{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/ms2/ms206.htm","path":"neu/ms2/ms206.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/ms2/ms206.htm","text":"Magic Songs of the West Finns, Vol. 2, by John Abercromby, [1898]\nWelcome! for showing thy countenance, for dawning forth, thou golden Sun, for rising now, thou 'morning star'! From under the waves thou hast escaped, hast mounted above the clumps of firs, like a golden cuckoo, like a silver dove hast risen up to the level sky, to thy former state, on thy ancient tour. Rise ever at the proper time, after this very day as well, bring as a gift on coming home, give us completest health, into our hands convey the game, the quarry to our thumb's tip, good luck to our hook's point;\ngo on thy circuit pleasantly, conclude the journey of the day, at eve attain to happiness.\nKinsman of Hiisi! rise, awake, thou mountain haltia, to show a man the path, to point to a full-grown man the place where booty is to be obtained, treasures can be opened up before a man who is making search, a fellow creeping on his knees.\nFrom the earth rise, Ghostly Shade (manalainen), like a horror, hairless one, like a hideous fright, clod-headed. one, approach to take away thy blast, to take possession of thine own; the injury thou dost, force down into Tuoni's turf, to the end of the hut of Manala, not into a human being's skin or into a creature's (kave) hide.\nO Siilikki [v. Huijutar], woods\u2019 daughter-in-law, pray discipline thy wee 'winged bird,' hide away thy 'feathered chick,' bind up its wings, confine its claws, to prevent it stabbing with its pike, to prevent it sharpening its steel. Kuutar, conceal thy children now, hide, P\u00e4iv\u00e4t\u00e4r, thy family, and follow not a wizard's wish, don't be made jealous by jealous folk.\nCome, boy, from Pohjola, boy of the north, and iron-kneed, to grind this Hiisi, this Juutas crush. String a fiery\nbow, draw a copper crooked bow with a fiery string \u2019gainst thy left knee; feather a fiery bolt with all an eagle's plumes, with the feathers of a sparrow's tail, to be used with the fiery bow; shoot with it Tuoni's grub,' fell the bone-biter with a bang, shoot through the teeth the eater of bone, the biter of flesh, that it cease to eat, to crunch, to fret, to gnaw, that Hiisi's cat' cease shattering, that 'Lempo's dog' cease tearing up, cease ravaging the jaws, cease hacking down the teeth.\nShort maiden, Tuoni's girl, take from the teeth this 'cur,' this Lempo from the jaws; press down thy maladies, force down thine injuries, fling down thy filthiness into an iron baking-pan, at the end of Piru's tongs, \u2019mong Hiisi's coals, in the fire of the evil power. Thou'lt frizzle, Tuoni's grub, thou\u2019lt simmer, worm of earth, thy head will be badly scorched, thy despicable tongue will swell in the iron baking-pan, at the end of Piru's tongs, \u2019mong Hiisi's coals, in the fire of the evil power.\nHeigh! old man, my aunt's son, thou old white-bearded man, just strike with thy whip the ground, with thy thong produce a crack, that a mist from the ground may rise, in the mist a little man, on the shoulder of whom is a bow, in his fist a little bolt; the bow is made of steel, in copper the bolt is cast. I'll shoot with it Hiisi's son, that he cease to eat and gnaw, that he cease to bite and bore, that 'Lempo's cur' shall cease to rend the cherished teeth, the poor cheek-bones.\nExpert St. Stephen (Tapani), come, to keep watch close at hand when I send a horse to grass, drive out my small one on the yard, from under a lovely shed, from under a double roof, to the summer grazing-grounds, to the summer sheltered spots, to the honey-dropping sward, to the honeyed grassy knolls. Let it stay happily at the edge of a holy field, to delight me in the afternoon, in the forenoon to make me pleased.\nLord of horses, Tahvanus [v. Timanter, v. Rukotiivo], a god that cleans the mangers out, over my herds keep watch, give fodder to my steeds, devoid of speech, devoid of strength, devoid of guilt, devoid of guile. As thou hast watched them \u2019neath the shed, defended them \u2019neath shelter-boards, so watch when they are roofless too, defend them in the bushy woods, when on beds of pine-tree sprays, on pillows made of twigs, that not a hair be broken off, not half a one should come away, against the will of God, despite the intentions of the Blest. If a hair be broken off, e\u2019en half a one should come away, I shall at once demand a brace, I'll sternly make request for three.\nO Iki Tiera [v. Hiki Tiera, Niera's [Miera's] son, 1 snow-hoofed 2 and bony-hoofed, pray come to keep watch close\nat hand, to overlook most carefully when I send out a horse to grass, let loose a mare upon the plain, when I throw the halter on the ground, the horse's bell upon the sand. Stand brush in hand at night and holding a comb by day, brush till it gets a lynx-like skin, the coat of a forest-animal (kave).\nLet thy father Santta S\u00e4it\u00e4ri, thy lovely mother Pullukka, come to keep watch close by, to overlook from very near, so that the boy shall not depart, the mother's son not slip away from a life by the Creator made, fashioned by God Himself. O Virgin Mary, mother dear, beloved mother, pitiful, pray sanctify with words, prohibit with thy sentences, for holy are thy words, and potent are thy sentences.\nFrom whom shall I 1 ask help for my protection, my support, while this girl is being given away, this man is being betrothed, unenvied by the envious, by an evil wisher undisturbed?\nFrom yonder person I ask for help, from yonder woman I cry for aid: from the gravel, bony-fingered, rise, steel-jawed, from the muddy strand, from the spring, O maiden, rise, 'blue-socks,' from a corner of the swamp. If thou no leisure hast thyself, the uprightest of thy lassies send, the best of all thy serving-maids to cover up this family, this bridal party to conceal. O woman (kave), old\nwife Luonnotar, thou darling woman (kave) and beautiful, begin to indicate the path, to rectify the road to where the girl is given away, the bride is in procession led. May the paths be opened up, may broken roads be rendered smooth; if a fallen tree should block the way, shove it aside, that the great may pass, the small may pass, the weak may move along.\nIf that is not enough from yonder person I ask for help, from my father in the sky, from my mother in the depths of earth, from whom enduring mercies come, familiar help proceeds. Come, father, from the sky, my mother,\u2014from the depths of earth, to give away this maiden's hand, to lead this man to be betrothed, to overthrow the envious, to overcome the enemy.\nPlenty there are of hissing mouths, of husky throats, of sorcerers beside the path, of envious people in every place, while a bridal party trudges past, a man is led to be betrothed.\nHo! Ukko, lord on high, the god that over journeys rules, that holdest fast the clouds, that governest the fleecy clouds, O come from the sky like fire, quiver like a burning brand, having the size of a forest fir, the stature of a swamp-grown pine, though not against myself, nor against my followers, but against the enemies, against tremendous accidents. Start with us, come in company to conduct my bridal train, to tear up spell-cast injuries, to scatter all impediments, to crush the criminals, to snatch away the sorcerers, to squeeze the fiend, to overthrow the spook (kamulainen), to break the devilish weather up, to trample down roads broken up, while I am travelling by\nland, or I on the water row, am on the mountains wandering or roving o\u2019er low-lying ground. Should some one stand across the path, send him aside; if a snake should lie along the road, break it in two at once; if there are trees or fallen trees, shove them aside, if logs are on my path, from the path remove the logs, let the tree-placer become a tree, let the log-maker become a log.\nO forest's mistress, Elina, a woman with body undefiled, now bring the game from further off, from the foot of the forest-fort, from the side of the honeyed woods, from the rear of the copper hills; permit a 'bandy legs' to run, a squinting eyes' to lob along, to come this way without alarm, bobbing along without demur, let a big one come or a little one, or one of medium size approach directly towards my trap, towards my snare, to tread with its feet upon my gin, that stands in front of its two paws, avoiding other people's snares, shunning the traps of other men.\nO Tapio's daughter, Lumikki, thy snow-white creatures (lumikki) stir, release thy 'gold' 1 to wander forth, thy 'silver' 1 to rove around; turn hither a 'bandy legs,' a 'slender paws' to the centre here, under the firmament of air, towards a man in search of it, towards a stately full-grown man, towards one of a woman born. If from the track it turn away, from its furrow it diverge, by the tail just pull it on the track, or by the ears just set it right, let\nit run with rapidity, let it hurry with hasty foot, without a wizard's knowing it, without being heard by a 'fiery throat,' across the edges of the field, the lower side of untilled land, past other peoples\u2019 cords, under the snares of other men, to the place where I set my gins, to my traps that should be trod, in front of a man in search of game, to the steps of one demanding it.\nDistinguished maiden, Varvutar, Mikit\u00e4r, forest's daughter-in-law, the daughter of Tapio, Annikki, give me when I request, when I with a golden tongue complain; cause thy 'sheep' to come this way, cast out thy 'distaffs bound with wool.' Bestow them heartily from the deep forest dells in threes, in fives, in sixes from the copse, in sevens from the abandoned fields, in eights from clumps of juniper, before the man in search of them, at the steps of him that walks along.\nThou famous maiden, Kulotar, thou lovely woman Kanarvatar, remove thy 'dogs,' eject thy 'curs' from my life-sustaining herbs, these food-producing plants, ere their destruction comes, ere Ukko breaks their heads with drops from the clouds, with iron hail. O 'witch-ball' (tyr\u00e4) 1 a mother, Maarana, at the end of a blue bridge sit, holding an iron hook; when thou seest the 'witch-ball' come, make a rattle with thine iron, make a clatter with thy hook.\nFoam-mantled Ahti [v. Ahto] of the sea! reed-bearded old man of the sea, throw over thee luck-bringing clothes, put on gift-giving shirts, at this thy time for giving gifts, on this my day for catching fish; give me thy gift, abundantly and promptly draw the crowd that fills the watery tent, the dwellers underneath the wave; from sand-banks gather in the fish, the perch with short and crooked necks, to listen to the music here, to V\u00e4in\u00e4in\u00f6inen's melody.\nO Ahti [v. Ahto], master of the waves, the ruler of a hundred caves, give me some perch, impel thy 'spiky-backs,' to where this net is lifted out, to where the hundred-eyed' is dropt; take a stake five fathoms long, a pole of seven fathoms seize, with which to persecute the seas, to stir the bottom of the sea, to raise a shoal of bony ones, to frighten the fishy herd from the fishy bays, from the salmon holes to waters where the nets are cast, to where this net is lifted out.\nO water's mistress, Vellamo, water's old wife with reedy breast, come here to exchange thy shirt, to change thy clothes. On thee is a shirt of reeds, on thee is a sea-foam cloak, made by the daughter of the wind, the gift of Aallotar; I give thee a linen shirt, of linen entirely made, by Kuutar woven and spun by P\u00e4iv\u00e4t\u00e4r [v. Kaunotar].\nO water's golden king, damp-bearded and with slouching hat, forget thy long enduring hate, thy long protracted\nniggardness; come along with me to fish, as a mate to catch fresh fish, give me some full-grown perch, abundantly of 'crooked necks,' of slippery siks, of dark grey pike. May the dear fish rush into my traps on holidays as formerly a squirrel rushed, alarmed in a clump of firs, jumped suddenly on the swaying boughs, on the leafy trees.\nOld wife of the sea with reedy breast, give me some perch from the great centres of the sea, from the gloomy depths, from where the sun ne\u2019er shines, from where the sand is undisturbed, from the open sea's black mud, from the bosom of a bulky wave; frighten the fishy shoal, stir up the swarm of bony ones, chase it from the grots below, from the holes of the reefs in the sea to tug my lines, to make my threads resound; give thy big fish, till the little ones enlarge, cede thy fat fish till the lean ones fatten up.\nOn the water I cast my net, I fasten my sinks of stone; thou fair old wife, Juolehetar, the water's mistress, benevolent, rise hither from the mud, to give thy well-beloved from thy capacious magazine. Send forth the fishy herd to seas that of old are full of fish, to where I intend to cast the nets; give those for which I beg, bring those for which I ask, from the holes of the reefs pray lift them out, and from recesses of the rocks.\nLouhi, the mistress of Pohjola, thrust forth thy woolly fist, turn round thy hairy palm before a man in search of\ngame, close to a full-grown walking man. By the Maker \u2019twould be allowed, by the Creator be vouchsafed, by Tapio be wished that I should get big game, that I should prostrate 'honey paws.'\nWhen I am going to the woods, to the door of bruin's room, pray, oldest of the island, say, speak, lovely Taaria, who art nine sleeping-places away from here, a hundred stages to the rear: 'My \"little hay stack,\" \"cock of hay,\" my \"little apple,\" my wee bear, pray don't disturb thyself at all, don't take it in the least amiss; with virgin honey thou\u2019lt be fed, new honey thou wilt have to drink \u2019mong full-grown men, in a crowd of men.'\nO forest mistress, Mielikki, O Tapio's daughter, Annikki, O Tapio's maiden, Tellervo, thou tiny little forest lass, come hither, there is need of thee, to the hill's north side. Collar thy 'dogs,' 1 restrain thy 'hounds,' in a dogwood sty, in an oaken shed; bend a rowan band or prepare an oaken one with which to muzzle bruin's mouth, lest he open up his jaw while I am coming to the shed, to the court-yard of 'tiny eyes,' to the trampled ground of 'level nose.'\nOld man of Juumi, Juumi's old wife, Juumi's former inhabitants, keep in your 'dog,' restrain your 'hound' from the tracts where the cattle range, from these wide tracts of underwood. From the mould a brown one has attacked, a grey one from a sandy heath, a 'big foot' from the swamp has risen, a 'broad paws' from a leafy grove, a 'badger' from the earth has come, from the copse an\nenemy has hurried into evil deeds, has taken to dirty deeds. May the forest bear be choked with a honey ball in his mouth, so that his jaws won't open up, that his teeth won't come apart, that the 'central flesh' won't move, that the tongue won't freely wag.\nWhen the king of forest wilds, the forest's grey one, few of teeth, from his chamber hustles forth, from his castle sallies forth, then forest-mistress, Mielikki, daughter of Tapio, Tuometar, anoint his claws with wort, with honey foment his teeth, that he may never touch a thing, not even when in haste, when trampling over cattle-grounds, when roaming up and down the swamps.\nIf he pay no heed thereto, but still continues doing harm; Kuitua [v. Kuittola], forest king, Hongas, the mistress benevolent, keep in thy 'dog,' restrain thy 'hound' with collars of gold, with silver straps, behind nine locks, ten bars that open from behind, so that the headstrong cannot run, 'broad brow' can't scuffle with his feet, 'homespun breeks can't roll along, 'blue socks' can't slowly plod to places where my cattle range, to my bullocks\u2019 grazing-grounds.\nKing of the forest, Kuippana, thou lively grey-beard of the woods, inhibit now thy son, prevent thy bastard son from seeking my live stock, from meddling with my herd. If that is not enough, is still an insufficient guard, prevent the motion of his tongue, the quivering of his pointed nose, stick a mushroom up one nostril and an apple up the other one, lest the cattle's breath give forth a smell, the\nscent of the cattle should be exhaled; over his eyes bind silk, over his ears a bandage tie, lest he should hear the trampling herd, lest he perceive the wanderers.\nGood mistress, Hongatar, observant woman, Tapiotar, come, when thou art needed, here, approach, when thou art summoned here, the evil actions of thy son, thy child's outrageous deeds to see. Here damage has come to pass, an accident occurred, thy son has done an evil deed, thy child an act of villany; the villain broke his oath, ate his honour like a dog, when he took to evil acts, began committing hideous deeds.\nDistinguished woman, Suvetar, Nature's old wife, Etel\u00e4t\u00e4r, that art a watcher of the herd, a keeper of the mistress's flock, arise to cleanse the byre, to watch the cattle of the byre, bring hither luck to calves, toss in to the oxen luck. Shape out a golden comb, furnish a silver brush, provide with a copper comb the doorposts of the door, on which the cattle can rub themselves, the mistress's flock can comb themselves. Pray go with a brush in hand at night and holding a comb by day, without being seen by any one, without alarming any one, and beautifully watch the herd, tend the flock with diligence, comb them as smooth as a lynx's coat, as the downy coat of a forest 'ewe,' that the cattle be beautified, that the mistress's flock may thrive, before the mistress makes her rounds, before the herding lassie looks, a mistress who is good for nought, a witless herding-lass.\nO Jesus consecrate my flock, watch, Jesus, o\u2019er my herd, this summer of Jesus, this important summer-time of God, when from the cowhouse I discharge, send forth my kine to the leafy grove, drive out my cattle to the heath, conduct them to great wooded tracts, along the 'yard of God,' 1 along the ground of Mary dear, to 'cattle-sheds without a hole and windowless.' 1 Ukko, the golden king, the god that in the sky abides, come watch my herd beautifully all summer-time; as thou hast watched them \u2019neath a shed, watch them among the heather too, as thou didst tend them in the house, so tend them in the clumps of fir, tend them among the firs, rule over them near boughs of pine.\nKing of the forest, Kuitua, Hongas, the mistress benevolent, daughter of Tapio, Tellervo, thou tiny little forest lass, when I send out my cows to the delightful Metsola, set a shepherd of willow wood, tall lassies of mountain-ash, cow-watchers of alder wood, of wild bird-cherry to drive them home, without a shepherd's driving them, without a herding-lassie's care.\nI crave from the Creator leave, and confidence from God; Creator, watch my herd, preserve, kind God, my herd in every place without a hurt, without a scratch, uninjured by a neighbour's spell, that the wind sha\u2019n\u2019t dangerously blow, the rain not dangerously fall, that bitter cold shall hurt it not.\nDistinguished woman, Suvetar, Nature's old wife, Etel\u00e4t\u00e4r, pray bring thy horn from further off, from the centre of the sky; from the sky a honeyed horn, a honeyed horn from the depths of earth. Then blow upon thy horn, toot on thy famous one, that lakes of milk may issue forth, that streams of butter begin to flow. By blowing beflower the knolls, make beautiful the sandy heaths, make exquisite the abandoned fields, make pleasant the leafy groves, into liquid honey turn the swamps, and swampy pools into wort of malt, on which thou\u2019lt feed my herd, wilt nourish up my kine, wilt increase the milk of my Hermikki, augment the yield of my Tuorikki, wilt feed them with honeyed food, wilt treat them to honeyed grass from verdant knolls, from honeyed turf, wilt feed with golden withered grass, with silver heads of grass, from golden knolls, from silver wastes; water my cattle afterwards, water them well with honeyed drink from pools of whey, from gushing springs, from foaming cataracts, from running streams, that never fail from age to age, that never come to an end at all.\nThou son of Tapio, Nyypetti, art appointed herding-lad to watch my herd on the summer cattle-grounds; watch well my herd, watch o\u2019er the herd, give the drove to drink, give food to the wretched colts on the summer pasturage, along the swamps, along firm ground, \u2019long the waters of Pohjola.\nForest Nikki [v. Hitsi], forest Nikki [v. H\u00e4tsi], of the forest the golden king, grey-bearded and with a mossy\ncap! thou kindly mistress of the woods, fair woman of woods\u2019 winding ways from the deep forest-dell arise, awake from thy pine-bough bed, to my beasts give peace, to the hoof-footed ones\u2014repose, full freedom to the calves, to the shepherd the best control. Take care of the weaker kine, the weaker ones, the smaller ones, lest they should come to grief, should stumble into shame; let Kirjo range o\u2019er wooded wilds, along the 'yard of God,' along the ground of Mary dear; while the evening bath is being prepared, drive thou my cattle home rejoicing to the great court-yards before conclusion of the day, before the setting of the sun.\nO Katrinatar, woman fair, the girl of night, the maid of dusk, pray take five serving-girls, six who obey command, to watch my herd, to tend my kine, that the herd may freely rove, that the 'small hoofs' shall not fear, that the calves sha\u2019n\u2019t be alarmed, that the cold weather sha\u2019n\u2019t scatter them. May a wolf bar up his mouth, may the tooth of a bear be broken off from summer night to winter night. But if it pay no heed to that, construct an iron fence, erect a fence with stakes of steel round my live stock, on either side of my herd of kine. Cause the fence to reach from the earth, from the earth as far as the sky, that the son of a toad can't injure them, a 'forest cur' can't injure them this summer of Jesus, this important summer-time of God.\nHo! Ukko, lord on high, the mighty father of the sky, that livest in luck, in a bright and pleasant residence, make\nthe summers beautiful, make pleasant the leafy groves, make exquisite the abandoned fields, make the morasses placable, cause the forests to be amiable, make the blue woodland mannerly. Roll forward a bulky cloud as a covering for my herd, lest death should seize it in his mouth, lest envy slash it excessively. Little indeed I have for Death to hold in his mouth, or to drive to abandoned fields, to send to an unburnt spot. When a 'backwoods wonder' prowls about, a hulking creature makes its rounds, change my dear cows into other shapes, transform my dear herd suddenly; turn into stones my cows, my beauties into heads of stumps, my hand-fed calves into gravel stones, my bullocks into knolls when encountering a 'forest dog,' when face to face with a greedy one. If that is not enough, from the sky shove a bar or a golden pole into the greedy creature's gums, put Tuoni's lock upon its jaws, the stone of Manala down its throat.\nThou son of Tapio, Nyyrikki, blue-mantled son of under-wood, cut marks on rowan trees, landmarks on mountain clefts by which my herd can go, my property can find its way. Place tall and thick-stemmed pines, broad-headed firs with branching crowns as bridges over miry spots, as patches across bad ground, across mere swamp and sloppy ground, across the shaking water-pools, that the 'crumpled horns' may tramp, the 'cloven hoofs' may trudge, may reach each one of them the smoke, 1 without a hurt, without a scratch, without their sinking in the swamp, without their sticking in the mire.\nO Pihlajatar, tiny lass, O Katajatar, lovely girl, cut a birch from a leafy grove, from a humid dell a branch, from the rear of Tapio Hill, from t\u2019other side of Tuomi Hill; then drive the cattle to the farm, to where the bath is heating up, the homestead cattle to their home, and the 'forest herd' to the Forest Home (F. Metsola).\nEarth's master! from the earth arise, ancestral master\u2014from the field, all swordsmen\u2014from the earth, the glaive men\u2014from the sandy heath, the riders\u2014from the miry pools; arise, O Forest, with thy men, with thy people, Clump of Junipers, with thy family, Clump of Firs, with thy children, Land-locked Lake, to speak on my behalf, and on my side to plead, lest evil should befall my head, destruction fall upon my pate.\nIf that is not enough, not quite sufficient, not enough, the Creator's golden wattled cock! come here where there is need of thee, like a golden cuckoo fly, like a dear silver dove, to speak on my behalf, and on my side to plead; stop up the judge's ears, bribe all the jurymen, make the sheriffs well disposed, bind silk across their eyes, with a bandage tie their hands, lest in their hands a pen should move, in their fists a quill should fit.\nLouhi, mistress of Pohjola, distinguished woman, Penitar, from thy 'son' remove impediments, from the 'money-seeker,' all obstacle; let the pup give tongue, the dog bark openly, remove the stoppage from its nose, the block across\nits 'scenting-horn.' From far afield convey the scent, transport it from far ahead, like fire to nostrils of the dog, like smoke to the puppy's nose, from gloomy Pohjola, from under Tapio's window-hole; permit the dog to run ahead, the pup to trot with haughty gait, lead him to bruin's home or to a reindeer's flanks.\nOld man, old woman of the North! Raana, mistress of Pohjola! begin to stop the bitch's mouth, to hide the puppy's tongue, lest my dog should be deceived, the 'money-seeker' make mistake, should bark at every branch of pine, should bay at every leafy bough. I do not live on boughs of pine, I fatten not on leafy boughs, I live on them that skip on boughs, that \u2019neath fir-branches make their way.\nField maiden, farmyard girl! O golden king of earth, here where they need thee, come from the field with thy family to close the mouth of a dog, to plug the nozzle of a whelp. Bind silk across its eyes, tie a bandage round its ears, a mushroom up one nostril thrust, an apple up the other one, lest it should scent the breath of man, perceive the smell of a full-grown man, lest it should hear a passerby, lest it should see a wanderer.\nO Hiisi [v. Juutas], shut the dog's mouth up, Lempo [v. Perkele], the jawbone of the dog, fetch, Hiisi, thy tall hat, Lempo, thy broad-brimmed cap with which to stop the\npuppy's nose, to bung its 'scenting-channel' up. Place a bar before its mouth, a gag between its teeth, between its tongue-strings lay a check, so that it cannot ope its jaws, nor separate its teeth. If that is not enough, take the backmost hedge-stake of the field, the lowest railing of the fence to stop the mouth of the hunting-dog, to press with it the puppy's head, so that it can no more give tongue at any man that passes by.\nStone Kimmo [v. Kiikka]! Kammo's [v. Lempo's] son, come here where we have need of thee, with a borer bore a hole, with a chisel cut a hole through the stone in the cataract, through the evil boulder's side, so that a wooden skiff sha\u2019n\u2019t stick, a boat of fir shall receive no harm. King of water, Litvetti, 1 water's master beneath the stream, make the rocks to be like moss, like a pike's bladder make the boat, while passing through the surge, while traversing projecting rocks. O gracious woman, Meletar, give me thy serviceable oar with which I'll steer, I'll shoot the spell-bound streams, past a jealous person's house, under a sorcerer's window too, without my pinnace sticking fast, without my boat receiving hurt.\nO golden water-king, O gracious Ahti of the sea, steer with thy sword, push with thy sheathless sword, so that my wooden craft may run, the pine-built boat may bowl along without the pinnace sticking fast, without the cutter getting fixed between those boulder-stones, among the stony rocks.\nShove with thy breast the waves, the billows with thy bosom turn, twist in thy bands the curly ones, in thy fist collect the foam, lest they should dash against my breast, should rattle down upon my head. A stone is in the river's midst, a flat stone at the surge's crest; lower the boulder's side, press down the flagstone's flank before my scarlet skiff, out of the way of my tarry boat.\nHo! Ukko, lord on high, the god above the clouds, roll a bulky cloud, from the west send a lumpy one down on the rapid's foaming surge, into the dreadful midstream whirl; make rowing seats of steel, cast copper oars with which I'll ascend the spell-bound streams, I over hostile streams shall glide between these boulder-stones, along recesses of the rocks, lest sorcerers eat me wholly up, lest witches gash me overmuch.\nKirsti, thou maid of pains, that sittest on the stone of pain, there where three rivers flow, three [v. five] waters part, grinding away with the stone of pain, twirling the hill of pain, go gather up the pains into the hole in a bluish [v. speckled] stone, or into water roll them down, tumble them into the ocean depths, where the wind is not perceived, where the sun doth never shine.\nPain-maiden! \u00c4ij\u00f6's girl, come here where there is need of thee, holding a cup of pain, with a box of torments \u2019neath\nthine arm, to garner up the pains, to gather up the sufferings into a little speckled cup, into a little copper box, to dash them down into a stream, full tilt into the humid sea to generate their kind, to bring their children forth.\nGood mistress, Kivutar, distinguished woman, Vammotar, take from the Maker's mouth a plume, a wing from V\u00e4in\u00e4im\u00f6inen's belt, and sweep away the awful (F. holy) 'sparks,' cause the awful (F. holy) wounds to disappear. Put the pains inside thy glove, the grievous sores inside thy mitts, then fling thy glove away on the summit of the Hill of Pain. On the summit is a bulky stone, a bulky stone, a thick flat stone. Break the stone in two, the flat stone into three. Poke the glove inside the stone, the mitts inside the flat stone's side, unite the stone together again, and roll it down to the ocean depths where the moon ne\u2019er gleams, where the sun ne\u2019er beams.\nPain-Maiden! Tuoni's girl, huge maiden, Ak\u00e4\u00e4t\u00e4r! winnow the pains with a winnowing fan, sift the torments in a sieve, in order to torment the stones, to make the flat stones suffer pain. If a stone bewail its sufferings, a flat stone its calamities, \u2019tis better a stone should scream, \u2019tis better a flat stone yell, than one of a woman born, or by a creature (kave) brought to birth.\nLovely old wife of pain! good mistress, Kivutar, come here where there is need of thee, where a man is crying\nin distress. Thou art not summoned causelessly, thou art not wished for needlessly. Come to see the sufferings, to seize the pains, to make the torment cease, to still the smarts in a poor human being's skin, in the body of a mother's son. In a bundle wrap the pains, in a packet\u2014the grievous aches, take the bundle to a stony cleft, the torments to a mountain rift, to the cellar of pains, to the room of sufferings, inside a bluish stone, inside a liver-coloured chink, where they will ne\u2019er be heard of more, whence they will never more escape.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, beloved mother, merciful, come here in thy fleet shoes, in thy fine skirts come fluttering, in thy white stockings wander forth, in thy black socks march proudly here to seize the pains, to remove the plagues, from spell-brought troubles to release, to remove the spell-wrought injuries. Into the water roll the pains, plunge them down to the ocean depths, apportion torments to the wind, give them to chilly wind, so that the sick may get to sleep, the weakly man may find repose.\nOld wife Kave, Nature's daughter, thou 'golden' Kave and beautiful, that art the oldest of womenkind, first mother of individuals, come now to view the pains, to mitigate the calamity, to accomplish this laborious work, to remove the plague. Great pains are penetrating here, a calamity has supervened, the ground below already cracks, the sky is splitting up above while the sufferer is crying out, while the man in pain bewails himself,\nO Hiisi, come from Hiitola [v. Rise Hiisi from Hell], thou hump-backed\u2014from the home of gods [v. Perkele from Pimentola]\u2014come hither with thy sons, with thy sons and thy serving-girls, with thy whole nation too, with utmost speed to crush, to eat this evil thing, to lap this monstrous evil up. From Esthonia bring a scythe, from hell a mowing-iron, and put it in my right hand, with it I'll cut the evil thing, I'll hack out this impediment from the roaring man, from the groaning full-grown man.\nAn eagle dwells in Turja land; that eagle, famous bird, with steely beak, with iron claws, with one wing cut the water and with the other grazed the sky. Its mouth is a hundred fathoms wide, its gullet is like three cataracts, its beak is like five reaping-hooks, on its wing-tip there are eyes, others there are behind its back. O eagle, come from Turja land, from Lapland fling thyself, O bird, 'stone-talons' come to tear, 'iron-claws' to cut to bits with thine iron gums, with thy steely jaws, to devour this pain, to lap this 'broth' from a poor human being's skin, from the body of a mother's son.\nO Ukko, 'golden' king, the 'silver' governor, pray bring thy golden scraping-knife, thy silver axe, with which I shall remove the growths, shall pull off 'Hiisi's filth,'\nshall shear off 'Lempo's lumps' from the narrow muscles of the neck, from the 'breathing-hole,' where it is rubbed. 1 I'll make the tumors move away, the knobs to crumble up, the lumps of gore to roll away from throttling a throat, from squeezing tight the breath, to a path that can't be known, nor be apprehended in a dream.\nMaiden of swellings, Kullatar, 2 the active girl, the packer-up, pack thy 'needless packages' away, remove thy monstrous-looking things from the 'taking-place,' from where the 'breathing-hole' is rubbed. Thither conduct the 'frogs,' thither transport the wens, from the narrow muscles of the neck, from the purling veins to the branch of an apple-tree, to an oak-tree's level top.\nHo! Ukko, kindly god, the powerful father of the sky, prepare a misty atmosphere, create a tiny little cloud, send from the west a lumpy cloud, from the south let one arrive, let water drizzle from the sky, let honey trickle from the clouds on the work that's being done, on the seed that's being sown.\nO Etel\u00e4t\u00e4r, youthful maid, the boisterous, the jolly girl, just cause a honeyed cloud to rise in the honeyed sky; from the west despatch a cloud, from the south let one arrive, lead water from the sky, rain honey, liquid honey\ndown on the growing shoots of corn, on the rustling growing crops.\nOld wife below the ground! Earth's mistress, the soil's old wife, cause the grass to force its way, the powerful earth to push forth shoots, earth shows no lack of strength, nor the grassy sward\u2014of sustenance, if the Gift-givers are inclined, if the Food-mothers [v. Nature's daughters] so desire. Arise, O Earth, from slumbering, Creator's field!