Far over 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 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 And goblets carved they 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 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 mountains 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 misty mountains grim To dungeons deep and caverns dim We must away ere break of day To win the harps and gold from him