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!