\u2014from sleep, cause the straw to grow up well, the stalks to grow in size, in thousands let the tips come up, in hundreds let the branches fork, where I have ploughed, where I have sown, where I have toiled exceeding hard.\nO Kasaritar, lovely girl, milk thou the snake, let the venom [v. 'milk'] drip into a copper-handled pail, into an iron milking-can; upset it for the earth's benefit, dash it against a mossy knoll. May the earth retain the milk and the Holy Ghost\u2014the de\u2019il (perkele).\nO excellent woman, Suvetar, Nature's old wife, Etel\u00e4t\u00e4r, open the ground down underneath, bore holes through the headlands of the fields, cause a honeyed stream to flow, a liquid honey brook to roll on both sides of the cattle-grounds. Sink a golden' well from which the herd can drink, can suck up honeyed juice into their udders swollen\nhard, into their tight-distended teats, so that the veins begin to move, rivers of milk begin to flow, milk-rivulets to issue forth, milk-cataracts to foam, milk-pipes to spout, milk-channels to squirt\u2014begin to give each time, begin to flow each milking-time, so that with butter the children choke, get suffocated with the cream, in spite of a person wishing harm, despite an ill-wisher's handiwork, that the milk to Mana sha\u2019n\u2019t be brought, that the yield of kine sha\u2019n\u2019t disappear.'\nO excellent woman, Suvetar, Nature's old wife, Etel\u00e4t\u00e4r, go now and feed my Sy\u00f6tikki, water as well my Juotikki, increase the yield of Hermikki, augment the milk of Tuorikki, give milk to Mairikki, fresh thickened milk to Omena, from the splendid heads of grass, from the beautiful hair-grass, from verdant knolls, from hillocks moist and fresh, from the honey-dropping sward, from ground begrown with berry stalks, from the maiden of the heather's bloom, from the maiden of the grass's husk, from the milk-daughter of the cloud, from the maiden of the sky's mid-point, to make the udders full of milk, the udders always swelled, for a short woman then to milk, for a tall woman too to press.\nIf to the village it's been brought, has at a neighbour's been retained, fetch from the sky the herding-horns, from the clouds let fall the pipes; begin to toot upon the horns, to pipe upon the pipes, through which the milk shall run, the milk escape the restraining spell, and roll from the village like a stream, shall flow like a river to its home, shall come to its rooms as fresh-drawn milk, to its sleeping quarters as a juice, to its original abode, its former place, past the evil-wisher's mouth, to the well-wisher's mouth.\nOld wife of cattle, now arise, awake, O haltia of kine, before a sorcerer rises up or a jealous person shall awake. Ascend the buttery hill, to the summit of the milky hill; from Mana fetch my milk, my milk from him that keeps it back. Descend the hill with a flask, hurry down with a keg; the milk to Mana must not go, nor my cream to Tuonela.\nPoor Para! come to life, butter and milk to bring. O 'Stick-shanks' come to life, 'stick-shanks' with the yarn-ball head, harden the crust upon the milk, thicken the film of curdled milk. Hither, poor Para, come, to churn with noisy platter-dash, into fat work up the milk, into yellow butter turn the fat, beat out the very smallest drop so that the butter harden well. Luck-bringer, hither come, if thou in coming bring good luck, for thee \u2019twill all the better be, a better present wilt thou get: each month I shall convey, shall place for thee as recompense at the field's end a little calf, and into a bush I'll push it too.\nO Jesus, wash my little girl, my 'wee snow-sparrow' purify from women's and from harlot's talk, from the facetiousness of men, from the tattle of mustachioed ones, from the tattle of the beardless ones. Wash my 'snow-sparrow' clean, make white a woman's child, by washing make her bloom for the moon, make her sweet for the sun. Arouse to action, Love, cause her renown to spread, for\nmen to take a fancy to, for full-grown men to ask about. Whoe\u2019er looks at her from above, or gazes at her close at hand, may he look with a honeyed glance, may he smile with eyes of love.\nJesus! thy little bullfinch,' wash, make white thy tender babe, wash her as brilliant as the moon, to be enchanting as the sun, as white as the ocean's foam, as brown as a bulrush of the sea; cause golden ornaments to chink, and silver ornaments to clink; with the golden shirt of kings, the silver cloths of lords, may she be clothed and be arrayed, to gain the delight of men, to be run after by the youths, to be desired by wooing swains, to be observed by every one, by an important suitor to be seen, by a young unmarried man, by man and woman too, yes, by a full-grown married man.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, beloved mother, merciful, arise to awaken Love, to cause Renown to blossom forth; Now is the time for Love to move, time for Renown to blossom forth. O free the lass from spell-wrought harm, from village people's powerful words, from tittle-tattle, jabbering, from machinations of old hags. Break off a bath-switch, in a copse, in honeyed Metsola, close to three rapids, from the highest birchen trees; cut up a tree of mountain-ash, break into bits the 'murder' tree; 1 stealthily heat a bath, hurriedly prepare the fire, cause nature's steam to rise, a love-inspiring steam to float through the stony stove, through the heated roof-ridge beam; soften a honeyed bath-\nswitch well on a honeyed flattish stone, a bottle of pure water fetch, bring some of golden hue, wherewith 'bullfinch' shall wash herself, the 'wee snow-sparrow' cleanse herself, the 'village flower' shall scour herself, 'earth's chosen one' shall wash her white, to get well thought of by the men, to be desired by wooing swains. Hither let come without a fear, arrive without an injury, the best and not the worst, the handsomest of warriors, the best of the parsonage, the smartest of the village folk; if in these parts he can't be found, O bring him from some other part, from six church parishes away, or from across eight chapelries.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, pure and with a mother's look, eternal mother of the earth, the benefactor of all time, release the girl from her distress, my daughter from useless spells; dig water from a rock, let water from a fountain pour by means of thy golden stick, thy silver staff; wash my little one therein, my 'wee snow-sparrow' purify, remove the pig-skin from her eyes, the dog-skin from her ears, the wicked gossip from her head, the villagers' great sorceries. Spread thy lovely linen cloth, throw thy golden cloak about this youthful maid, round the figure of this child, blue silk upon her eyes, upon her temples threads of gold, good silver trinkets on her head, to honour the distinguished girl. Cause Love to issue from the maid, Love to ascend from out the girl, cause Love to rise and float about, her renown to blossom forth, cause her to glisten like the moon, to sparkle like a star, to turn the minds of men, to set on fire their hearts, draw them towards this girl, to this child's side, till their senses\nfume like honey and blaze up like a fire. Let come from far away, let hurry from remoter parts the best of the throng of lads, the smartest of the lot, to this young maiden's house, on horseback along the road, by water in a boat or on snow-shoes o\u2019er the hill.\nRise, maiden, from the spring, O 'grey-eyes' from the pool, to be a darling woman's help, the comrade of a famous wife. Arise and water fetch, some water from the spring of Love [v. of Vento]. Pray give me water as a loan for ever, for as long as the moon sheds a golden light, with which I shall my 'bullfinch' wash, my wee 'snow-sparrow' purify, shall beautify 'earth's chick,' make her luxuriant in form and beautiful of countenance, make bright her eyes, make her temples bloom, make nice her breasts, make her bosom full, to be observed by all, to be a wonder to herself.\nArise, O Love, to hover round, Honour of maidens! to advance, maiden's Renown! to blossom forth o\u2019er six church parishes, through seven parishes and through eight towns. Here is a beauty unbeheld, a splendid maiden unbetrothed, a rosy blonde not led away, a famous daughter that's unknown: She was not wed in the wedding year, nor affianced in the wooer's year, last summer she was not carried off. Hey! Love, wake up! O Love, arise without being lifted by a cord, without being hauled by a tarry rope, to turn men's inclinations, to dispose their thoughts, to set on fire their hearts, to make their bellies seethe, their hearts to flicker like a flame, to sparkle like a spark and that it shall not cease at night, shall not diminish\nin the dark. O Love, arise to dance about, to vibrate like a fiery brand, arise without being conjured up, without being cursed bestir thyself, for moons have risen, suns have risen, yet still thou hast not risen up. So rise at once, remove the cloud that shrouds the girl, cause the 'sun' to shine, the Creator's 'moon' to gleam. Fetch men from far away, pray seek them from remoter parts, conduct them from a hundred isles, from a hundred castles\u2019 environs, unto this maid's vicinity, this daughter's close proximity.\nOld man of rut! old wife of rut (kirki)! raise Kirki from a rutting-swamp, from a rutting-mountain top, Erotic Heat from a rutting-heath, cow's bulling-lust from an alder grove, from a copse the lewdness of a bull, a stallion's passion from its stall, a mare's hot passion from its shed, a cat's hot passion from a stove, a little kitten's from a crib, from under a bench a dog's desire, a puppy's from beneath a form, a wolf's more passionate desire, the rougher passion of a bear, the quicker passion of a fox, the lust of a swiftly-scudding hare, the black raven's lust as well, and the passion of a dark-grey hawk, in order that this girl be wed, this beauty may be beheld. Raise into ecstasy his mind, 1 to intoxication\u2014his desire, take from the glowing coals a coal, from a stove of stone a heated stone, into a flame ignite his heart, his belly into glowing flame, that his hinder parts shall move, that his hips shall sway; the sinews of his back shall twitch, his toes get tremulous, his nails begin to itch, his hands to scratch, so\nthat he get no sleep at night, and no repose at all by day, unless he see our darling maid, and make acquaintance with the girl.\nPoke, evil one, thy twirling stick, Hiisi!\u2014thy pole for stirring coals between the pair of loving ones; may an icy stone from \u2019neath the earth, may the sultriness of Christmastide begin to freeze their hearts, to give their inward parts a chill, that from each other they shall part and one another shall not know, shall neither know nor recognise nor make an effort to unite. There are three icy stones, three swarthy snakes, three fragments of a bath-house stove with which I'll walk between the pair, shall nine times walk and force the sinners\u2019 hearts apart from one another for all their life, for all their time, for all their days, for all their term.\nO Hikitytt\u00f6, Hiisi's girl, come here where there is need of thee, make tough the iron, give the knife the hue of wheat; sharpen the edge with sweat (kiki), with honey's froth besprinkle it, for the blade to cut and not to tear nor cause the blood to flow. Into the flesh if it should slip, into the blood should turn aside, smear honey on the iron edge, sweet ointment on the wound.\nO golden forest-king, the feather-hatted woodland lord! Kind forest-mother that givest gifts, old mistress of the\nfeathered flock I O tiny little forest maid, the fair-cheeked maid of swarms of birds, the rearer of a hundred broods, that rockest to sleep a thousand swarms, lead thy covies here, thy bevies and thy flocks of birds, above nine men in search of them, above eight men that look for them. I am the chiefest searcher here, I am the best that looks about, of the nine men in search of birds, of the eight men that look about. Make flutter and make fly this way thy flocks of birds before the man that seeks at night, the rover of the woods by day. Conduct thy blackcock here, thy grey-hens here transport; into the trees may the blackcock fly to bill and coo at my decoy, may the blackcocks take delight in it, may the grey-hens cluck. Bind up their wings with twine, confine their instruments of flight, entwine their legs with string, roll up their toes in wax, that with their wings they cannot fly, that with their feet they cannot run till I am ready with my bow, till I can turn to my hand-bow. 1\nLord of the wooded wilds, the island's oldest man, old man of 'feathers' with rumpled beard! O kindly mistress of Metsola, O Hollow Fir, 2 old wife of down! bring a 'feather' from the genial land, send a 'downy feather' from the west to jerk my honeyed snares, to spring my honeyed nooses set on a honeyed knoll in the luscious wooded wilds. From the copse take a switch, from the scrub a\ncopperheaded one, from the coppice chase the birds and drive them from the abandoned fields to flutter with a whirring sound, till for their wings there is no place. May the twigs sink down as the birds approach these trapping grounds, these passages 1 that must be trod. Bind round their mouths with silk, twist their heads awry, lest they damage my flaxen noose, lest they destroy my hempen snares.\nLaaus, the master of Pohjola! grant me to take a full-grown bird 2 from these clean sticks, from the whitened twigs, 3 as a present for the folk at home. I'll give thee thanks for it, I'll bow before the famous man, for it extol thy worthiness, if thou wilt give a full-grown bird 2 as a present for the folk at home.\nWelcome! O Earth! welcome! dry land! Welcome! O master of the earth! welcome to him that welcome gives! With the leave of the Earth, I go to bed, with the leave of the Earth, with the leave of a Tree, with the leave of all the house, in terror of the holy field. 5 May the Earth be a good defence, the Omnipotent a guard, may the Creator lock the door, may a saint draw-to the bolt, may Jesus be a shield, Mary\u2014a sword. May Mary lull to\nmay Jesus raise me up to thank my God, to give sleep, to give Jesus praise.\nDry land's old wife! from the earth arise, Primeval Master!\u2014from the field, in aid of an only son, as comrade of a famous man, to travel jollily with me, to help unharnessing the horse, in taking the collar off, and the bow between the shafts, on the journey of a famous lad, during the drive of a splendid man [v. wedding party].\nWhen for the forest I set out, I, a full-grown man, intend to hunt, O Forest, take me as thy man, as thy full-grown man, O Tapio, as arrow-boy, 1 O Wilderness, as an extra comrade, Knoll! 2 Take a fellow to salute, to behold the heavenly bow, to greet Great Bear and to eye the stars.\nForest! be kind; be friendly, Wilderness! be gracious, Air of the gods! be well inclined, dear Tapio! kind Mistress! be well disposed; be complacent to my men, be propitious to my dogs, guide a fellow to a wooded isle, transport him to the knoll, whence quarry can be procured, the journey's object can be gained, where heads shall be portioned out, portions shall be distributed.\nO Kuutar, bake a suet cake, a honeyed bannock, P\u00e4iv\u00e4t\u00e4r, with which I'll make the Forest kind, make Backwoods\nwell disposed on my hunting days, at my periods for seeking game.\nForest! be kindly to my men; Backwoods! be friendly to my dogs, the men with us are half-grown men, the archers are uncertain shots, the dogs with us are puppy dogs, our bows are sticks, the arrows tipped with wood, they will not carry far, the shooting instruments won't hit. Of honey let the forest smell, the blue backwoods\u2014of mead, of melted butter\u2014the sides of swamps, of wort\u2014the abandoned fields. Backwoods! let the cuckoo call; O Forest, on the zither play, so that the 'gold' 1 shall lend an ear, the 'silver' take account of it under a pine with branching head, under a bushy fir.\nO Grove, be kind! be friendly, Wilderness! O blue Backwoods, be amiable! that I may ramble through the woods, may jostle through the wooded wilds. Forest, be friendly to my men! Backwoods, be kindly to my dogs! be appeased by these peace-offerings, by these inducements be mollified, with which the Creator was appeased, the Omnipotent was mollified. Marry our men, introduce our full-grown men to the pleasant daughters of the woods, to the downy-breasted chicks. The eyelashes of other men are not more smooth, nor the eyebrows more magnificent than those that our men have. The gait of other men, the silken ribbons on their socks, the silver laces to their breeks are not more elegant. The bows of other men are not formed out of gold, nor of silver are their narrow skates, nor of copper are their skating staffs.\n[paragraph continues] The hunting dogs of other men are not more dear (F. golden), more dear or more renowned, than those that our men have.