Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale
enchanted gold.
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 king and elvish lord
There many a gloaming golden hoard
They
shaped and wrought, and light they caught
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.
On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering
stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.
Far over the misty
mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day,
To claim our long-forgotten gold.
Goblets
they carved there for themselves
And harps of gold; where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by
men or elves.
The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night.
The fire was red, it flaming
spread;
The trees like torches biased with light,
The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces
pale;
The dragon's ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail.
The mountain smoked beneath the
moon;
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled their hall to dying -fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the
moon.
Far over the misty mountains grim
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps
and gold from him!
The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night.
The fire was red, it flaming
spread;
The trees like torches biased with light,
The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces
pale;
The dragon's ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail.