4 y’n dowr, ow lamma war an breow yn-dann golow ha skeus. Nyns eus own vydh dhodho. Tom Bombadyl yw an arloedh.’

When the old political structure of Eastern Europe fell apart in 1918, Lithuania once again declared its independence. Throughout this time, the Hill of Crosses was used as a place for Lithuanians to pray for peace, for their country, and for the loved ones they had lost during the Wars of Independence.
Wosa anserghogeth yn 1918, usys o Bre an Krowsow avel tyller may gylli Lithuanians pysi gans kres, gans aga gwlas ha'ga neskerens a ledhys dres an Breselyow Anserghogeth.

‘I couldn’t stay to hear more, sir, since you were waiting; and I didn’t give much heed to it myself. The Gaffer is getting old, and more than a bit blind, and it must have been near dark when this fellow come up the Hill and found him taking the air at the end of our Row. I hope he hasn’t done no harm, sir, nor me.’
‘Ny yllis vy gortos rag koslowes orth moy, syrr, drefenn hwi dhe wortos; ha ny wrug vy prederi meur yn y gever. Yma’n Gafer ow tos ha bos koth, ha moy es tamm dall, hag an jydh o ogas ha tewl, dell dybav, pan wrug dos an den ma yn-bann an Vre ha’y gavoes dhe benn agan Rew, owth anella an ayr. Yma govenek dhymm na wrug ev drog, syrr, na my.’

Start spreading the news I'm leaving today I want to be a part of it New York, New York These vagabond shoes Are longing to stray Right through the very heart of it New York, New York I wanna wake up in a city That doesn't sleep And find I'm king of the hill Top of the heap These little town blues Are melting away I'll make a brand new start of it In old New York If I can make it there I'll make it anywhere It's up to you New York, New York New York, New York I want to wake up in a city That never sleeps And find I'm a number one Top of the list King of the hill A number one These little town blues Are melting away I'm gonna make a brand new start of it In old New York And if I can make it there I'm gonna make it anywhere It's up to you New York, New York
Ha lesewgh an ger Yth av vy hedhyw Y fynnav bos rann anodho ev Evrek Nowydh Ow eskisyow heb tre A vynn gwandra dhe ves Bys yn kolon anodho ev Evrek Nowyth Y fynnav difuna yn cita Heb kosk vyth, Pan ov vy myghtern an vre Kynsa yn rol Yma'm tristans godrev Ow teudhi dhe ves Bywnans flamm-nowyth dhymmo vy Evrek Nowydh Mar kwrav vy sewena di, Y sewenav vy neb le may fiv Dha dhewis yw Evrek Nowydh Evrek Nowydh Y fynnav difuna yn cita Heb kosk vyth Pan ov vy myghtern an vre Kynsa yn rol Penn an norvys Myghtern an vre Yma'm tristans godrev Ow teudhi dhe-ves Bywnans flamm-nowydh dhymmo vy Evrek Nowydh Mar kwrav vy sewena di Y sewenav vy neb le may fiv Y'n gwra ragov Evrek Nowydh