\nOld man of the forest with light grey beard, of the forest the golden king! O forest-mistress, Mielikki! Miirit\u00e4r, forest-daughter-in-law! mount up on a sloping birch, ascend a bent-down alder-tree, to listen to my songs, whether my songs are suitable. Gird the forests with a sword, place a glaive in the backwoods\u2019 hand, clothe the forest in homespun cloth, dress in German linen the wooded wilds, array in coats the aspen-trees, the alder-trees in lovely clothes, with silver adorn the firs, deck the pines with gold, put flowers on the heads of the pines, and silver on the heads of firs, gird round old pines with copper belts, the firs with silver belts. Clothe them as in the days of old, in thy periods for giving gifts, on my days for seeking game, and at the times I went to shoot. When to the forest I had gone, had attained the far backwoods, had ascended to the wilderness, had arrived on a mountain top, the aspens were in silver belts, the birches decked with golden flowers, pine branches glistened like the moon, the spreading fir-tops like the sun, like the moon the famous lad shone forth, like the sun\u2014the doughty full-grown man.\nOld man of the knoll with golden breast, with a hat of twigs, with a mossy cap! O forest-mistress, Mielikki! O Tapio's daughter, Tellervo [v. Annikki], the forest-daughter, the kindly maid, the tiny little forest lass I blue-mantled old wife of the copse I red-stockinged mistress of the swamp! O lovely being of the heath! show me the path,\nopen the door, proceed to indicate the path, to give instructions for the way, to set up posts along the road and landmarks make. O son of Tapio, Nyyrikki, spruce fellow with a tall red cap, cut marks along the country side, establish landmarks on the hills, that I, though stupid, can find the way, I, though a stranger, can repair to the hunting-grounds of other men, to special woods of full-grown men. Make a slow-footed man to scud, by the breast of his jacket lug him on, by the hole of his snow-skate shove him on, lead him by the ferule of his staff across morasses, across firm land, across the backwoods of Pohjola; conduct him to a wooded isle, transport him to the knoll where 'gold' will afford him sport, 'silver' will make him glad, where pines have flowers on their heads, the firs have silver on their heads, birches have golden earrings on, alders are dressed in lovely clothes, the aspen-trees\u2014in pale grey stuff, the heather flowers\u2014in gold.\nO forest-mistress, Mielikki, famed 'golden buckle of the woods,' pray come along to give a hand, to stretch thy right hand forth on these my days for seeking game, at the times I go to hunt. Take the golden keys from the ring at thy side, step to the storehouse on the hill, into the cellar lightly trip, open quickly Tapio's magazine, disturb the forest-tower, set free the gold to move about, the 'silver' to wander forth towards a white man, the colour wholly of the birch. 1 But pray be on thy guard that the quicker ones don't slip away, for tardy I am at snowshoeing, am slow at shoving along.\nO forest-mistress, Mielikki, the mother with a lovely face, get ready my reserve, make my allotted share leap up in the blue backwoods, at the centre of the 'golden' knoll. Open quickly the honeyed chest, disturb the honeyed box, set free a drove to run about, a file of animals to skip before the man in search of them, at the steps of him that craves.\nIf thou thyself be disinclined, then send thy serving-maids, direct thy thralls, command the obeyers of commands. Thou art no mistress, so to speak, if thou keepest no serving-maids, keepst not a hundred serving-maids, a thousand that obey commands, that keep watch over all the herd, that tend the forest animals, that regulate the lengthy flock and guide the great string of animals. I keep a single serving-lass that is in her movements brisk, is energetic at her work and open-handed with her gifts.\nKing 1 of the forest, Kuuritar, that maketh hoofs, that bendeth paws, open thy 'money' magazine, unbolt thy store, set free a drove to run about, a file of animals to skip; let a 'golden fur-coat' issue forth, a homespun cloth' come trotting down along the silver path, along the copper track from the wild creature's place of birth, from the rearing-ground of 'precious pelts' (F. money hair), to the places where I set my gins, to the passages that must be trod. Whoe\u2019er is quick at galloping, keep in check with reins, with a bit keep straight, whoe\u2019er's not quick at galloping, strike with a switch to quicken him,\nwith a rope's end give a thwack, with a cock's beak tickle him, and prod him with a golden spur.\nO Ukko, the golden king, the silver governor, take a golden club or a copper hammer from the end of a silver spar, from the head of a copper nail, and with it beat the wilderness, bang the gloomy wooded wilds, that into squirrels pine branches turn, into otters\u2014densely wooded wilds. Good is a beaten wilderness, and gloomy wooded wilds well banged, so that a dog can run ahead, a whelp can work aright.\nOld Ukko with the rumpled beard, O hollow fir with fir-twig hat, pray come and beat the wilderness, make its edges shake on a summer night, the first afternoon. Belabour, Ukko, a young tree, make stumps resound with thuds, with a fiery sword, with a golden club. Drive out the creatures to the edge, to the openest abandoned fields, from the end of every jutting point, from the corner of each wilderness, on my days for seeking game, at my periods for setting traps.\nGive me, Ukko, of thy 'ewes,' of thine own 'rams,' bring forth thy 'gold,' all thy 'drooping ears.' Bring them without a fear, without suspicion let them rove; those that are resting in the grove, that are reposing under boughs, that are sleeping on a knoll, are paddling the bottom of a brook, send in threes from the forest vales, in fives and sixes from the glades along the golden cattle-roads, along the silver paths, where the bridges are laid with silk, bridges with silk,\nwith velvet\u2014swamps, wet spots with homespun cloth, with Silesian linen\u2014dirty spots, with linen from Germany, with a fringe of homespun stuff.\nGive, dearest God, to a supplicating man; give him ten animals (F. hoofs), diverse in aspect and in hue. One skin won't make a coat of fur, no rug of fur is got from two; 1 unless some hundreds should be got, some thousands hither should be brought; a thousand into a coat will go, a hundred into a rug will fit.\nPray don't be angry, God, Earth's Ruler, don't be furious; at least in my life permit, in my own time let it occur to see them with mine eyes, to touch them with my hands. For stones I shall not give thee thanks, for stumps I sha\u2019n\u2019t prostrate myself, for willows certainly sha\u2019n\u2019t serve, for boughs of fir I coax thee not; I make request for 'hoofs,' I pray incessantly for 'feet,' I ask for those that go on hoofs, that run about on nimble feet, not for the best, nor for the worst, for a medium quality I ask.\nGive, dearest God, bestow on a man, on me, give as thou gayest mine ancestors, to that huge family, enough to eat, enough to drink, presents enough to the village folk; from the day's toil release a child, 2 procure him rest at eventide, when the cattle are coming home, when the woods of pine are turning grey.\nO Tapio's daughter, Annikki [v. Tyytikki], the tiny little forest-lass with down-like shirt, with a fine spun shirt, the\nwoman of complexion fair, with shouts awake the forest-king, arouse the backwoods\u2019 haltia, to give me of his precious ones, his animals (F. hoofs) of every hue; play a tune on a honeyed pipe, pipe on a delicious pipe into the comely mistress's ear, the gracious mistress of the woods, so that she speedily shall hear, shall arise from sleep, since she won't listen in the least, not even rarely will awake, although I beg incessantly, keep murmuring with a golden tongue.\nLass Annikki that keeps the keys! Eva, the tiny little serving-maid! advance to the magazine with the delightful mistress's leave; fling open the magazine of gifts, the lock-less doorway of the loft. Thou art no lass at all, no lassie of the keys indeed, unless thou open the magazine, and, having opened it, give forth some greater and some smaller game, some of every sort of hue. Twist a ruddy thread on thy ruddy cheek, and draw it across the stream, across the stream of Pohjola, for the animals to run upon, for the 'money-pelts' to skip along in front of the man in search of them, before the steps of the man that walks.\nO forest-daughter, delightful girl, O Tapio's daughter, Tuulikki, chase the wild creatures out to run from the forest-castle slopes, make them to scamper, make them scud for my good luck. When the wild creatures reach the track, hurry them on along the track, place thy two palms as a fence on either side, lest the wild creatures dash away, the forest-herd should bounce aside, or on a by-path should diverge. When they look over it, then raise the fence; when they look down, then lower down the fence; when the animals don't move, then leave the fence as it is;\nif the wild creatures dash away, or on a by-path should diverge, lift them up on the path by the ears, bring them back on the track by the horns. If a fallen tree oppose their course, shove it aside; if trees lie across the path, smash them in half; if a fence oppose itself, prostrate the fence; if a river chance to be in front, a rivulet\u2014across the path, cast down thy silk to be a bridge, as a foot-bridge\u2014scarlet cloth, along which the drove can run, for a path for them to go across. Bring them across the shallow sounds, over the waters draw them on, as a sail employ a tail, or use a pizzle as a sail.\nO Tapio's daughter, Tuulikki, the famous beauty of the woods, O Pihlajatar, little lass, short daughter, Tuometar, O kindly mistress, Hongatar, fair wife of the forest-environs, from a spinny take a switch, a fir-branch from a clump of firs, chase the wild creatures out to run before a miserable lad. If in this direction none appear, pray seek them further off, from Lapland's gloomy wooded wilds, from the utmost border of the north, from under Kuha-vuori's top, from Kuusivaara's peak, from near lake Imantra, from the boundary land of the Turja Fell; more sloping is the country here, more flowing are the waters here; here in a straight line pathways stretch, here gates fall down.\nO lively woman, Vits\u00e4ri, O Tapio's daughter, Tellervo, take a whip of mountain ash, a cattle-scourge of juniper from the rear of Tapio's hill, from Tuomi-vaara's further side, and with it drive the timorous, hurry along the younger ones. Whichever is slow to run, at starting is a\nlazy one, quicken up with a switch, drive with shouts, with a crack of the lash, so that the switch shall whiz, the willow-top shall make a crash; give a swipe across the sides, or across the withers strike, at the forehead aim no blow, don't thwack upon the skull.\nOld wife of the forest with lovely hair, 'Gold hair-plait' of a hundred woods! O honeyed maiden of Metsola, old man of the forest with flowing beard! old wife of Tapio, Nyrkyt\u00e4r! and forest-Tapio himself! O son of Tapio, Pinneys, don't hold them back, don't hold them fast: Christ christened thee, thee the Omnipotent baptized in the middle of the forest-field, to tend the forest animals. Fetch me some forest-ale, that I may forest-honey drink; in the forest much ale is found, in the forest is honey sweet, myself have seen it to be true, when as a young man I was there. Send forth the droves to run, the forest animals to rush, without suspicion let them come, without precaution\u2014bound along before the man in search of them, up to the steps of him that begs.\nO Pohja's open-handed [v. blue-mantled] wife, Laaus, the master of Pohjola! O Sinisirkku, Pohja's maid, O Pohja's daughter, Pohja's son, O kindly mistress, Hyypi\u00f6, distinguished woman, Varvutar! stir up thine animals, frighten away thy herd from sleeping in the woods, from slumbering under boughs of fir, reposing in the leafy grove, from snoozing on the sward; induce thy droves to run, the forest animals to bolt, cause the elks to scud along, grand reindeer to hurry up, their legs to take a sudden spring,\ntheir hoofs to move with rapidity to my spots for catching animals, to these passes where I look for game. In profusion let them come and hurry with speedy foot, along morasses, over lands, along long streams, through the forest dense, across the thinly wooded wilds, across the leafy wooded hills, across the lofty mountains too; then when they hither have arrived, when they have reached their journey's end, do thou, Mist-maiden, maid of Fog, the 'Leaf-bud,' 'Ship-borne Yarn' [v. O Tapio's daughter, Luonnotar], 1 with a sieve sift mist, keep scattering fog before the wild creature's face, when nine paces off, rub fog upon its eyes, let mist descend upon its pate till I am ready with my bow, have arranged myself to shoot.\nO forest-youth with a golden hat! O forest-mistress, Juonetar [v. king of the forest, Kuippana], transport thy 'gold,' induce thy 'silver' to approach to my spots for catching animals, these passes where I look for game. Send the best of thy flock, of thy herd\u2014the most superb from the blue backwoods\u2019 interior, from a liver-coloured hole, from Kuha-vuori's peak, from Paksu-vaara's slopes, from near the rapids of Imantra, from Kana-saari's deep recess. From a spinny take a switch, a birch from a forest-dell, send forth the drove to run, cause a 'money-pelt' to break away. Any one too inert to run, make lively with the switch, correct with the birchen bough; of any one that is quick to run raise the mouth with a bit, with halters lift its head. Permit the game to run this way, a 'money-pelt' to rush headlong. More sloping is\nthe country here, a milder climate here is found; here rivers flow, here waters fall.\nO Hiisi's little boy that rides a good two-year-old, take thy golden spur from the end of a silver shelf, from a golden chest, from a silver box, tickle with it the wild creatures' flanks, into their armpits dig it too; cause the drove to run, the wild animals to caper round towards the man in search of them, the stately full-grown man, in copper harness, with golden rings.\nThyself, a\u00ebrial God, thou Spirit Lord Jesus, harness thy colt, prepare thy sleigh, seat thyself at the back and drive in thine ornamented sleigh through the bones and flesh, through the loosened veins; bring together bone and flesh, unite the ends of veins, place gold in the fissure of the bone and silver in between the flesh, flesh where the bone has been contused, blood where a vein has broken through. Where a bone is smashed, fasten thereto another bone; where flesh has been removed, insert more flesh; where a vein has slipt from its place, unite the vein to its place again; where blood has leaked, there cause fresh blood to flow; where the skin has broken off, cause skin to grow upon the place. Bless to their place, in their place adjust the bone to bone, the flesh to flesh, the joints to corresponding joints, to their former place, their earlier site, so that the place shall not be felt, so that the site no longer smarts.\nCome, maiden, from above the air, the maiden from the sky's mid-point, in a copper boat, in a copper skiff. Row with honeyed oars, pull hard in the honeyed punt on either side of the wound from iron, of the injuries produced by steel. Row a boat composed of veins, cause a boat of bone to glide through the bones, through the joints, through places where the flesh has gone; row through the fissures in the bone, along the crevices in joints; row through the bone to remove the pain, through the flesh to remove the smarts. Lengthen the veins that are short, shorten those over long, into their place arrange the veins, make every end of even length, arrange the large veins mouth to mouth, the small veins end to end, the threadlike veins in dove-tail form, and the arteries vis-\u00e0-vis. Then a slender needle take with a silken thread in the needle's eye, with the slender needle sew, with the tin needle stitch, knot up the ends of the veins, with silken ribbons tie them up.\nO beauteous woman of the veins, the beauteous woman Suonetar, the lovely one that spinneth veins from the golden tuft of a beautiful spinning-staff on a copper spinning-rock, that weavest a cloth of veins in a wee corner, in a nook, come hither in my necessity, approach when summoned here with a skein of veins in the belt, under thine arm a bundle of skin, to tie up veins, to knot the ends of veins in wounds, in gashes, in rents, in holes.\nO Tuoni's son with ruddy cheek, twist quickly \u2019gainst thy left thigh, \u2019neath thy right hand a scarlet cord with which\n[paragraph continues] I'll close the raw, shall draw together the bleeding cut, shall bind together the veins, shall tie the ends of veins in knots. If I'm unable properly to close the bleeding cut, tie up the veins thyself, join together the ends of veins, that the veins can't move, that the blood can't flow.\nO mother dear, Saint Catharine, come hither in nimble shoes, in thy black stockings proudly march, in thy white stockings wander forth, with red shoe-laces hurry along, with thy blue ribbons hasten here, regard thy creature close at hand, nigh at hand\u2014what thou hast made. A ram [v. a goat] indeed, a wanton one, has already done a shameful deed, has begun his ugly work, has set to work at boorish deeds.