Page 186 - The Hobbit

There was the sound, too, of elven-harps and of sweet music; and as it echoed up

towards them it seemed that the chill of the air was warmed, and they caught
faintly the fragrance of woodland flowers blossoming in spring.
Then Bilbo longed to escape from the dark fortress and to go down and join in

the mirth and feasting by the fires. Some of the younger dwarves were moved in
their hearts, too, and they muttered that they wished things had fallen out
otherwise and that they might welcome such folk as friends; but Thorin scowled.
Then the dwarves themselves brought forth harps and instruments regained

from the hoard, and made music to soften his mood; but their song was not as
elvish song, and was much like the song they had sung long before in Bilbo's little
hobbit-hole.

Under the Mountain dark and tall
The King has come unto his hall!
His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread,
And ever so his foes shall fall.

The sword is sharp, the spear is long,
The arrow swift, the Gate is strong;
The heart is bold that looks on gold;

The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

On silver necklaces they strung
The light of stars, on crowns they hung

The dragon-fire, from twisted wire
The melody of harps they wrung.

The mountain throne once more is freed!
O! wandering folk, the summons heed!
Come haste! Come haste! across the waste!
The king of friend and kin has need.

Now call we over mountains cold,
'Come hack unto the caverns old'!
Here at the Gates the king awaits,