“Moria!” and “Dain, Dain!” the dwarves of the Iron Hills plunged in,
wielding
     Panic came upon the Goblins; and even as they turned to meet this new
attack, the elves charged again with renewed numbers. Already many of
the goblins were flying back down the river to escape from the trap:
and many of their own wolves were turning upon them and rending the
dead and the wounded. Victory seemed at
     Goblins had scaled the Mountain from the other side and already many
were on the slopes above the Gate, and others were streaming down
recklessly, heedless of those that fell screaming from cliff and
precipice, to attack the spurs from above. Each of these could be
reached by paths that ran down from the main mass of the Mountain in
the centre; and the defenders had too few to bar the way for long.
Victory now vanished from hope. They had only stemmed the first
onslaught of the black tide.
     Day drew on. The goblins gathered again in the valley. There a host of
     Wargs came ravening and with them came the bodyguard of Bolg, goblins
of huge size with scimitars of steel. Soon actual darkness was coming
into a stormy sky; while still the great bats swirled about the heads
and ears of elves and men, or fastened vampire-like on the stricken.