\nO bee, the nimble 'bird,' the king of the meadow flowers, fly thither, where I bid, whither I bid and I command, along one sea, o\u2019er a second one, a little slanting o\u2019er a third, to an island in the open main, to a skerry in the sea. There lies a girl asleep, a 'tinny breast'\u2014fatigued on the honey-dropping sward, at the edge of a honeyed field; a luscious grass is at her side, red clover\u2014in her lap. Into the sweet stuff poke thy wing, into the honey thy tongue's thick-end, bring luscious juice upon thy wing, honey on thy tongue's string from the splendid head of grass, from the cup of the golden flower, as ferment for the ale, as bane for the new-made drink.\nMy little martin, my wee 'bird,' my lovely little 'money-pelt,' go thither, where I command, whither I bid and I command, to the North's remotest fields, to the trampled ground of Lapland's bairns, where the mares fight, the stallions equally compete; with thy paws collect the yeast, into thy hands let flow the froth from the mouth of the fighting mare, of the stallion that contends, as ferment for the ale, as yeast for this small beer.\nCreator, grant! accord, O God, grant me the luck to live, accord that I shall live in peace, shall ever comfortably dwell on the border of my field, in the centre of my farm, to give me joy of an afternoon, in the forenoon to afford delight. Be on thy children's side, be a constant helper of thy bairns, a continual support by night, a watchful guard by day, that the sun shall not in anger shine, that the moon shall not in anger gleam, that the wind shall not in anger blow, that the rain shall not in anger fall, that bitter cold no frost-bites cause, that the hard weather shall not harm. Construct an iron fence, a castle of stone erect around my property, on both sides of my farm from the earth extending to the sky, reaching from the sky to earth, as my abode, my only one, for my protection, my support, by help of which I'll do my work, by its aid o\u2019er waters row, so that no foe shall eat too much, no enemy snatch much away.\nTapio's daughter, Annikki, Tapio's girl with honeyed mouth! stoop down to 'milk,' prepare to give on this my day for catching game, on my hunting days. Open wide the storehouse doors, set ajar the garret doors, throw out my share upon a bough, my portion on a bending tree, by fives from the dense young scrub, by sixes from the forest knolls, by sevens from the woodland ridge, by eights from clumps of juniper, in front of my dogs, my dogs, my men. Induce my dog to bark, let my hound give tongue; stretch a scarlet thread, spin with a buzzing sound blue thread, along which an arrow can ascend to a young squirrel's brow, to a 'cone-biter's' nose, to the nostrils of 'blue-wool.'\nO forest-mistress, Mielikki, kind forest-mother that giveth gifts, the honeyed maiden of Metsola, the golden forest-king! give something to me to shoot, some larger 'hoofs,' some smaller 'hoofs,' some 'hoofs' of medium size; cause the hillocks to resound, bring down the squirrels to the dells, chase the 'money' to the forest's edge, that I can strike them with a staff, can seize them with my hand and fist. If I can't strike them with a staff, thyself direct them to a branch, thyself support my bow, steady my gun thyself, that I can shoot the squirrel on the branch, the 'forest-cat' upon its swing, with which I shall my tribute pay, shall carry away my receipt for rent.\nRahko in iron boots makes a 'stony hill' revolve. O Rahko, put the incubus under a rafter, \u2019neath a beam, \u2019neath an iron roof, \u2019neath a tongueless bell. If that is not enough, should it pay no heed at all, I have a weighing-beam, a steelyard \u2019neath my back, under my head\u2014a sack, a sack below, another above, into which put the incubus, collect together 'Hiisi's dead.'\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, beloved mother, compassionate, spin a blue thread from thy golden [v. blue] distaff bound with flax; from above a long belt of cloud, from the sky let fall the thread, with which I'll smash the scab, with which I'll press the swellings down; I'll lower the rising lumps, with the finger without a name, 1 on a human being's skin, on the body of a mother's son. Let tumours grow on trees, tumours on trees, on the earth\u2014excrescences, watery blisters upon shoots, boils charged with blood on sapling firs, not on a human being's skin, on the body of a mother's son.\nBrown maid [v. smith] of scabs, bad mother [v. king] of boils! snatch from a pig the snout, seize the tush of a foal, with which thou\u2019lt flog the scab, with which thou\u2019lt squeeze the boils from this human skin, from the body of a mother's\nson. Pluck thine evil scabs, to serve as berries [v. strawberries], take them to the earth, to serve as berried knolls\u2014to swamps, to a land devoid of strawberries; in thy mouth dissolve the scab, cook the matter on thy tongue.\nRed maiden, Pullitar! on thy left knee twist a scarlet cord, with which I shall bind the roots, while squeezing the scabs, while pressing the boils.\nTo be covered with boils is bad, to live covered with sores\u2014a plague; old V\u00e4in\u00e4m\u00f6inen, reliable, the diviner of all time! raise thy paddle [v. sword] from the sea, thy 'shovel'\u2014from the wave, with which thou It smash the scab, wilt thresh the abscesses away from a poor human being's skin, from the body of a mother's son.\nSharp Frost, the son of Puhuri [v. Pusuri, v. N\u00e4serva], winter's benumbing son! don't freeze my nails, don't demand my toes, don't nip with frost my head, don't touch my ears. Thou hast enough to freeze, many to nip with frost, without frost-biting a human skin, the body of a mother's son.\nBegone! freeze snaky fields, freeze swamps, freeze land, the water-willows nip, attack the knots on aspen-trees, cause roots of birch to ache, bite the sapling firs; refrigerate hot stones, flat stones that are burning hot, iron rocks and hills of steel, the wildly-rushing Vuoksi falls, the frightful rapids\nof Imatra, the margin of the Northern sea, the declivities of the boundless sea, the swirling water's orifice, the terrific midstream broil.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, beloved mother, compassionate, bring me a soft fur-coat, fetch a hairy coat of wool, with which I'll shelter me, poor wretch, so that the sharp frost cannot bite. Into my stockings cast some fire, into my tatters\u2014bits of coal, so that the sharp frost cannot bite, that the hard weather touch me not. Fetch hither a misty cloud, bring a rainbow-coloured one, shake a warm covering\u2014a mist on the swamps, a mist o\u2019er the land; it is pleasant to live in mist, in a district wrapt in fog.\nIf still a gangrene should ensue, let a scrap of butter, another of fat, be laid on the spots sharp frost has nipt, on the place the hard weather touched.\nIn the North is the reindeer's origin, from Lapland is the creature sent; then, rock-like, bent, curved antlers grew on the reindeer's splendid brow, on the reindeer's powerful head. Crone of the North, with powerful nails, with powerful nails, with an axe of bone, that maketh 'hoofs,' 1 that bendeth 'paws,' throw open the iron chest, slip back the bolt upon the game, send forth the game to run in the path of the lad that hunts, from the North's remotest fields, from Lapland's level tracts to my places for taking game, to my traps that should be trod.\nHo! Ukko, God on high, the capable and honest man, that dwells below the sky, that abides above the clouds, let drop thy pincers from a cloud into my right hand, the hafts of which are of earthly worms, the points\u2014of variegated snakes; the sorcerer's 'arrows' with them I'll lift, I'll draw the 'bloody needles' forth from a wretched human being's skin, from the body of a woman's (kapo) son.\nSmith Ilmarinen, thou thyself the everlasting hammerer, make tiny little tongs, pincers that are very small, with which I'll lift out 'Lempo's arrow,' shall extract the 'bloody knife' from a poor human being's skin, from the body of a mother's son. This man to Mana must not go, his long-haired one to Tuonela, without being slaughtered by disease, removed by ordinary death.\nOld crone below the earth (manner)! Boy of the field's profoundest depths! come to watch quite close at hand, to pay attention nigh at hand, lest Death should eat too much, Disease should reap o\u2019ermuch. Make great exertions with thy knee, resolve with thy finger-points to lift the sorcerer's arrow out, to summon back the shafts; with thy back-teeth seize hold of the sorcerer's arrow-knob, of the end of Piru's shafts.\nIf no heed at all is paid to that, raise from the earth thy men, thy heroes from the hard dry land, to help a well-beloved man, to surround a lonely one.\nd\nBlind crone [v. whore] of Pohjola [v. V\u00e4in\u00f6l\u00e4], Ulappala's blinded hag! come to lift the arrows out, to disengage the spears, to wrench the shooting-irons out, to remove the jagged points from a naked skin, from one without a stitch of clothes.\nAnd if no heed is paid thereto, in the land of the North an old man lives, with stony nails, with iron teeth; \u2019tis he that draweth arrows out, that loosens spears, that extracteth jagged points. Approach, old man, to take, O 'Stony-nails' to cast, O 'Steely jaws' to snatch, O 'Teeth of iron' to wrench\u2014come lift the sorcerer's arrows out, the spears of Keito disengage with thy stony nails, with thine iron teeth, to prevent their stinging with pleurisy, to prevent their racking one with pain. Snap the arrows in two, into three pieces smash the spear, into creases squash its point (F. nose).\nAn eagle dwells in Turjaland that has serviceable claws, that has five talons on its toes resembling five reaping-hooks, its mouth with fire burns, its throat is aglow with flame, at the tip of the wing there are bright eyes, organs of sight at the feather's end. Come, eagle, from Turjaland, from Lapland cast thyself, O bird, that strikest blows incessantly, come and strike this blow as well; with one of thy talons strike the underside of a stone, raise the other foot and strike at Keito's spear, at the jagged spike of Aij\u00f6's son, at the end of the arrow's knob; the bloody arrow carry off, the pointed needle snatch from out of a roaring man, from out of a moaning full-grown man.\nO Lempo, take thy flying shafts, O Piru, take thine arrows back, O limping fellow\u2014thy pointed darts; jerk out thine arrows by the shafts, the sooner the better too, when I have had my say. The bloody needles convey away, tug out the aggravating stings, which thou madest formerly, maybe from the fragments of an evil oak, from the morsels of a brittle tree.\nO Keito, launch thy little spears, provide thy shafts with plumes, and, Piru, cast thy pikes on mighty battle-fields, on the slaughter-plains of men, down a croaking raven's throat, down the mouth of a cawing crow, to be by the raven carried off, to be borne to a distance by the crow to thy family, to thy place of birth, to thy kith and kin, thou wretch, so that they'll ne\u2019er be heard of more, nor seen again in all thy life.\nHiisi, remove thy sting! thou devil's son (pirulainen)\u2014thy goad, O \u00c4ij\u00f6's son\u2014thy pointed darts, Lempo\u2014thy leaf-shaped spears! from a human being's skin, from the body of a woman's son, before the rising of the sun, the uprising of the 'morning star.' Stick thy goads in, let thy projectiles fly, plunge in thy spears, make blunt thy jagged spikes in a bear's hard bones, in Bruin's roaring throat, in the home where three Bruins live, in the home of a brace of bears.\nIf that is not enough, shoot thine arrows forth, launch angrily thy pointed shafts, thy winged projectiles cast into thy mother's hinder part, the armpit of thy nurturer, into thine own begetter's heart, the lungs of her that brought thee forth, not into a human skin, the body of a woman's (kapo) son.\nBoy, come from Pohjola, child\u2014from the real land of Lapps, force thy chubby hand, thy thick thumb press, thy fleshy finger introduce down the copper 'cross-bow's' throat, in front of the gun's big mouth, down the throat of the iron 'churn,' so that the lead sha\u2019n\u2019t hit a man, the ball of tin sha\u2019n\u2019t be discharged.\n(If that is not enough, if the boy from Pohjola can't deaden the power of lead, can't block the fiery mouth), O God the father, thou thyself, thyself, O Jesus, lord of air, that best can deaden the power of lead, that flingeth 'kernel-fruit,' that knoweth how to throw a ball, to recite the charm for stopping balls, draw a watery covering, let a slushy coating grow, from the sky let a mildew fall on the quiver of the enemy, some water on the touch-hole drop, grease on the iron orifice, so that the hammer won't strike fire, that the touch-hole will not flash.\nIf a strange bloodthirsty dog should discharge a leaden ball, should make a bullet slide, direct it into his stumpy tail, into his hind-quarters let it roll. May the hide of an elk from Hiisi's land take possession of his gun, may it twist the touch-hole pan, may it shorten his lead, may it smash his egg,' so that it shall not cause me hurt, not penetrate to give me pain, despite the nature of God, the wish of the heavenly man.\nO Ukko, give thine axe, thy silver hatchet, with which I shall cut down a tree. I'll hew a honeyed aspen-tree from\na honeyed knoll, from a golden mound, I'll shove the thick end towards the sky, on the ground I'll drop the branching head, its thick end towards the nor\u2019-nor\u2019-west, towards the east its branching head. Then rain upon my twigs, on these clean sticks, on the whitened twigs, rain honey from the sky, from the clouds let virgin honey drip; rain honey on the branching top, then luscious juice upon the bark, into the heart let the honey flow.\nO Ukko, cause fresh snow to fall, sprinkle a little recent snow on the very slippery ice, on the smooth and slippery heath, that a fellow's track may be unperceived, that a fellow's breath give out no smell. Yet if some tracks be visible, let the track be the track of a hare; if a breath should cause a smell, let the smell be from forest firs.\nFrom a thicket take a switch, from the trunk of three birch-trees, with which thou\u2019lt ramble through the scrub, wilt cause the bushy groves to shake. Beat with the switch a lazy one to these places and these knolls, under the traps of other men, avoiding other people's snares.\nO good old man, splendid old man, the golden forest-king, give me of thy ewes and rams. Supply for the sake of men, for the sake of men produce from thy shirt the best, from thy waistcoat the fattest ones, fling thy 'packages of wool,' thy 'little sheaves of flax,' under these snares of mine; poke in thy 'handful of flax,' and thy 'golden distaff bound with wool,' firstly, this very night, intermediately the second night, lastly, at the end of the week, under the silver spar, and to touch the copper trigger-pin.\nO forest-mistress, Simanter, with sheath of tin, with silver belt, that dwellest in the mountain tracts, that makest a din on the copper hills; let the tallest of thy serving-maids, the best of them that serve for hire, open the mountain magazines, with a banging noise the passages. Let a long file of creatures run, let the mountain cattle' rush over the traps of other men, or under other people's snares, to snap my twigs, to let my triggers off. If the cattle run not speedily, won't hurry at a rapid pace, below their hinder feet may Hiisi's hottest coals be set, which with their glowing ash will burn, will scratch the herd with burning sparks.\nO Ukko, let some fresh snow fall, sprinkle some fine fresh fallen snow, snow for a sleigh to glide along, fresh snow along which a sledge can dash; hide the berry stalks upon the ground, the stalks of heather cover up.\nKing of the forest, Kuippana, brisk man of the woods with tree-moss beard! O liberal mistress of the woods, the kind gift-giver of the woods, take a fancy to my salt, approve of these boiled groats, feed a man with thy 'sweet rye cakes,' and coax him with thy 'groats'; induce the 'gold' to move, the 'silver' to wander forth \u2019long a golden lane, \u2019long a silver path, into the little golden 'cup,' into the silver 'farrier's tongs.' Drive briskly the animals, the forest-creatures\nhastily, toward my gins that are made of iron, toward my traps that are formed of steel; and then when they are close, when they have reached the spot, let my iron give a snap, jerk the points of steel.\nTake a fancy, Forest, to my salt, O Tapio\u2014to my dish of groats, thou golden forest-king with fir-twig hat, with a tree-moss beard, O Mimerkki, the forest's wife with sheath of tin, with a silver belt, O Raunikko [v. Rammikko] that regulates the 'cash,' Louhi, the mistress of Pohjola, let rattle thy hand that is filled with 'cash,' let gleam thine ornamented hand. O son of Tapio, Nyyrikki, spruce fellow with a tall red cap, with a cloak of blue, with a beard of white, take thy tall cap of hoofs, sow the smaller 'hoofs,' sow the larger 'hoofs,' without suspicion let them come, rush in torrents without a halt, strutting along in socks of black, tripping along on their neat feet to my spots for catching game, to my traps that must be trod. Choose white ones for other men, the black ones suit me best; if hereabouts they do not show, then fetch them from a remoter part, from over nine deep woods, from a hundred stages off.