And I know where Mirkwood is, and the Withered Heath where the great dragons bred.
Soon he would set all the shoreland woods ablaze and wither every field and pasture.
Some of the verses were like this, but there were many more, and their singing went on for a long while: The wind was on the withered heath, but in the forest stirred no leaf: there shadows lay by night and day, and dark things silent crept beneath.
The dragon has withered all the pleasant green, and anyway the night has come and it is cold.
This is something like it: The dragon is withered, His bones are now crumbled; His armour is shivered, His splendour is humbled! Though sword shall be rusted, And throne and crown perish With strength that men trusted And wealth that they cherish, Here grass is still growing, And leaves are yet swinging, The white water flowing, And elves are yet singing Come! Tra-la-la-lally! Come back to the valley! The stars are far brighter Than gems without measure, The moon is far whiter Thanů