  OUT on the mountain over the town, All night long, all night long, The trolls go up and the trolls go down, Bearing their packs and singing a song; And this is the song the hill-folk croon, As they trudge in the light of the misty moon— This is ever their dolorous tune: “Gold, gold! ever more gold— Bright red gold for dearie!” Deep in the hill a father delves All night long, all night long; None but the peering, furtive elves Sees his toil and hears his song; As merrily ever his pick he swings, And merrily ever this song he sings: “Gold, gold! ever more gold— Bright red gold for dearie!” Mother is rocking thy lowly bed All night long, all night long, Happy to smooth thy curly head, To hold thy hand and to sing her song: ’Tis not of the hill-folk dwarfed and old, Nor the song of thy father, stanch and bold, And the burthen it beareth is not of gold, But it’s “Love, love! nothing but love Mother’s love for dearie!” |
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