\nO stalwart maiden, P\u00e4ist\u00e4rys [v. Tapio's maiden, Ristikko], that strews flax-stalks (p\u00e4ist\u00e4r), strew 'stalks of flax,' scatter thy 'cloaks' about in the blue backwoods, in honeyed Metsola; without suspicion let them come, without misgiving let them run, without perceiving the smell of man, without their scenting human scent, to my spots for catching game, to my traps that should be trod, cross-breasted\nones from Pohjola, black 'coats of fur' from Turjaland, to make into fluttering clothes for lords, to make into garments for men in power.\nHo! Ukko, lord on high, the god above the cloud, when needed hither come, when petitioned hasten here to see these pains, to avert the calamity, to remove the injury from spells, to eject the plague. Fetch me a fiery sword, bring a sparkling blade, with which I'll sever the spell-wrought ills, with which I'll scatter injuries, shall tear out Hiisi's cankerous sore, shall for ever check the brute; I assign the torments to the winds, the pains to the wide abandoned fields.\nO Ukko, at the sky's mid-point, at the edge of a thundercloud, come hither to shelter me, to be my aid, my only aid, to remove this plague, to counteract the violent one, to undo the fiendish deed, to tear out Hiisi's cankerous sore, to dislodge the spell-wrought injuries with a fiery pointed sword, with a sparkling blade, on the point of which gleamed the moon, on the hilt of which shone the sun.\nO Ukko, at the sky's mid-point, at the furthest end of a ragged cloud, come hither as my guard, to eject the plague, to remove the hurts; take from my mouth the 'bit of Death,' from my neck the 'chains of Manala,' from my shoulders 'Tuoni's reins,' when I am shouting in distress, when I am yelling out in pain.\nFetch me a fiery sword, shove quickly a sparkling one in a sheath of fire into my right hand; with it I'll slash that evil one, with it I'll claw the toad, the Hiitolainen I shall scourge, shall stop the beastly creature's noise, so that he shall not raise his snout, no more shall shake his head so long as he lives, while the Lord's moon shines.\nArise, O Sea, with thy men, O Landlocked Lake, with thy old men, with thy crowds, O Dweller in the stream, with thy nation to a man, to remove these plagues, to undo the spell-sent harm, to grind this Hiisi and this Juutas crush, to flog the Perkele, to squeeze the De'il (Piru), to dislodge the spell-wrought injuries, to eject the plagues, to eat the curses of villagers, to lap the incantations up.\nIn the north-east an eagle dwells, a famous bird in Turjaland; under its wing are a hundred men, another hundred above its wing, at the tip of the tail are a thousand men, on every feather there are ten; all the men are girt with swords, the heroes with their instruments, all the iron throng, the people of V\u00e4in\u00f6l\u00e4. O eagle, from the northeast come, from Lapland fling thyself, O bird, to save this head, to preserve this life, to remove the spell-wrought injuries, to eject the plagues, to eat the curses of villagers, to lap the incantations up.\nO Christopher (Ristoppi), the river-chief, the golden river-king, O Nokiatar [v. Jokiatar], youthful girl, that\nwatches over the river-herd, pursue the river-herd with shouts, make them to rush out like a flood from the holes of their stony dens, like a herd of cattle\u2014from the rocks, through a silver 'door,' through a 'window' of gold 1 to soft pillows, to beds of wool. In a hundred ditches have otters been caught, in a thousand streamlets they are found, but in one ditch they must be caught, and it has a silver 'door.' If hereabouts they do not show, then fetch them from a remoter part, from the side of Imantra Lake, along a river of Pohjola, over nine men in search of them, under eight persons on the watch. If thou a full-grown otter guide, drive one the colour of the wave through the silver 'door,' through the 'window' of gold, I'll give thee gold as old as the moon, give silver as bright as the sun.\nO cease, good God, from raining, blowing, and maintaining a cloudy sky; O Ukko, god of the sky, thyself; the mighty lord of air, to Russia [v. Viborg] conduct the clouds, take the rainbows to Karjala; they are waiting for water there, an old woman has borne a child, no water has it seen as yet. A little child is there\u2014a boy, and another child\u2014a girl, of one night old, of two months old, they all as yet are unbaptized.\nOld V\u00e4in\u00e4m\u00f6inen, arise! old man, from sleeping cease, to help a well-beloved son, to be comrade to a famous man in this laborious work, in the hard task laid on him.\n[paragraph continues] They need me now, they need me, they require that I divine a deep origin and remove a great injury, when I start on a war, on a battle with disease.\nOld man, old V\u00e4in\u00e4m\u00f6inen! the diviner as old as time, when needed hither come, when summoned here approach. A wretched man lies groaning here, one of little strength is in his bed with an unusual disease, with one unknown by name; the floor is rotting underneath, the roof is mouldering overhead. From thine out-house take a bathing-switch, from thy belt a honeyed wing, sweep the fearful (F. holy) sparks away, extinguish the fearful (F. holy) plagues with thy honeyed bathing-switch, with thy mellifluous wing; lift up the disease to the sky, to the wind apportion the pains, for the wind to rock, for bad weather to toss to the distant limits of the north, to the flat, open land of Lapps, or under deep waves, on the black mud there, where there is neither moon nor sun, nor weather that will cause delight.\nThyself, O Jesus, lord of air, the God that livest in the sky, when needed hither come, when summoned here approach; here thy son is lying sick, thine offspring writhes in agony. Some of thy spittle, O Jesus, spit, some of thy foam, Omnipotent, as ointment for the pains, as a remedy for sores; make him well at night, restored to health by day, more perfect than he was before, and better than he was of old.\nCreator! come to repeat a charm, O God, to speak, Almighty! to heal, make the sick man well at night, make\nhim hale by day; make holy with thy words, assuage with thy formulas (lause), thy words are holy ones, thy formulas are well arranged. From thy pure mouth speak words of continual help on the injuries of every kind, so that anguish sha\u2019n\u2019t be felt above, that no pain shall penetrate the heart, so that it sha\u2019n\u2019t be felt the least, not even a particle of pain.\nPure water! water's mistress! water's mistress, water's master! make me to be healthy now, perfectly well as formerly, since I pray with chosen words and give to thee as offerings, blood to appease and salt to reconcile.\nOld man of Hiisi, Hiisi's old wife, the fiery-bearded one of hell! just bring some people from the hill, from the mountain top\u2014some lumps, to press this rascal down, to check this violent one, so that its foot from the swamp can't rise, nor its hoof from the hardened earth.\nBlind harlot of Pohjola, Ulappala's wholly blind one! milk here thy milk, let trickle from thy teats into the nasty wounds from iron, on the places wholly burnt by fire, lest they begin to suppurate, lest in eruptions they break out, lest for a long time they should smart, should for a long while be inflamed.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, the holy handmaid of the sky, pray weave a little golden belt, pray work with care a silver one; with the silken girdle bind, with the red one tie the damaged spots. If that should insufficient prove, let the Maker's silk be a ligature, the cloak of the Lord be a covering, let the word of God be a bolt, the furs [v. breath] of the Lord be a coverlet; may the Creator's mercy grant, may God's word bring about, that the wound shall not inflame, that it shall not lead to pain.\nOld woman! come from Pohjola, holding a little basket-cup, in the basket a copper dish, in the dish a golden plume, to anoint the hurts, to bind the wounds.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, beloved mother, compassionate, give thy good finger-tips, thy well-made fingers bring, to become my fingers and to be transformed into hands of mine, with which I'll snatch the bit of chaff, shall pluck the 'nettle' out, so that it shall not hurt for long, not long shall irritate.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, the holy handmaid of the sky, take thy little golden box, just open thy golden chest, take from it a golden hook, snatch up a honeyed line, with\nthe golden hook hook out, with the honeyed line drag out (F. attach a line to) the bit of chaff in the eye, out from the place where it entered in.\nDistinguished woman, Suvetar! Nature's old wife, Etel\u00e4t\u00e4r, pray feed my pigs, give the 'down-turned noses' food when into the woods I send the swine, the 'down-turned snouts' to abandoned fields, on a shore that faces the sea, that faces the sandy beach of the sea.\nO Ukko, the god known everywhere, father of rulers of the sky, take thy sons\u2019 side, to thy children be a constant aid; hold a moot in the clouds, clear councils in a cloudless sky; from the east let a cloud grow up, from the west send another one, from the north-east a third, push them together side by side, rain water on the touch-hole pans, or snow in front of the locks in the important summer of war, in the miserable year of war, so that the lock shall not strike fire, the touch-hole shall not send up smoke, that the powder's bang, the report of the 'evil meal' shall not be heard, nor directed against a woman's child, a very splendid full-grown man.\nO Ukko, the golden king, the ancient father of the sky, protect me with fiery furs, put over me a shirt of flame, when I happen to be in the wars, when I chance to enter the fray. Make me a wall of stone to stand in front of me,\nsix fathoms every way, with seven-fathom sides, where I, a lad, will strive against the enemy, so that my head sha\u2019n\u2019t come to harm, the column of the neck sha\u2019n\u2019t break, that my fine hair sha\u2019n\u2019t fall, my forelock shall not be destroyed in the din of the flashing iron, on the point of a frantic blade.\nCreator I save, O Nature, save! save, God above, save men with swords, crews with their freight, from an eventful state of war, from murderous waves of men; make haste to give deliverance, to free us from a fix; in a day a man can lose his head, in an hour\u2014a full-grown man.\nJesus! take anxious care, from the sky take watchful care of a child created by thyself, so that the boy shall not depart, a woman's offspring shall not stray from the track by the Maker made; make me a shield of stone, an iron enclosure build, behind which I shall fight, and under which I'll shoot, that death-bolts may not take effect, sharp-pointed iron harm me not, though of cast copper made, or of careful silver workmanship, or the point were of burnished gold; smash into little bits the point, into creases squeeze the tip, into a hook twist up the spike.\nReliable old V\u00e4in\u00e4m\u00f6inen! the soothsayer as old as time, clip wool from a stone, from a rock break 'hair,' make from it a shirt -of war, a cover of six fathoms weave, of over six, of over seven in all, under which we'll shoot, behind which we shall fight, we'll a fierce people over-\nthrow to the ground, both men and swords, the evil people slanting-wise, the soldiers on their sides.\nO V\u00e4in\u00f6's girl, with temples of gold, with copper skirt, with a silver belt dash water on the touch-hole pan\u2014make sparkle the touch-hole pan\u2014ta\u2019en from nine water-springs, from the contents of pitchers three, lest the powder should explode, the 'evil meal' [v. rye] should detonate, lest it discharge the lead, let fly the balls of tin \u2019mong our good men, into our men's breast-bones; let the flint be on its guard, let saltpetre keep its word!\nHo! Ukko, god on high, the father that rules the sky, bring the swords of a thousand men, the sabres of a hundred braves, that won't glance off against a bone, that will not break upon a skull, as I am going on a war, to a combat hand to hand, to mighty battle-fields, to those slaughter-plains where the blood reaches up to the leg, the red blood to the knee.\nSmith! arise from under the wall, from behind a stone, thou hammerer, thyself Ilmarinen the smith, that art a most skilful hammerer, forge a new sword for me, to put in my right hand, forge a dozen pikes, an ample sheaf of spears, that I may start off to the war, to plains where men are killed by the war-horses\u2019 feet, by the hoofs of a battle-foal, on bloody beds, on gory sites.\nHo! Ukko, lord on high, the father at the sky's midpoint, procure me straight snow-skates, for the left foot rapid skates, on which I'd smoothly scud through the great forest tracts, across the swamps, across firm land, across the moors of the North to the spots where game is born, to the land where 'money-pelts' are bred.\nCreator, save! O Nature, save. Save, God that dwells above! Creator, thy creation save! O God\u2014what thou hast made, with words by the Creator framed, prescribed by the Holy Ghost, from evil-words, from results of words, from jibberings, from jabberings, from incantations of parish folk, from spell-wrought ills of the village folk, from the bad designs of men, from the spells of whores, from the murmurings of a 'bristly snout,' from a 'long-hair\u2019s' witcheries, from jealous persons of the land, from the water-sorcerers.\nO Ukko darling, my beloved, my darling father in the sky, hark to my golden words, when I with chosen words beseech. I am not urging thee to go a-fishing, to a war, to encounter the swords of men, but I urge thee now to counteract the bad results of charms, of the spells of whores; come to free me from the harm, from the bad results of the spells, from the machinations of the hags, from the plots and scheming of the men, as my well-wisher would desire, as my ill-wisher would not desire.\nHow at such times is one to sing and how lament, when the pains of labour come, constraint is laid upon a girl, the belly suffers agony, the womb is in great distress?\nThus at such times is one to speak and thus express oneself: O Ukko, king of the heavenly realm, the god above the clouds, come hither, come immediately, they need thee here at once, here helpless infants gasp for breath, babes as they come to the outer air (F. courtyard); a lass is seized with the pains of birth, a woman with griping in the wame; come close at hand to observe if she is under village spells (F. curses), under murderous designs of men, under old women's secret charms, or machinations of old hags. If she is under spiteful spells, the murderous designs of parish folk, release the lass from the binding spells, the woman from their heavy bands, from the evil words of 'bearded mouths,' from the evil words of beardless ones. Throw open the 'fleshly chest,' draw quickly back the lock of bone, send into the world the 'traveller,' 'wee fingers' into the outer air (F. courtyard), to creep about in the world, to grow in the outer air.\nWhen the time of danger is at hand, the day of distress arrives, in thy right hand take a golden club and with it break the obstacles, the 'door-posts' smash, put ajar the Creator's locks, break in twain the bolts at the back, that a big or a little one may go, one of small strength may walk, come bouncing out to the outer air (F. courtyard), come skipping out into the world (F. farm), into the world of all mankind, the country of other travellers.\nHo! Ukko, god on high, thyself the mighty lord of air, take thy golden axe, thy silver hatchet take, and with it break down obstacles (F. tree-trunks), cut the 'fleshly threshold' through, break the 'sinewy gate,' put the locks of bone ajar, tear rents to serve as chimney-holes, and as windows open holes, that into the world a 'traveller' come, that one of little strength may pass; let fall a 'flat stone' from the stove,' a 'backmost flat stone' with a bang, from the 'oven' knock out a 'stone,' break a 'pebble' from the 'wall,' a boy from the lassie's lap, a child from the woman's hips, or death will come, life's departure will draw nigh to this painful womb, from the belly's violent throes.\nHo! Ukko, god on high, the ancient father in the sky, when needed hither come into this snaky vapour-bath; here a poor wretch is screeching loud, a wretched woman makes lament, is biting the twigs of the bathing-switch, is cutting away the leaves, on her knees at the porch's door, on her hands at the threshold of the bath; come at once, soon hurry up, still sooner we have need of thee, the earth is cracking under foot, the sky is splitting up above, while the distressed is crying out, while the tormented woman yells; a bottle of pure water bring, fetch some the colour of sleet, fetch a stoupful of luscious juice, a canful of honey bring, blow into my mouth the half of it, the other half make into salves, with which I'll salve between the legs, shall anoint the hinder parts, shall cause the door of flesh to move, shall open up the gate, shall free the lass from childbirth pains, bring into the world a traveller, as a senseless one is in the womb, a dolt that knoweth not the way.