| Far over the misty mountains cold
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| To dungeons deep and carvens old
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| We must away ere break of day
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| To seek the pale enchanted gold
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| The pines were roaring on the height
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| The winds were moaning in the night
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| The fire was read, it flaming spread
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| The trees like torches blazed with light
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| The dwarves of yore made mighty spells
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| While hammers fell like ringing bells
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| In places deep where dark things sleep
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| In hollow halls beneath the fells
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| For ancient kind and elvish lord
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| There many a gleaming golden hord
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| They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
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| To hide in gems on hilt of sword |