Gandalf walked in front.
An icy blast came from the mountains.
Five and forty leagues we have come,
Paths were few and winding.
Going would be slow.
There is no sound for miles
Baraz, Zirak, Shthûr, stand tall in our dreams.
There came a cold clear dawn,
The mountains were drawing nearer, ever higher
We may be seen by watchers.
Hollin is no longer wholesome for us.
A sense of watchfulness and fear
But we must go on.