“Song of Erebor”
[Originally sung by Thorin and Company in the house of Bilbo]
Beneath the Mountain, light is cast;
trapped in mirror and crystal clear,
bringing radiance to cavern vast,
dispelling shadow, vanquishing fear.
With craft unmatched there delves
each Dwarf, who by Mahal was taught.
Not by hands of Men, nor Elves
are works of such perfection wrought.
Anvil is struck, while coals blaze hot.
Word spreads far of smiths’ great skill.
They craft a rich and golden lot,
which many a lofty hall would fill.
The roots of the Mountain are inlaid
with silver seams, and golden veins.
None have fear this wealth will fade,
so long as the King of Erebor reigns.
From snow on peak, the River comes,
down through channels dark and long,
then out from mouth of Gate it runs,
to wind through Valley, like a song.
By River then, come men of Dale,
who visit often Thrór’s great throne,
trading bright gold for shirts of mail,
to defend valiantly their home.
Without warning, the River roiled,
churned by winged Worm of dread.
Stout courage of Men is foiled,
and all around, Dale’s folk lie dead.
To the Mountain then flies Doom,
deafening with his searing roar.
Warriors fall, sealed in their tomb,
and powerless is mighty Thrór.
Like a flail, Smaug’s tail does thrash,
breaking rock, and smashing stone.
What is left then turns to ash,
as fire leaps up, charring bone.
The mighty forges now lie cold,
and ring of hammer long has ceased.
Yet still one furnace burns too bold,
inside the belly of the Beast.
The Dragon crawls through tunnels dim,
sleeping long in halls of sorrow,
awaiting the return of Durin’s kin…
And to this fate we go tomorrow!