Well, on the day that me and my ‘troops’ got horribly lost, we managed not to kill anyone with the Bren Gun. But it was a heavy beast and ‘Boofa’ – the guy who had originally been assigned to carry it – got pretty sick of lugging it about, uphill and down dale, through the thick bush. So, the Bren gun got passed around all day – from shoulder to aching shoulder. Those shoulders included those of the guy who was holding the ‘highly accurate, highly sensitive’ prismatic compass (i.e. me.) A Bren Gun is a substantial piece of metal and – objects that at magnetised are attracted to substantial pieces of metal. A compass needle is a magnetised object. So, voila! While the massive bloody Bren Gun was hanging from my shoulder, all the bearings that I read from the compass were wrong – and massively so. Why did no-one bother to tell us this would happen? Buggered if I know. The people that thought this unimportant were probably the same people that decided that a Bren Gun was a good thing for a bunch of brainless kids to play with. In any event, why am I telling you all this? Is it just another digression by an old man whose mind is wandering? No – at least, not on this particular occasion. During the course of my squad’s misguided wanderings, we came upon a very ‘cool’ place. It was somewhere that, no doubt, the designers of the navigation course would have intended we avoid by a wide margin – if it were known to them at all - since it was definitely not marked on the topographical map. The ‘cool place’ was a long tunnel, a very long tunnel, driven into the side of a hill. Its collapsed entrance was now completely hidden by vigorous re-growth forest. If we had walked ten metres to either side, we would have missed it completely. Obviously, an old, disused mine is a dangerous place – and subject to further collapse at any time. It’s liable to trap and kill anyone foolish enough to enter it. So, did I order my squad not to go into it? Yes, of course, I did! Did they pay the slightest attention to my detailed, strident and urgent warnings? No. not a bit of it. So, very soon, we were all blindly wandering about inside a 100-year-old tunnel, deep inside the hill, Bren gun, useless compass and all.
Wel, an jydh pan eth ha bos kellys ow bagas a skolyers, denvyth na veu ledhys gans an gonn Bren. Byttegyns, best pur voes o ha ‘Boofa’ – an polat re via yn kynsa le appoyntyes dh’y dhoen – eth ha bos skwithys ganso. Res via dhodho y dhoen oll a-dro – war venydhyow hag yn nansow hag, an dhew, dre wylvos tew. Ytho, an gonn a veu tremenys yntra’n brentys-souder oll an jydh – dhiworth unn skoedh ow pystiga dhe huni arall. Yth esa yn arbennik unn skoedh dhe’n huni esa ow synsi an kompas kenkeynek, ‘meur y nerth ha’y gewerder’. (Henn yw leverel, dhymmo vy.) Gonn Bren yw tamm alkan, meur y vraster, ha’n taklow re veu tennvenhes a yll bos tennys gans tamm alkan, meur y vraster. Naswydh kompas kenkeynek yw tra dennvenhes. Ytho, ‘voilà!’ Ha’n gonn Bren, meur y vraster, kregys war ow skoedh, redyansow oll an kompas o kamm – ha kamm dres eghenn. Prag na wrussa denvyth agan gwarnya a-dro dhe’n hwarvos possybyl ma? Ny wonn vy. Yn hwirhaval, an dus a grysi an dra ma bos heb poester o an keth dus a grysi bos tra pur dha rag bagas skolyers heb ympynnyon dhe wandra der an gwylvos gans gonn Bren avel gwariell. Yn neb kas, prag yth esov ow leverel an taklow ma dhywgh? Yw travyth marnas gwandrans gans den koth mayth eus dhodho brys ow kwandra ynwedh? Na – dhe’n lyha, nyns yw an kas an prys ma. Dres an gwandransow heb amkan a’m para, ni a dheuth dhe’n le ‘koul’ dres eghenn. Nep-tu o, heb dhout, may ervirsa dhevisyoryon an oberenn-navigasyon y talvien ni avoydya gans amal ledan – mar kodhviens yn y gever (ha sertan en vy nag o notyes war vappa topografek). An le ‘koul’ o kowfordh hir, kowfordh pur hir, palys yn ewn yn tu bre. Koedhys war an dor, y fyllsa yn tien porth an gowfordh, gorherys ha kudhys uskis gans gwylvos dhasdevys. Mar kerdhsen deg meter dhe unn tu an gowfordh, y fallsen y weles mann. Yn apert, bal koth ha usyes yw tyller peryllus – le may kyll hwarvos pup-prys koedhow an dor. Ytho, oll an dus a allsa bos beghys po ledhys ena – mars yns gokki lowr rag entra ynno. Ytho, a wrugavy erghi orth ow fara nag ens gesys entra ynno? Yn hwir! A wrussons notya an manylyon a’m gwarnyansow, tynn ha ter aga gnas? Na wrussons. Ytho, yn skon, yth esen ni ow kwandra oll a-dro yn kowfordh, meur hy oes, hy duder ha’y hirder – gonn Bren ha kompas euver hwath genen ni.

