Misty Mountains

Far over the misty mountains cold,

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, ere break of day

To find our long forgotten gold

The pines were roaring on the heights,

The winds were moaning in the night,

The fire was red, it flaming spread,

The trees like torches blazed with light.

The wind was on the withered heath,

But in the forest stirred no leaf:

There shadows lay by night and day,

And dark things silent crept beneath.

The wind went on from West to East;

All movement in the forest ceased,

But shrill and harsh across the marsh

It's whistling voices were released.

Farewell we call to hearth and hall!

Though wind may blow and rain may fall,

We must await ere break of day

Far over wood and mountain tall.