Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
There lies a treasure of wealth untold.
The dragon Smaug took it all,
And guards it in his brazen hall.

Over hill and under hill,
Half the time against their will,
Round and round far underground,
And in the dark the Ring was found.

Mountains and flowers,
And untold powers,
Riddles with hisses,
Eggs and fishes.

Eastward lies Mirkwood the Great,
Savage is its tiny gate,
Wary Elves hide there in caves,
And their leader with his carven stave.

There ahead looms a mountain lonely,
Not to Bilbo seeming homely,
But with a brave heart he enters there,
And found one scale completely bare.

Furious with greed the Great Worm soars,
Beating down on men with oars,
The thrush speaks, the arrow flies,
And in the forsaken flesh drives.

Greed and sorrow arrest the Men,
And to their force the Elves join in,
To the mountain's root they now must go,
To seek for the Dwarves high and low.

A furious battle there was fought,
And away from the battle the King's body was brought,
To his side was Bilbo called,
And Thorin Oakenshield was mourned by all.

Back again to home at last,
It seemed a dream from the past,
The Ring on the mantle with its golden gleam,
Where mountain nor dragon was ever seen.