By the time that Tom returned they were feeling strong (and hungry). He reappeared, hat first, over the brow of the hill, and behind him came in an obedient line six ponies: their own five and one more. The last was plainly old Fatty Lumpkin: he was larger, stronger, fatter (and older) than their own ponies. Merry, to whom the others belonged, had not, in fact, given them any such names, but they answered to the new names that Tom had given them for the rest of their lives. Tom called them one by one and they climbed over the brow and stood in a line. Then Tom bowed to the hobbits.
Pan wrug Tom dehweles arta, yth esens i owth omglywes krev (ha nownek). Ev a dhasomdiskwedhas, y hatt gwelys kynsa, a-dreus tal an vre, hag a-dhelerghto yth esa ow tos, dre linen dov, hwegh hoba: aga pymp aga honan hag onan moy. Yn apert, an diwettha o Kothwas Borr Lumpkyn: ev o brassa, kreffa, tewwa (ha kottha) ages aga hobaow aga honan. Ny wrussa Merry, a biwo an re erell, ri dhedha henwyn vyth a’n par na, mes i a wrug gorthbi orth an henwyn may fons i res gans Tom dre aga bywnans oll alena rag. Tom a elwis orta onan hag onan hag i a gramblas dres an dal ha sevel yn unn alinya. Ena, Tom a omblegyas dhe’n hobytow.

Days passed and The Day drew nearer. An odd-looking waggon laden with odd-looking packages rolled into Hobbiton one evening and toiled up the Hill to Bag End. The startled hobbits peered out of lamplit doors to gape at it. It was driven by outlandish folk, singing strange songs: dwarves with long beards and deep hoods. A few of them remained at Bag End. At the end of the second week in September a cart came in through Bywater from the direction of the Brandywine Bridge in broad daylight. An old man was driving it all alone. He wore a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, and a silver scarf. He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows that stuck out beyond the brim of his hat. Small hobbit-children ran after the cart all through Hobbiton and right up the hill. It had a cargo of fireworks, as they rightly guessed. At Bilbo’s front door the old man began to unload: there were great bundles of fireworks of all sorts and shapes, each labelled with a large red G and the elf-rune, .
Dydhyow a dremenas ha’n jydh a dheuth nessa. Kert koynt leun gans fardellow koynt a rolyas yn Hobyton unn gorthugher ha lavuryas yn-bann an vre dhe Bag End. An Hobytyow amovys a lagattas orto dre dharasow enowys gans lugarn. Lywys veu gans tus ankoth, ow kana kanow koynt: korryon gans barv hir ha kogh down. Nebes anedha a wodrigas dhe Bag End. Dhe benn nessa seythun mis Gwynngala, kert a dheuth dre Baywoter a-dhiworth fordh Pons Brandiwayn yn golow splann an jydh. Gour koth a’n lywyas yn unnsel. Yth esa hatt glas hir minyek, mantel hir loes, ha lien konna arghans dhodho. Yth esa barv hir gwynn dhodho ha’y dhewabrans a ystynnas dres kammek y hatt. Fleghes byghan a holyas an kert dre Hobyton oll hag yn-bann an vre. Yth esa karg a danweyth dhodho, dell dismygsons i yn ewn. Dhe dharas a-rag Bylbo, an gour koth a dhallathas diskarga: yth esa fardellow meur a danwethyow a bub eghenn ha furv, pub o libelys gans ‘G’ bras rudh ha’n run-elf.

