Far over the misty mountains cold
In dungeons deep and caverns old
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 blased with light,

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
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.

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 wind came down from mountains cold, 
And like a tide it roared and rolled.
Under the Mountain dark and tall, 
The King [bad word] unto his hall! 

His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread, 
And ever so his foes shall fall! 

We must away ere break of day
To seek our long-forgotten gold.