Far over 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.

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.

And goblets carved they 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 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 mountains 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 misty mountains grim,
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away ere break of day
To win the harps and gold from him.

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