No one had a more attentive audience than old Ham Gamgee, commonly known as the Gaffer. He held forth at The Ivy Bush, a small inn on the Bywater road; and he spoke with some authority, for he had tended the garden at Bag End for forty years, and had helped old Holman in the same job before that. Now that he was himself growing old and stiff in the joints, the job was mainly carried on by his youngest son, Sam Gamgee. Both father and son were on very friendly terms with Bilbo and Frodo. They lived on the Hill itself, in Number 3 Bagshot Row just below Bag End.
Nyns o nebonan gans goslowysi moy attendyadow es Ham Gamji koth, henwys yn efan ‘An Gafer’. Ev a allsa bos kevys dhe’n Pryskenn A Idhyow, tavern byghan dhe’n fordh Baywoter; hag ev a gewsis gans skentoledh aswonnys, drefenn ev dhe vaga an lowarth dhe Bag End dres dew ugens blydhen, ha re weresas Holman koth y’n keth soedh kyns an termyn na. Lemmyn, yth esa y gevalsyow ow tos ha bos diwedhyn, ha’n soedh a veu gwrys dre-vras gans y yowynkka mab, Sam Gamji. Tas ha Mab o kerens krev dhe Bylbo ha Frodo. I a drigas war an vre hy honan, dhe niver 3 Bagshot Row nebes a-woeles dhe Bag End.

As they listened, they began to understand the lives of the Forest, apart from themselves, indeed to feel themselves as the strangers where all other things were at home. Moving constantly in and out of his talk was Old Man Willow, and Frodo learned now enough to content him, indeed more than enough, for it was not comfortable lore. Tom’s words laid bare the hearts of trees and their thoughts, which were often dark and strange, and filled with a hatred of things that go free upon the earth, gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, burning: destroyers and usurpers. It was not called the Old Forest without reason, for it was indeed ancient, a survivor of vast forgotten woods; and in it there lived yet, ageing no quicker than the hills, the fathers of the fathers of trees, remembering times when they were lords. The countless years had filled them with pride and rooted wisdom, and with malice. But none were more dangerous than the Great Willow: his heart was rotten, but his strength was green; and he was cunning, and a master of winds, and his song and thought ran through the woods on both sides of the river. His grey thirsty spirit drew power out of the earth and spread like fine root-threads in the ground, and invisible twig-fingers in the air, till it had under its dominion nearly all the trees of the Forest from the Hedge to the Downs.
Dell woslowens i, i a dhallathas konvedhes bywnansow y’n Koes, hag i a dhallathas omglywes aga honan dhe vos estrenyon yn tyller mayth o puptra erell yn tre. Yth esa, ow kwaya prest yn hag yn-mes a’y gows, Kothwas Helyk, ha lemmyn Frodo a dhyskas lowr dh’y walgha, moy es lowr yn hwir, drefenn na vos attes an kedhlow. Geryow Tom a igoras glan kolonn gwydh ha’ga thybyansow, hag o tewl ha koynt lieskweyth, ha lenwys gans kas erbynn traow a wra mos yn rydh war an norvys, ow knias, ow pratha, ow terri, ow hakkya, ow leski: kisyoryon ha kammberghennegoryon. Ny veu henwys an Koes Koth heb skila, ev o hen yn hwir, rann ow treusvywa koes kowrek ankovhas; ha hwath ynno, ow tevi y’ga oes mar lent ha’n breow, tasow tasow gwydh, ow perthi kov a’n oesyow pan ens i arlydhi. An blydhynyow dres nivera re’s lenwis gans goeth ha furneth gwreydhys, ha gans atti. Mes nyns esa nagonan peryllussa es an Helygenn Veur: y golonn o pedrys, mes y grevder o glas; hag ev o fel, hag ev o mester a wynsow, ha’y gan ha’y brederow eth dre’n koes dhe’n dhew du an avon. Y spyrys loes ha sygh a dennas nerth diworth an dor ha lesa haval dhe wreydh fin y’n dor ha bysyes-barrenn mes a wel y’n ayr, bys mayth esa yn dann y nerth ogas dhe oll gwydh an Koes a-dhiworth an Ke bys y’n Goenyow.

Long ago Gorhendad Oldbuck, head of the Oldbuck family, one of the oldest in the Marish or indeed in the Shire, had crossed the river, which was the original boundary of the land eastwards. He built (and excavated) Brandy Hall, changed his name to Brandybuck, and settled down to become master of what was virtually a small independent country. His family grew and grew, and after his days continued to grow, until Brandy Hall occupied the whole of the low hill, and had three large front-doors, many side-doors, and about a hundred windows. The Brandybucks and their numerous dependants then began to burrow, and later to build, all round about. That was the origin of Buckland, a thickly inhabited strip between the river and the Old Forest, a sort of colony from the Shire. Its chief village was Bucklebury, clustering in the banks and slopes behind Brandy Hall.
Nans yw termyn pell Gorhendad Oldbuk, penn an teylu Oldbuk, onan a’n kottha teylu y’n Marysh po y’n Shayr dien yn hwir, re dreusyas an avon o kynsa amal est a’n Shayr. Ev a dhrehedhis (ha palas) Hel Brandi, chanjya y hanow dhe Brandibuk, hag omsettya aval arloedh a ranndir o ogas ha bro vyghan anserghek. Y deylu a devis brassa ha brassa hwath, ha wosa y jydhyow y honan y deylu a besyas tevi, bys yn Hel Brandi dhe lesa dres an vre isel oll, gans tri daras a-rag bras, lies isdaras hag a-dro dhe gans fenester. Ytho, an Brandibukow ha’ga tus a dhallathas palas ha drehevel y’n tir oll a-dro. Henn o dalleth Bukland, len annedhys yn tynn ynter an avon ha’n Koes Koth, ogas ha trevesigeth a’n Shayr. Y penndreveglos o Bukelberi, ow ponnia y’n ledrow ha torrlannow a-dryv dhe Hel Brandi.

About mid-day they came to a hill whose top was wide and flattened, like a shallow saucer with a green mounded rim. Inside there was no air stirring, and the sky seemed near their heads. They rode across and looked northwards. Then their hearts rose, for it seemed plain that they had come further already than they had expected. Certainly the distances had now all become hazy and deceptive, but there could be no doubt that the Downs were coming to an end. A long valley lay below them winding away northwards, until it came to an opening between two steep shoulders. Beyond, there seemed to be no more hills. Due north they faintly glimpsed a long dark line. That is a line of trees,' said Merry, 'and that must mark the Road. All along it for many leagues east of the Bridge there are trees growing. Some say they were planted in the old days.'
A-dro dhe hanter-dydh i a dheuth dhe vre efan ha gwastas hy fenn, haval orth skala bas gans kammek las krugys. Nyns esa ayr vydh ow kwaya a-ji dhedhi, hag yth esa an ebrenn nes dh’aga fennow dell hevelis. I a varghogas a-dreus dhedhi ha mires a-gledhbarth. Aga holon o pes da drefenn bos kler i dhe vyajya pella es aga gwaytyans dell hevelis dhedha. Yn sur, pellderyow re dheuth ha bos niwlek ha toellek, mes nyns esa dout vydh penn an Goenyow dhe neshe. Yth esa nans hir orth hy gorwel a-woeles dhedha, ow stumma y’n pellder a-gledhbarth, bys yn aswa ynter diw skoedh serth. Dresta, nyns esa breow moy dell hevelis. A-gledhbarth poran i a allsa gweles linennn dewl disliw. ‘Honn yw linenn a wydh,’ yn-medh Merri, ‘hag a vo keslinennek gans an Fordh. Yma gwydh ow tevi ryb an fordh dre lewyow pals dhe’n Est diworth an Pons. Nebes tus a lever i dhe vos plansys y’n dydhyow koth.’

