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 [bad word]  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!