The Hobbit

wall of squared stones laid dry, but very thick and high,
     across the opening. There were holes in the wall through which they could see (or shoot), but no entrance. They climbed in
     or out with ladders, and hauled stuff up with ropes. For the issuing of the stream they had contrived a small low arch under
     the new wall; but near the entrance they had so altered the narrow bed that a wide pool stretched from the mountain-wall to
     the head of the fall over which the stream went towards Dale. Approach to the Gate was now only possible, without swimming,
     along a narrow ledge of the cliff, to the right as one looked outwards from the wall. The ponies they had brought only to
     the head of the steps above the old bridge, and unloading them there had bidden them return to their masters and sent them
     back riderless to the South.
    There came a night when suddenly there were many lights as of fires and torches away south in Dale before them.
    “They have come!” called Balin. “And their camp is very great. They must have come into the valley under the cover of dusk along both banks of the river.”
    That night the dwarves slept little. The morning was still pale when they saw a company approaching. From behind their wall
     they watched them come up to the valley’s head and climb slowly up. Before long they could see that both men of the lake armed
     as if for war and elvish bowmen were among them. At length the foremost of these climbed the tumbled rocks and appeared at
     the top of the falls; and very great was their surprise to see the pool before them and the Gate blocked with a wall of new-hewn
     stone.
    As they stood pointing and speaking to one another Thorin hailed them: “Who are you,” he called in a very loud voice, “that
     come as if in war to the gates of Thorin son of Thrain, King under the Mountain, and what do you desire?”
    But they answered nothing. Some turned swiftly back, and the others after gazing for a while at the Gate and its defences
     soon followed them. That day the camp was moved to the east of the river, right between the arms of the Mountain. The rocks
     echoed then with voices and with song, as they had not done for many a day. 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 back unto the caverns old’!
    Here at the Gates the king awaits,
    His hands are rich with gems and gold.
    The king is come unto his hall
    Under the Mountain dark and tall.
    The Worm of Dread is slain and dead,
    And ever so our foes shall fall!
    This song appeared to please Thorin, and he smiled again and grew merry; and he began reckoning the distance to the Iron Hills
     and how long it would be before Dain could reach the Lonely Mountain, if he had set out as soon as the message reached him.
     But Bilbo’s heart fell, both at the song and the talk: they sounded much too warlike.
    The next morning early a company of spearmen was seen crossing the river, and marching up the valley.