Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeous deep
And caverns old
We must away
Ere break of day
To seek our pale
Enchanted gold

The mountain
Smoked beneath the moon
The dwarves, they heard
The tramp of doom
They fled the hall
To dying fall
Beneath his feet
Beneath the moon

Far over the misty mountains grim
To dungeous deep
And caverns dim
We must away
Ere break of day
To win our harps
And gold from him