\nOld wife Kave, Nature's daughter! golden Kave, the beautiful, that formerly allayed great pain, allayed great pain and freed from throes; since thou freed the moon from a cell (F. halo), freed the sun from a rock, so free from these throes as well, allay these pains as well, free a lass from childbirth pains, from the belly's violent throes; with thy hands bring the babe from the womb, the boy from the lassie's lap, release it to rejoice the men, into the world of all mankind; if it should be a boy, let it come with the hubbub of a man, if a girl\u2014more quietly, if a lassie with less of noise: a boy is in haste to go to war, a girl is in haste to be betrothed.\nO Porotytt\u00f6, the Northern girl, a knapsack take from the hut's far end, a sack from the bath-house nook; fetch hither some slimy stuff from all the water's fish, from behind nine seas, nine seas and a half; run into the sea knee-deep, 'Blue-stocking!' half-way in; then holloa and hulloo to the perch, the roach, to all the water's fish: 'Give spittle, ruff! burbot! some slimy stuff, blue sik! bring some, red salmon! send me some, and with it I'll anoint the legs, I'll stroke her down the sides, shall relieve the lass of the childbirth pains, the woman\u2014of fulness in her wame.'\nOld V\u00e4in\u00e4m\u00f6inen, thou old man (ukko), the diviner as old as time, from Esthonia bring a scythe, from Hell\u2014a hook for mowing hay; with it I'll stroke the sides, and pass along the hinder parts, I'll separate the woman's legs,\n[paragraph continues] I'll tug the thighs apart, I'll loosen the 'bench' at the end, break the 'bolt at the back' in two, I'll open the 'land' in the under parts, burst through the headrigs of the 'fields,' send forth on the earth a 'traveller,' a human being to the light of day, to walk upon his feet, to work with his extremities.\nO Hiisi, come from Hiitola, thou humpback,\u2014from the home of gods, with a golden sleigh, and in the sleigh a golden axe, with which thou'lt break down 'trunks of trees,' with which thou\u2019lt scatter obstacles, wilt set ajar the 'Maker's slit,' wilt open up the 'water gate,' wilt make it as wide as a lake, as ample as Lake Koitere. O Hiisi, whet thine axe, sharpen the level edge on three whetstones, on five Esthonian stones, on the head of seven hones, on the end of eight whetstones; pull down a portion of the 'fence,' the interval between five bars, set the woman's thighs apart, separate the old woman's legs, as the bit of a war-horse does, like the traces of a splendid foal.\nO Moon, set free, O Sun, release, Great Bear, continually lead a man from unfamiliar doors, from unknown gates; guide to the earth a traveller, a human child to the light of day, from these small nests, from the cramped abode. If in the womb there is a boy, strive to bring him forth into the world, if in the lap there is a girl, pray steer the girl ashore; release the child to see the moon, to rejoice at the sun, to behold the Great Bear, to regard the stars, a child that has not noticed them, has not perceived them yet.\nFrom Mary I beg for land, from Peter\u2014an inheritance; dear Mary! give me land, good Peter!\u2014an inheritance, give me land gratis, in charity\u2014a piece of land. I will not ask for very much,\u2014for a little I will not go away\u2014as much of ground as a floor requires, as my backbone can lie upon, for me to play my games upon, a field for me to dance upon, a yard for me to run along, the edge of a field to roll upon. Choose every sort of wild animal on the honeyed sward, on the honeyed knoll, bring to that piece of ground for me from the woods the good things of the woods, from the land the best things of the land, to be my joy at eventide, my delight in the morning hours, bring gold beneath the centre beam, beneath the lovely roof, and honey to the timbers\u2019 cracks, to the site of the walls\u2014a luscious juice.\nMy 'little bullfinch,' O Jesus, wash, my 'wee snow-sparrow,' cleanse\u2014with water by the Maker made, ordained by the Holy Birth\u2014from water's anger and from earth's, from the secret rancour of a frog; let the earth receive its 'spice' again, let the water its anger take, may the earth drink down its 'spice' like milk\u2014its 'spice' to below the ground, to below the earth, down below nine fields, may the water drink its anger down, swig it off like wort, down under swamps and moss, down \u2019neath deep waves.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, that hast a pure mother's countenance, that art the oldest of womankind, the tallest of soft-skirted ones, with golden bracelets on thine arms, with golden trinkets of thy head, with golden shoes upon thy feet, come hither, we have need of thee, we are shouting for thy help; bring thyself here immediately, bareheaded, with dishevelled hair, without thy girdle, without thy skirt, to restore to health, to give repose, before the rising of the sun, the dawning of the god of dawn.\nMake the bath-house hot, the stones to throw out steam, with cleanly bits of wood, with logs by water cast ashore; fetch water beneath thy dress, bath-switches under cover bring, 1 then cause a honeyed steam to rise, cause a honeyed vapour to ascend through the glowing stones, the burning flags, lest it burn my bairns, my offspring should destroy; soften the pleasant bathing-switch, moisten its honeyed spreading head, with the switches foment the wounds.\nTo stone-heaps with the wounds from iron! To woodpiles with the wounds from trees! To stony stoves with the wounds from stones! Make the sufferer well at night, without pain by day, by virtue of the word of God, through the mercy always of the Lord.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, when needed hither come, in thy hand a golden cup, in thy wrapper a honeyed wing. Make a honeyed bath-house hot, make warm the room of\ndeal with coveted logs of wood, which the wind has brought ashore, the surf has steered ashore, a wave of the sea has cast ashore.\nGo to the bath-house secretly, by a side-way to the bathing-house without being heard by the village-folk, without news reaching the villagers; anoint the door with ale, the gate with wort, the hinges with small beer wet, bedaub the handle with fat, that the door sha\u2019n\u2019t creak, nor the iron hinges speak, nor the gate sing out, nor the handle squeak; in a spinny break off a bathing-switch, in the copse snap one off, on the brink of an angry stream, or near three rapids; from the rapids gather stones, from a sandy heath some junipers; from the side of the moon take a cup, a ladle from under the arm of the sun, with which thou\u2019lt water draw, some water from the Vento stream [v. spring]. Cause steam to rise, make heat ascend to the stones that feel no pain, to the flags that feel no smart, through the stones of the stove, the moss-stopping of the bath; take from thy cloak a bathing-switch, from thy bosom\u2014tender leaves, soften the honeyed bathing-switch, moisten its hundred tips at the centre of a honeyed stone; sweep away the fearful [F. holy] 'sparks,' 1 remove [F. quench] the fearful [F. holy] plagues with thy virgin-honeyed wing, with thy honeyed bathing-switch, into a little golden cup, into a copper-sided vat; in the stove put the pains, in the bathhouse moss\u2014the plagues, in a wool-chest\u2014the angry sores, in a box\u2014the cruel smarts.\nEnter the steam, O God, the hot steam\u2014Father of the air! to restore to health, to give repose; enter the bathhouse\nsecretly without being heard by a worthless wretch, without news reaching the villagers, without being known at another farm. Here in the bath a sick man lies, in the hot bath\u2014a feeble man; throw on the ground excessive steam, the bad steam send away without his being soiled by dirt or breathed upon by a chilly breath, without being angrily steamed by steam or by too much water washed away.\nThere is nothing for steam to find, for hot steam to choke. 1 Whatever water I throw on these hot stones, into honey may it change, may it turn into luscious juice; may a river of honey flow, a lake of virgin honey plash through the stove of stone, through the bath-house stopped with moss; may the breath of the Lord exhale, may the Creator's warm breath dash through the bones and joints, through the sinews and the flesh, through the warm blood, the red arteries.\nO bee, the active man, the active fellow, the lively bird, on thy wing fetch luscious juice, bring honey on thy tongue from six flower-tops, from seven heads of grass, as a fluid to harden iron, as a juice to temper steel. Then, on thy arrival here, cook the honey on thy tongue, on thy wing-tip\u2014the luscious juice, as stuff to mellow an iron blade [F. tongue], as a means to soften an iron edge [F. mouth], lest the iron should lacerate, the steel should thoughtlessly destroy; wherever iron shall penetrate or powerful steel shall gash, may the luscious juice on the place remain, honey\u2014where the iron has cut, sweet juice\u2014on the iron's bite.\nO frosty maiden, the icy girl, when needed, hither come, bring snow for sores made by Fire, for the injuries by Panu\u2014frost, snow-lumps from the bed of a lamb, some ice from the pen of a full-grown sheep [v. kammo], [v. from a blue sheep's interior], with these snow-lumps form a crust, with the ice form a coat of ice (like that) with which the seas are crusted o\u2019er, the lakes are coated o\u2019er with ice.\nA frosty maiden, an icy girl, sits in a crouching attitude at the mouth of a frosty spring, in the hollow of an icy well, a golden ladle is in her hand with which she draws the water up. Come here when needed now, when beseeched to help, cause thy pool to shake, cause thy spring to dash down on the places that are burnt, that have long begun to suppurate; throw some icy water down, bring some the colour of slush.\nWater is eldest of the brothers, Fire the youngest of the daughters, may Water, the eldest, keep awake, may Fire, the youngest, fall asleep!\nO Ismo, of the daughters of the air, into this sore place force thyself, come like the wind, make speed like a thought, pour thyself out like water's foam upon thy son's iniquities; some water from thine apron throw on the fearful scars from fire, on the places that are burnt, so that they shall not smart for long, shall not for long be found inflamed.\nRise from the ground, O Iron Cock, O Iron Hen, spring quickly up to eat the pains produced by Fire, to sip Fire's 'broth' from the places that are burnt, that have received sore injury, so that no pain be felt above, no qualm shall penetrate the heart, that the sides of the wound shall not inflame, nor smart for very long.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, beloved mother, compassionate, like a golden cuckoo come, like a silver turtle-dove to the burns (F. fires) of one in agony, to the burnt places of a sufferer; come at once, soon hurry up, still sooner we have need of thee, in thy hand a golden cup containing water icy cold in which are copper twigs; dash water on the scabs, on the places that are burnt. If that is not enough, dig out a fish from a sandy heath, from a deep pit\u2014a pike, to eat the pains produced by Fire, to lap Fire's 'broth' from a wretched human skin, from the body of a woman's (Kapo) son.\nRise, maiden, from the dell, from the moist earth, dear lass! from inside a frosty spring, from the hollow of an icy well, thy shoes and laces all over ice, the folds of thy skirt all over rime, thy jacket a mass of ice, thy clothes entirely hid with snow, in thy bosom a hunk of ice, under thine arm a lump of ice to gag Fire's mouth, to weigh down Panu's head.\nRise from the dell, dear Maid! from the gravel, thou clean-faced one, 'Blue-socks!' from the corner of a swamp,\n[paragraph continues] 'Red laces!' from a dale; from the stream raise frost, from the swamp some cooling stuff for the places that are burnt, for the fearful scars from fire, in thy folds wrap up the fire, in thy skirts the flame, in thy clean dress, in thy white clothes.\nCrone of the North! with crooked jaw, with crooked jaw with scanty teeth, fetch slush from a slushy place [v. Hymm\u00f6], from J\u00e4hm\u00f6's [v. J\u00e4mm\u00f6's] chamber\u2014ice; sprinkle some water icy cold, throw some the colour of slush on the 'burnt out spark,' on this 'burnt soot,' lest it begin to suppurate, lest it discharge with pus.\nBoy! come from Pohjola, from the cold village, thou full-grown man, from thy father's place, great man, thou comrade\u2014from Vento's host; when thou comest bring some frost, both frost and ice, from Hymmo's window\u2014frost, from J\u00e4mm\u00f6's closet\u2014ice, some blood of an autumn ewe [v. summer goat], some blood of a winter hare; freeze with the frost, ice with the chilly ice, the injuries brought by Fire, the thorough scorching by Panu caused.\nCome, Maid of fire! thou well-known Maid of fire, to extinguish Fire, to repair Panu's work; in thy socks bring frost, on the edge of thy shoe-latchets\u2014ice, bring frost, bring frost, bring ice, fetch iron hail to throw on the ugly scars produced by Fire, on Panu's brutal work. If little ensue therefrom, poke a heifer's hide as a plug with Fire's\nmouth, over Panu's head as a covering, wipe away the fearful (F. holy) sparks, sweep away the fearful (F. holy) 'waves' from the places that are burnt, from the havoc wrought by Fire.\nHo! Ukko, lord on high, the old man of the sky, that hast made fast the chain, and locked up air's magic words, into this fire fling thyself, into the flame sink down with water in thy mouth and head, a water-hat upon thy nape; step along the fiery path, make sparkle the sparkling path, whisk water icy cold on the fearful scars from fire, cause a wind to blow, an icy blast to rush to the places that are burnt, that are thoroughly scorched by fire, so that they shall not suppurate, nor crack like soot.\nO Vesi-viitta, Mountain's [v. Vaitto's, v. Vaitta's] son, the lovely offspring of a rock, [v. Suoviitta! the child of Kaleva, 1] that in a mountain hast slept a year, lain for a long time in a rock, tether thyself to this glowing ash, into this Panu cast thyself, make Fire incapable, make Panu impotent; bring water in a birch-bark dish, fetch some in a two-hooped one from between two stumps from \u2019neath a birch's triple root, some chilly water icy cold for the fearful damage caused by Fire. Fire has wrought mischief here, Panu committed an evil deed against the will of God, against the honour of the Blest.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, the kindly mother, compassionate, in another direction go, to gloomy Pohjola, to a snowy mountain top, to the hill's north side where a woodgrouse has its nest, a hen is bringing up her young; bring snow, bring ice with which thou\u2019lt quench the fire, wilt make the flame subside, without being wholly burnt by fire, without being injured by the flame. If that is not enough, put into the flame (panu) thy shirt, into the fire\u2014thy copper belt, fling them into the fire's control, spread them among the glowing coals; give me thy blue silk scarf for a bandage round my hand and with it I'll quench the fire, I'll subdue the flame.\nMay the raging fire fall asleep, may Mary make it sleep, may darling (F. golden) water keep awake, may Jesus from above keep watch.\nO Panu, Aurinkoinen's son, the Auringotar's progeny, that under forge-fires lives, that takes a rest upon the hearth, conceal thyself among thy coals, among thine ashes disappear, tether thyself to thy sparks, in thy hot embers hide thyself, to be used by day in a house of fir, in a stove of stone, to be kept concealed at night in a bin of coals, in the middle of a 'golden ring.' 1 May darling (F. golden) Fire with exhaustion full, may little Flame subside, may Water\u2014the oldest\u2014keep awake, may Fire\u2014the youngest\u2014fall asleep.\nO Panutar, best girl, when needed hither come to quench a fire, to reduce a flame; give thy skirts a shake, make their borders sway, put the fire in thy furs, the flame\u2014in thy clothes, throw it into thy rags, keep it safe in thy ragged clothes, lest it burn one on the cheek, or hurt one on the side.\nO Nunnus [v. Munnus] 1 of the daughter of the air, O H\u00f6ykenys of the Panutars, when summoned hither come, when implored make haste, when thou comest bring some frost, bring frost, bring ice, in the air there is frost enough, both frost and ice; freeze with the frost, ice with the ice, freeze with the frost my finger tips, ice with the ice my hands, make the fire incapable, silence its crackling noise, that it shall not tinge my nails, nor scorch my hands.\nO chosen woman, Kunnotar, O golden 2 woman, K\u00e4rehet\u00e4r, come away from melting gold, from smelting silver come away; in thy bowl I put bits of gold, bits of silver\u2014in thy cup, these bits of gold are as old as the moon, the bits of silver as old as the sun, brought by my father from a war, obtained with trouble in the fray, when I was a child, when I tumbled about as a brat, as tall as father's knee, as high as mother's spinning-staff.\nClean mistress of Metsola! O forest's golden king, hearken to my golden words, to my silver utterance. I decoy with gold, with silver I allure; enter on an exchange of gold, of silver an interchange; more coloured are thy 'bits of gold' thy 'bits of silver'\u2014of darker hue, my bits of gold are more glistening, my silver is more glittering and was brought expressly from a war, with threats from foreign lands, was from Russia carried off, below Riga was obtained in strife.