歌词
The world was young,
the mountains green
No stain yet on the moon was seen
No words were laid on stream or stone
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells.
He drank from yet untasted wells.
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread
Above the shadow of his head.
The world is grey, the mountains old
The forge's fire is ashen-cold.
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls,
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm,
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere.
There lies his crown in water deep
Til' Durin wakes again from sleep
[chorus]
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 gems on hilt of sword.
On silver necklaces they strung.
The flowering stars on crowns they hung.
The dragon-fire in 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 on the heights,
The winds was 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 dragon's ire, more fierce than fire,
Laid low their towers and houses frail,
The mountain smoked beneath the moon.
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom (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, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him,
Far over the misty mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old.
