High on the mountains highest ridge

Where oft the stormy winter gale

Cuts life a scythe, while through the clouds

It sweeps from vale to vale;

Not five yards from the mountain path

Silvertine you on the left espy;

And to the left, three yards beyond

You see a little muddy pound

I looked around, I thought I saw

A jutting crag, and off I ran

Head-foremost, through the driving rain

The shelter of the crag to gain;

And, as I am a man

Instead a jutting crag, I found

Durins tower up from the ground...