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 height,
     The winds were moaning in the night.
     The fire was red, it flaming spread;
     The trees like torches biased 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.