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 strung
   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 blazed 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!