Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away, ere break of day To seek our 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 gleaming 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