Brilig
eram,
daebuh
tofo
slaithee
ga
Aikeed
ee’gimbel’awyaa
waeb
Mimzee
khogra
eram
barogofo
ga
Daebuh
momraalth
autgraeb.
|
It was the Time of Choosing, and the slithery
Horn-Badgers, Spun and bored into the wet hill.
All of the Average Folk were wishy-washy,
As were the bloviations of The Man.
|
A’khlat
aachaabuhrwak,
oolshawkesing
Naashkas
ai’meeth,
slaashkas
ai’greeth,
A’khlat
aadar
feloogee,
a’maubrooding
Peroonoo
draugekae
ga,
ai’thleeth!
|
Beware the BigBad Boss, O Son of the Founder,
Jaws that bite, claws that grab,
Beware the raucous mob, and cast out
Those bitterly-angry wheezing minions
|
Fo
egreeth
iskeethee
staizakhee
fol
Raitleste
oodraet
fo
eegraukhing
raigraw
Fo
aidoogren’
eedauthlishi
awchee
ilnateelee
Daeb’
uhfloothlaaktuhng
aw
tlau
baw.
|
They grasped their vorpal swords
For a long time they sought the wicked enemy
They jokes with the crowd of giggling idiots
And disguised themselves in good thoughts.
|
Tootlend’
uhfloothlaaktuhng
f’aw
etsheloog
uhfee
Chaabuhrwak
ga
chee
loo
ai
aekhlaat
Eesed
uhwifling
aataw
aasawnith
taageezee
Uhbuhrbuhl
otlai
onathal
bashen
aat’
|
While hid as oafish travelers
The Enemy with eyes that burn
Came whiffling through the urban forest
Subjugating all as it came through.
|
Wen
raich!
Wen
raich!
Aataw,
aataw!
Zaekat
staizakhee
ga
izaung!
Fo
aazak
aebashen,
shenga
chee
floothlaakh
basheln
Fo
aamauplet
otlai
uhlzebir
aitaung.
|
One two! One two! Through, through!
The deadly blades whooshed!
They killed it, and then with its head
They returned to camp, triumphant.
|
Hlai
aazak
sloo
aachaabuhrwak
ga?
Sloo’
shleskazaetae
faanseelh,
otnadelthing
zaneepdae!
O,
haudrith
plinthlae,
kaaloo,
kalae!
Fosh
oohawtkeg
otlai
plinthlae.
|
Have ye slain your Arch-Enemy?
You artful weapons, you clever caravan!
Oh, joyful time, ye chivalrous and personable heroes!
He chortled joyfully.
|
Brilig
eram,
daebuh
tofo
slaithee
ga
Aikeed
ee’gimbel’awyaa
waeb
Mimzee
khogra
eram
barogofo
ga
Daebuh
momraalth
autgraeb.
|
It was the Time of Choosing, and the slithery
Horn-Badgers, Spun and bored into the wet hill.
All of the Average Folk were wishy-washy,
As were the bloviations of The Man.
|