The came down from their misty mountain hold Short of stature but oh so bold Helms of beaten iron on their heads Belts of gold on girded waist Sword Axe and hammer, the tools of war Oaken shields also worn They came to beard the dragon in his lair Bring rescue to a maiden fair Held in fear against her will In that rancid caven deep in the hill Each warrior knew of the danger faced But would not retreat as coward disgraced When the searing flame of hell released Would burn the hair and singe the face For these were warriors of a race so old They the dwarves from the misty mountain holds