A yarn to grind an axe to:



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 benieth 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 on 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 in 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 dragons ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail.

The mountain smoked benith 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 at break of day
To win our harps and gold from him!

-The Hobbit