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