the little folk oor Kornies
the little folk
Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies
an bobel vian
an bobel vyghan
an dus vian
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an dus vyghan · an hobytow · an werin hobyt
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the little folk
Skrif dhymm lyther, mar pleg.langbot langbot
the little folk
Da yw genev goslowes orth ilow klassek.langbot langbot
the little folk
Yw hemma ow thremengummyas?langbot langbot
the little folk
Ev a vynn metya orthis.langbot langbot
the little folk
Nyns yw boghosek.langbot langbot
the little folk
My a wel an chi.langbot langbot
‘Good morning, merry friends!’ cried Tom, opening the eastern window wide. A cool air flowed in; it had a rainy smell. ‘Sun won’t show her face much today. I’m thinking. I have been walking wide, leaping on the hilltops, since the grey dawn began, nosing wind and weather, wet grass underfoot, wet sky above me. I wakened Goldberry singing under window; but nought wakes hobbit-folk in the early morning. In the night little folk wake up in the darkness, and sleep after light has come! Ring a ding dillo! Wake now, my merry friends! Forget the nightly noises! Ring a ding dillo del! derry del, my hearties! If you come soon you’ll find breakfast on the table. If you come late you’ll get grass and rain-water!’
Yw hemma dha lyver?langbot langbot
Fond as he was of Frodo, Fatty Bolger had no desire to leave the Shire, nor to see what lay outside it. His family came from the Eastfarthing, from Budgeford in Bridgefields in fact, but he had never been over the Brandywine Bridge. His task, according to the original plans of the conspirators, was to stay behind and deal with inquisitive folk, and to keep up as long as possible the pretence that Mr. Baggins was still living at Crickhollow. He had even brought along some old clothes of Frodo’s to help him in playing the part. They little thought how dangerous that part might prove.
Eus ki dhodho?langbot langbot
‘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.
Tom, es’ta omma?langbot langbot
‘Well I don’t know,’ said Sam thoughtfully. He believed he had once seen an Elf in the woods, and still hoped to see more one day. Of all the legends that he had heard in his early years such fragments of tales and half-remembered stories about the Elves as the hobbits knew, had always moved him most deeply. ‘There are some, even in these parts, as know the Fair Folk and get news of them,’ he said. ‘There’s Mr. Baggins now, that I work for. He told me that they were sailing and he knows a bit about Elves. And old Mr. Bilbo knew more: many’s the talk I had with him when I was a little lad.’
Nyns eus fleghes dhymm.langbot langbot
Tom stirred like a man shaken out of a pleasant dream. ‘Eh, what?’ said he. ‘Did I hear you calling? Nay, I did not hear: I was busy singing. Just chance brought me then, if chance you call it. It was no plan of mine, though I was waiting for you. We heard news of you, and learned that you were wandering. We guessed you’d come ere long down to the water: all paths lead that way, down to Withywindle. Old grey Willow-man, he’s a mighty singer; and it’s hard for little folk to escape his cunning mazes. But Tom had an errand there, that he dared not hinder.’ Tom nodded as if sleep was taking him again; but he went on in a soft singing voice:
Nyns yw da gans Tom an venyn na.langbot langbot
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.
Yth esov vy owth oberi.langbot langbot
Marvellous! Hours of fun for the whole family. It made me proud to be a Roman Catholic. (I shouldn’t really be so disrespectful of the owners’ tastes in religious art. The little light in the basilica actually proved to be invaluable inside the otherwise gloomy crypt.) Anyway, there was no doubt as to the ancestry of the folk who had so generously provided my brother and me with this precious haven. And no expense had been spared, it seemed. In one of the niches, was a brand-new – and unoccupied – coffin of extreme grandeur and ornamentation. Whom was this waiting for? None could say since it did not yet bear a plaque. Given that it had obviously been made to order – and was of the highest specification – my guess was that it could only have been made for the (still-living?) patriarch or matriarch of the family. Just a guess, though. And, sure, there were plenty of other expensive fittings inside – including some which appeared to be made of gold and silver (or, at least, were plated with gold and silver) – but this wasn’t the most startling thing to me: it was the fact that the crypt had running water! There was no hot water, of course – let’s not get completely ridiculous – but there, in one dark corner of the room, sat a small water tap (with even a modest drain to catch any overflow). Why? Did the deceased family members get thirsty in the night and need to take a sip of water? I put this question to David – he was no help. I thought about this for a while – in the circumstances, there was nothing much else to do – then the obvious answer dawned on me. There were literally dozens of vases inside the crypt, mostly containing withered blooms. Who was going to lug water from outside to fill all these vessels on a regular basis? No-one would do it willingly. Far better to have the water piped in. Kinda sensible – in an extravagant sort of way. And now pretty handy for any living person – or even a zombie – who decided to move in!
Honn yw agan skol.langbot langbot
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