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Under the Mountain dark and tall |
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The King has come unto his hall! |
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His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread, |
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And ever so his foes shall fall. |
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The sword is sharp, the spear is long, |
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The arrow swift, the Gate is strong; |
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The heart is bold that looks on gold; |
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The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong. |
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The dwarves of yore made mightly 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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On silver necklaces they strung |
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The light of stars, on crowns they hung |
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The dragon-fire, from twisted wire |
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The melody of harps they wrung. |
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The mountain throne once more is freed! |
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O! wandering folk, the summons heed! |
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Come haste! Come haste! across the waste! |
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The king of friend and king has need. |
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The king is come unto his hall |
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Under the Mountain dark and tall. |
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The Worm of Dread is slain and dead, |
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And ever so our foes shall fall! |
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Now call we over mountains cold, |
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'Come back unto the caverns old'! |
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Here at the Gates the king awaits, |
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His hands are rich with gems and gold. |
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The king is come unto his hall |
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Under the Mountain dark and tall. |
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The Worm of Dread is slain and dead, |
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And ever so our foes shall fall! |