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