Summoning Caradhras (w, Lyrics)

When winter winds are piercing chill, and through the hawthorn blows the gale, with solemn feet I tread the peak, that overbrows the mountains vale. Redhorn; my doom Where twisted round the barren oak, the winter vine in beauty clung, and howling winds the stillness broke, the crystal icicle is hung. Redhorn; my doom But still wild music is abroad, pale, desert woods within your crowd; and gathering winds, in hoarse accord, amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. High upon the land, on the highest (mountain) peak I hear (the echoes of) the world profound.