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 mountains dark and cold
We must away, ere break of day
To seek our pale enchanted gold