Far over the misty mountains cold
   To dungeons deep and carvens old
   We must away ere break of day
   To seek the pale enchanted gold
  
   The pines were roaring on the height
   The winds were moaning in the night
   The fire was read, it flaming spread
   The trees like torches blazed with light
  
   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 kind and elvish lord
   There many a gleaming golden hord
   They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
   To hide in gems on hilt of sword
  
   [Sample:1. In the darkness bind them]