English A-Z A-Roving (Ha Gwandra) Cadgwith Anthem (Antempna Kaswydh) Camborne Hill (Bre Gammbronn) Curing Pilchards (Para Hern) Dando and the Wild Hunt (Dando hag an Helgh Gwyls) Goonlaze (Goonlas) Haul Away, Joe (Hal Dhe-Ves, Joe) Irish Rover (Gwandryas Iwerdhon) Johnny Bucca (Jonni Bucka) Lamorna Let's Go (Deun Alemma) Lil Lize/Little Eyes (Dewlagas Vyghan) Maggie May (Maggi Me) May Feast (De Hala Me) Meriasek Nelson's Blood (Goos Nelson) Newlyn Maid (An Vowes a Lulyn) Nine Brave Boys (Naw Map Harth) Old Grey Duck (An Hos Loos Koth) Old Land of Our Fathers (Bro Goth Agan Tasow) Padstow Farewell Shanty (Morgan Farwell Lannwedhenek) South Australia (Ostrali Soth) Strawberry Leaves (Delyow Sevi) The Cider Song (Kan an Cider) The Lark (An Awhesyth) The Sweet Nightingale (An Eos Hweg) The Tree on the Hill (An Wedhen war’n Vre) The White Rose (An Rosen Wynn) Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day (Avorow Karolli My a Vynn) Trelawny/Song of the Western Men (Kan an Dus West) What Shall We Do With a Drunken Sailor? (Marner Medhow)
A-Z Kernewek An Awhesyth (The Lark) An Eos Hweg (The Sweet Nightingale) An Hos Loos Koth (Old Grey Duck) An Rosen Wynn (The White Rose) An Wedhen war’n Vre (The Tree on the Hill) An Vowes a Lulyn (Newlyn Maid) Antempna Kaswydh (Cadgwith Anthem) Avorow Karolli My a Vynn (Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day) Bre Gammbronn (Camborne Hill) Bro Goth Agan Tasow (Old Land of Our Fathers) Dando hag an Helgh Gwyls (Dando and the Wild Hunt) De Hala Me (May Feast) Delyow Sevi (Strawberry Leaves) Deun Alemma (Let's Go) Dewlagas Vyghan (Lil Lize/Little Eyes) Goonlas (Goonlaze) Gwandryas Iwerdhon (Irish Rover) Goos Nelson (Nelson's Blood) Ha Gwandra (A-Roving) Hal Dhe-Ves, Joe (Haul Away, Joe) Jonni Bucka (Johnny Bucca) Kan an Cider (The Cider Song) Lamorna Maggi Me (Maggie May) Marner Medhow (What Shall We Do With a Drunken Sailor?) Meriasek Morgan Farwell Lannwedhenek (Padstow Farewell Shanty) Naw Map Harth (Nine Brave Boys) Ostrali Soth (South Australia) Para Hern (Curing Pilchards) Trelawny/Kan an Dus West (Song of the Western Men)

‘Long after, but still very long ago, there lived by the banks of the Great River on the edge of Wilderland a clever-handed and quiet-footed little people. I guess they were of hobbit-kind; akin to the fathers of the fathers of the Stoors, for they loved the River, and often swam in it, or made little boats of reeds. There was among them a family of high repute, for it was large and wealthier than most, and it was ruled by a grandmother of the folk, stern and wise in old lore, such as they had. The most inquisitive and curious-minded of that family was called Sméagol. He was interested in roots and beginnings; he dived into deep pools; he burrowed under trees and growing plants; he tunnelled into green mounds; and he ceased to look up at the hill-tops, or the leaves on trees, or the flowers opening in the air: his head and his eyes were downward.
‘Hirneth a-wosa, mes nans yw hirneth hwath, y trygas ryb glann an Avon Meur, dhe amal a Dirgwyls, pobel vyghan, skentel aga dorn ha kosel aga dewdroes. Nebes haval orth Hobytow ens i; unnwoes gans tasow tasow an Stors martesen, drefenn i dhe gara an Avon, hag i dhe neuvya ynno lieskweyth, hag i a wre kokynnow a gors. Yth esa, yn aga mysk, teylu a-vri, rag ev dhe vos bras ha golusekka es an brassa rann, hag y lywyes o mamm-wynn an werin, asper ha fur; skiansek yn kever godhvos-koth dell esa dhedha. An den govynnussa y vrys a’n teylu na o henwys Smegol. Gwreydhyow ha dallethvaow o dhe-les dhodho; ev a sedha yn pollow down; ev a bala yn-dann gwydhennow ha lesyow ow tevi; ev a gowfordha yn krugow; hag ev a hedhi mires yn-bann dhe vreow, po del wydh, po bleujennow ow pleujowa y’n ayr: y benn ha’y dhewlagas a viras yn-nans.’