Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and carvens old

We must away ere break of day

To seek the pale enchanted gold



The pines were roaring on the height

The winds were moaning in the night

The fire was read, it flaming spread

The trees like torches blazed with light



The dwarves of yore made mighty spells

While hammers fell like ringing bells

In places deep where dark things sleep

In hollow halls beneath the fells



For ancient kind and elvish lord

There many a gleaming golden hord

They shaped and wrought, and light they caught

To hide in gems on hilt of sword