The Hobbit

their bags and brought back little fiddles; Dori, Nori, and Ori brought out flutes from somewhere
     inside their coats; Bombur produced a drum from the hall; Bifur and Bofur went out too, and came back with clarinets that
     they had left among the walking-sticks. Dwalin and Balin said: “Excuse me, I left mine in the porch!” “Just bring mine in
     with you!” said Thorin. They came back with viols as big as themselves, and with Thorin’s harp wrapped in a green cloth. It
     was a beautiful golden harp, and when Thorin struck it the music began all at once, so sudden and sweet that Bilbo forgot
     everything else, and was swept away into dark lands under strange moons, far over The Water and very far from his hobbit-hole
     under The Hill.
    The dark came into the room from the little window that opened in the side of The Hill; the firelight flickered—it was April—and
     still they played on, while the shadow of Gandalf’s beard wagged against the wall.
    The dark filled all the room, and the fire died down, and the shadows were lost, and still they played on. And suddenly first
     one and then another began to sing as they played, deep-throated singing of the dwarves in the deep places of their ancient homes; and this is like a fragment of their song, if it can be like their
     song without their music.
    Far over the misty mountains cold
    To dungeons deep and caverns old
    We must away ere break of day
    To seek the pale enchanted gold.
    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.
    For ancient king and elvish lord
    There many a gleaming golden hoard
    They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
    To hide in gems on hilt of sword.
    On silver necklaces they strung
    The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
    The dragon-fire, in twisted wire
    They meshed the light of moon and sun.
    Far over the misty mountains cold
    To dungeons deep and caverns old
    We must away, ere break of day,
    To claim our long-forgotten gold.
    Goblets they carved there for themselves
    And harps of gold; where no man delves
    There lay they long, and many a song
    Was sung unheard by men or elves.
    The pines were roaring on the height,
    The winds were moaning in the night.
    The fire was red, it flaming spread;
    The trees like torches blazed with light.
    The bells were ringing in the dale
    And men looked up with faces pale;
    The dragon’s ire more fierce than fire
    Laid low their towers and houses frail.
    The mountain smoked beneath the moon;
    The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.
    They fled their hall to dying fall
    Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.
    Far over the misty mountains grim
    To dungeons deep and caverns dim
    We must away, ere break of day,
    To win our harps and gold from him!
    As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a
     fierce and a jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves. Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to
     go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead
     of a walking-stick. He looked out of the window. The stars were out in a dark sky above the trees. He thought of the jewels
     of the dwarves shining in dark caverns. Suddenly in the wood beyond The Water a flame leapt up—probably somebody lighting
     a wood-fire—and he thought of plundering dragons settling on his quiet Hill and kindling it all to flames. He shuddered; and
     very quickly he was plain Mr. Baggins of Bag-End, Under-Hill, again.
    He got up trembling. He had less than half a mind to fetch the lamp, and more than half a mind to pretend to, and go and hide
     behind the beer-barrels in the cellar, and not come out again until all the dwarves had gone away. Suddenly he found that
     the music and the singing had stopped, and they were all looking at him with eyes shining in the dark.
    “Where are you going?” said Thorin, in a tone that seemed to show that he guessed both halves of the hobbit’s mind.
    “What about a little light?” said Bilbo apologetically.
    “We like the dark,” said all the dwarves. “Dark for dark business! There are many hours before dawn.”
    “Of course!” said Bilbo, and sat down in a hurry. He missed the stool and sat in the fender, knocking over the poker and shovel
     with a crash.
    “Hush!” said Gandalf. “Let Thorin speak!”