#weaponry tw

Dáin, O' Lord of the Iron Hills

Cousin O' Thorin, Nephew O' Thrain

Son O' Náin and lord O' stone mills

May you forever bring them buggers pain

Dáin, O' King under the Mountain, O' King of Durin's Folk

Who fought alongside Thorin Oakenshield

Who fought for Erebor, where dragon's fire once wrought smoke

Who fights with hammer in wield

Dáin, O' great and mighty king

Who died in strife with Sauron's forces

He who lets Dwarven hammer ring

Who shall only ride boars, who will never ride horses

Dáin, O' unyielding and honorable Dwarvish lord

Who fought to aright the earth

Dáin, O' mighty protector of hoard

The world was young, the mountains green,

No stain yet on the Moon was seen,

No words were laid on stream or stone

When Durin woke and walked alone.

He named the nameless hills and dells;

He drank from yet untasted wells;

He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,

And saw a crown of stars appear,

As gems upon a silver thread,

Above the shadows of his head.

The world was fair, the mountains tall,

In Elder Days before the fall

Of mighty kings in Nargothrond

And Gondolin, who now beyond

The Western Seas have passed away:

The world was fair in Durin's Day.

A king he was on carven throne

In many-pillared halls of stone

With golden roof and silver floor,

And runes of power upon the door.

The light of sun and star and moon

In shining lamps of crystal hewn

Undimmed by cloud or shade of night

There shone for ever fair and bright.

There hammer on the anvil smote,

There chisel clove, and graver wrote;

There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;

The delver mined, the mason built.

There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,

And metal wrought like fishes' mail,

Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,

And shining spears were laid in hoard.

Unwearied then were Durin's folk;

Beneath the mountains music woke:

The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,

And at the gates the trumpets rang.

The world is grey, the mountains old,

The forge's fire is ashen-cold;

No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:

The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;

The shadow lies upon his tomb

In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.

But still the sunken stars appear

In dark and windless Mirrormere;

There lies his crown in water deep,