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

[Sample:1. In the darkness bind them]