\nO master of Tapio's farm, O mistress of Tapio's farm, old man of the forest with hoary beard, the forest's golden king! O forest-mistress, Mimerkki, the forest's kind gift-giving mother, 'Blue-cloak'? the old wife of the scrub, 'Red-socks'! the mistress of the swamp, come to make an exchange of gold, of silver an interchange. My bits of gold are as old as the moon, my bits of silver as old as the sun, the bits of gold are Swedish gold, Swedish\u2014the glistening silver bits, in conflict brought from Tornio, from behind the frontier\u2014in a fight, my father brought them from the wars, laid hands upon them in the fray; in a purse they'll get worn away, will blacken in a tinder-bag, if none will change my gold nor exchange my silver bits.\nO friendly mistress of the woods, O forest's golden king, come to take my bits of gold, to choose out silver bits. For thy 'gold' take my bits of gold, for thy 'silver'\u2014my silver bits, for thy 'hoofs' I give bits of gold, for thy 'paws'\u2014my silver bits, for the benefit of Tapio's farm, to\ngive delight to the Forest Home (Metsola). Spread thy lovely linen handkerchief under my bits of gold to prevent their falling to the ground, their being sullied in the dirt; these bits of gold are famous bits that were brought from Germany, obtained from Riga in a fight, in a battle in Denmark fought.\nO Kalma, rise and bestir thyself to watch my thief, to look after my goods, to get my property, to recover what is ta\u2019en away with thy heavy, frightful hands, with the chains of the Omnipotent.\nO Hippa, one of Hiisi's daughters, O Kipin\u00e4t\u00e4r, Hiisi's cat, tear his thighs right well, as sparks of fire torture him, so that he shall not sleep at night, shall not repose at all by day, without first bringing back, without his putting in its place what he has ta\u2019en, what he has robbed, what he has taken of my goods, what he has got, what he has hid.\nO Otavatar, maid of night, the steady watcher during night, come here, I have need of thee, move hither, I summon thee to keep a watch upon my goods, to look after my property, to observe what has disappeared, to have returned what was ta\u2019en away.\nOld mother Eine! rise up first, life's ruler (haltia) rouse thyself before a sorcerer rises up, a jealous one jumps up,\na presumptuous person moves, or a wizard catches hold, to help a well-beloved son, to be comrade to a famous man. If thou hast no time thyself, thyself art disinclined, send hither of thy serving maids, give thy servants the command; the best send hither, not the worst, the tallest, not the shortest one, to go about (F. to swing) with me, to walk with me.\nI, wretched fellow, do not know, not I, an unfortunate son, from whom I should implore relief, from whom\u2014firm strength, if from the father in the sky, or from the mother in the earth.\nHulloa! old woman, mother of me, O lovely mother that brought me forth, long in the earth thou now hast lain, for an age hast murmured in the sward; my mother! from the earth arise, my parent\u2014from the burial-place with thy strength, with thy might, to give a little fellow strength; bring a fur coat from Tuoni's land, Tuoni's fur coat with its thousand knobs, in which I'll dress myself to guard against these sorcerers. In a village are many sorcerers, \u2019longside the road\u2014divining-men, near the water witches are in scores and envious persons everywhere.\nO Jesus, come as my defence, to be my strength, to be my might, Lord Jesus do not cast me off, do not abandon me, good God, to the magic spells of whores, to the 'curses' of filthy sluts, to the cogitations of old hags, to the malicious thoughts of men, to be cut by every 'branch,' to be reviled by every 'frog.' Stand before me as a wall, stay behind me as a fence, lest a sorcerer's arrows take\neffect, or a wizard's bolts of steel. Bring me a fiery sword, fetch one the hue of frost, cause the gleaming sword to flash into my right hand and with it I'll slash the wicked men, crush the foul persons at a blow, with it I'll flagellate the curs and strike the giants (koljumi) heavily.\nHigher I push myself, to the sky above my head; Creator! come to exorcise, O God, to speak; now's the Creator's time to exorcise, the time for God to speak; God, seat thyself, lower thyself, thou merciful, to be my only aid in overthrowing envious ones, in overcoming my enemies. Release a man from the injuries, from the injuries, from the hindrances, from the great village-sorceries, from the malignant cursing spells, from the mutterings of whores, from the outpour of womankind, from the witchery of worthless hags, from a 'long-hairs' secret plots, from the damage of the swarthy man, from the filth of the evil one, from a relation's spoken 'words,' from the 'utterances' of a relative.\nOld wive Kave! Nature's daughter, Kave the golden and beautiful, come, bewitch the sorcerers, curse those that 'curse,' upset the envious on land, the witches in the water crush; weave me a cloth of gold, rattle me out a silver cloth, make ready a defensive shirt, prepare a copper cloak under which I'll stay at night, which I can wear by day, by good God's help, by the true Creator's offices, lest a son should go away, one borne of a mother should part, lest a mother's offspring go astray, a woman's progeny disappear.\nO maid of mist, the maid of fog, from a stone clip 'wool,' from a rock break off the 'hair,' make me a shirt of mist, cast for me a copper cloak under which I can be at night, which I can wear by day, when that sorcerer is throwing spells, when the 'wolfskin coat' is reviling me, when the Lapp is singing songs at me.\nRise, maiden! from the spring, from the pool, 'soft petticoat'! O 'slender fingers,' from the grass, from the withered grass, O 'golden locks,' to act as my support, to be active in my defence, to overturn the envious, to crush those wishing ill, to destroy the bad, to conquer the enemies in the space in front of me, in the shadow at my back, at my side on either hand, at both my sides. Drive away the young sorcerers, set down the old divining-men, oppress the old divining-men, tread them down into mossy swamps and thyself keep dancing over them. In the land are plenty seers, in the earth's bosom\u2014men of skill, in every dell are sorcerers, in every place are envious folk, witches at every gate and soothsayers at every fence.\nEarth's daughter! maiden of dry land, hark to my golden words. Raise thy men from the earth, from the firm dry land\u2014thy full-grown men, a hundred from where a stake is set, a thousand from the corner of a stump, a hundred swordless men, a thousand men with swords, to be my people, to be my strength, to be a whole nation for me amid these sorcerers, in the wizards\u2019 neighbourhood.\nEarth's old man! from the ground arise, Field's son! from the headlands of a field, from the side of a coloured church, from the side of a 'hundred planks.'\nTo catch a squirrel I take thee not, I invite thee not to chase a hare. I do not wish to hunt a lynx, nor yet to snowshoe after elks, I take thee as my own defence, to be my help, my only one, to be my refuge, my support, with whose protection I shall work, with help of whom I'll set a fence, by aid of whom o\u2019er waters row.\nThere is a boy in Pohjola, a tall man in Pimentola, whose bristly beard did gleam like a leafy grove upon a slope, whose hair did sway like a clump of pines upon a hill; come, boy! from Pohjola, tall man! from Pimentola to give a puny fellow strength, to give a small man manliness, so that I shall not be destroyed, shall not be overcome with shame in the dells of these sorcerers, in the diviners' neighbourhood.\nO 'red hat,' Tuoni's son, with eye askew, with crooked jaw, knock down the sorcerers, upset the land's jealous men; in the belly shoot the sorcerers, the devils\u2014in their hinder parts, gouge the eyes of the jealous man. Whoever peers with jealousy, or pries with eyes askew, drag a bloody rug, dash down a gory rug from the sky to the earth and tie it across their eyes.\nHo! Ukko, the father up above, the observant man of the sky, be on thy son's side, to thy children a constant help;\nremove the witches from my side, keep constant watch on the jealous men, saddle a hundred stallions, provide a thousand men with swords to walk with me, to run noisily with me, to overthrow the jealous men, to cause the evil ones to smart, in the space in front of me, in rear of me, above my head and at my side, and on either flank, so that a son sha\u2019n\u2019t go away, the son of a mother shall not fall ere the term by the Creator fixed, determined by the Holy Birth (i.e. the Saviour).\nMy Ukko! the father up above, the old father in the sky, knock up an iron [v. oaken] fence, set a steel [v. of rowan] enclosure up, reaching from earth to near the sky, from the sky as far as the earth to be a shelter for my folk, for my people\u2014a screen; make the stakes of steel, of land-snakes make the withes, with adders interlace, tie lizards on, who'll keep an eye on sorcerers, keep constant watch on jealous men; leave their tails to flap, their middle part to sway, their snouts to rise, their solid heads to oscillate, hither to flap with their tails, thither to hiss with their heads, outwards to buzz with their mouths, outwards to splutter with their tongues, to give a dig to listeners, to give a nip to prying men, to crush those wishing ill, to squeeze to the ground the evil ones, to eat the spells of villagers, their incantations to lap up, to remove the sickness brought by spells, to scatter hindrances.\nUkko! an iron enclosure forge, build an iron fence with iron stakes, with copper withes; raise high the fence, from earth as far as the sky, which a sorcerer cannot climb, a\nwizard cannot pass; make the gates of steel, of forged work\u2014the pairs of stakes, bind them round and round with snakes, interlace with swarthy snakes, their heads turned out, their tails turned in, that their throats may sing in shrieks, their mouths hiss out, that their heads may scream, so that an 'elf' (keijolainen) must make a round, a jealous man go round about, by the back of the fence, by the outside of the gate. If sorcerers depress themselves, depress the fence as much, that no land snake at all can get in underneath the fence, if sorcerers raise themselves, raise the fence as much, that no bird of air at all over the fence can fly, if an eagle has flown aloft, still higher raise the fence, if a viper crawl along low down, bring the fence still lower down.\nHo! Ukko, the god on high, from the sky let fall a pipe, in haste drop a copper horn, let tumble a golden shield, a pipe which I'll put on, a copper horn in which I'll dress, that a sorcerer's arrows can't stick in, nor a wizard's steel; bring thy golden axe, thy silver hatchet with which all the Lempos I shall cut, shall hew the devils in bits, with their arrows shall slay the sorcerers, the witches with their iron knives, the wizards with their own steel, with their own swords the evil men.\nHo! Ukko, the lord on high that sits there everlastingly, the ruler of the thunder-clouds, the governor of fleecy clouds, thresh out thy fiery barn, let sparks fly out from the sparky barn, tear holes in the sky, in the 'lid of the air' make openings (F. windows), let thy thunders crash,\nthy claps of thunder crepitate, rumble in dry-weather clouds, clatter in the bellows of the air, strike fire above the air, from the sky pour fire to overthrow the jealous men, the witches to destroy, to stare at sorcerers, to snatch the wizards away; plenty of wizards are on the roads, of sorcerers in every dell, of witches at every water-side, of jealous men in every place, moving about near the cattle-shed, walking along the fence's side.\nFrom the water, water's mistress! rise, thou 'blue-cap' from the waves, from the spring, soft-skirted one, from the mud, thou clean of face, to give strength to a strengthless man, to support an unsupported one. Raise men from the sea, heroes from landlocked lakes, bowmen from streams, and swordsmen from the wells. I do not want them against myself, nor yet against my followers, I'll take them against my enemies, \u2019gainst the people of the enemy.\nIn the mountain are there people, is there help beneath the rock? In the mountain there are people, there is help beneath the rock; give, Mountain, of thy might, of thy people, Mountaineer! to help a well-beloved man, to surround a lonely one, lest he be eaten causelessly or be slain without disease.\nOld V\u00e4in\u00e4m\u00f6inen! come, the diviner as old as time, to speak on my behalf, at my side to utter 'words'; bring hither a fiery hound, a dog of iron hue, to eat the spells (F. curses) of villagers, to snap up village sorcerers.\nIf that is not enough, give me of thine old folk that for an age have sat, all mouldy have taken breath, in the earth have long reposed, a long while rested in a grove, to be my people, to be my strength, to be a whole nation for me; bring me a sword with a fiery edge, give me air's sword with which I'll strip the spell-brought harm, I'll hew to the ground the injuries, I'll chase away the corpses of the dead, I'll crush the black-breasted ones, with which I'll frighten Hiisi's folk and flog the devils away from my right side, from the shadow on my left, bowling along like a golden ball or like a silver chip, that a sorcerer's arrows shall not stick nor a wizard's steel.\nFrom the earth arise, black [v.v. gold, iron] cock! spring quick up, thou iron hen, nimbly to move about with me, to rush noisily with me, to overthrow the jealous men (then send the sorcerers asleep); peck out an eye of the jealous one, slit the nose of the sorcerers.\nMen of the sea! arise, ye heroes of landlocked lakes, from the gravel, ye 'scaly cloaks,' from the pool, ye 'sandy shirts,' that are tall as pillars of cloud, as high as great forest firs, a hundred men with swords, a thousand full-grown men of iron, to follow in my company, to rush noisily with me, to overthrow the jealous men, to overcome the enemies, so that no foe shall eat too much, no enemy snatch much away.\nUp, swordsmen! from the earth, ye heroes as old as the earth, ye glaive-men, from the wells, ye bowmen, from the\nstreams; rise, Forest, with thy men, thou Wilderness, with all thy folk, with thy might, old man of the hill, thou water-Hiisi, with thy tribe [v. frights], Mistress of water, with thy folk, Chief of the water, with thy host, ye maidens, from every dell, from the pools, ye soft-skirted ones, to help a man without his like, to be comrade of a famous son, that a sorcerer's arrows shall not stick, nor a diviner's steel, nor an 'archer\u2019s' instruments, nor a witch's iron knives.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, beloved mother, compassionate, come here, come soon, still sooner we have need of thee; blood is flowing to the ground, the bubbling gore is gushing forth; stick in thy little thumb, bring thy charming finger near to bar the blood's path, to plug the flow, lest as a river it should flow, as a lake discharge itself. But if it pays no heed thereto, does not subside the very least, go for turf behind the house, for moss from the bathhouse logs, to plug the flow, to dam the rush. If still it pays no heed thereto, from the sky bring here five handfuls of flax, six distaffs bound with wool, to plug the fearful hole, to patch the evil 'gate'; throw thy fine-spun petticoat, thine apron spread on the rents made by wretched iron, on the rips from a slender blade, lay on them a healing leaf, put a 'golden' stopper in, that the blood to the ground sha\u2019n\u2019t flow, that the red blood shall not spill.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, beloved mother, compassionate, when needed hither come, when summoned\nhere approach, as we need thee soon, so much the sooner hurry up, a golden needle in thy hand, in the needle's eye a silken thread with which thou\u2019lt fasten up the veins, draw together the arteries, with a slender needle wilt sew them up, wilt stitch them with a golden thread, so that the red blood shall not fall, that not a single drop shall drip; from the temples take the silk, undo the ribbon on thy head, tie with thy silken hands, with thy hair-plaits bind the holes that are torn, the wounds that are cut. If that is not enough, take from V\u00e4in\u00e4m\u00f6inen's belt the yellow-coloured cloak, if no heed is paid to that, snatch the Creator's silk, take the Almighty's cloak, with the Creator's hair-plait tie, with the Maker's wrappers bandage up those rents produced by iron, the gashes by a 'blue edge' (F. mouth) made; make them whole at night, without pain by day, at night draw over them a skin, by day let grow a cuticle more perfect than before, better than formerly.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, the holy little serving-maid, fly along an edge of cloud from the sky to earth, to bind up veins, to stop blood's mouth; from the water bring a birch-bark slice, slice from an alder tree a chip, draw the knife from thy sheath, seize thy pocket-axe with which thou'll cut a chip, wilt shave a shaving off, to place on the wound that is cut, on the hole that is torn, to close the mouth of the hole, to dam the passage of the blood, lest the 'milk' to the ground should flow, the carmine drop upon the field.\nThou lovely woman, Maariatar, when needed hither come. A calamity has happened here, iron has gone raging mad.\n[paragraph continues] Spin a stout thread on thy stout spinning-staff, sew up the wound produced by iron, knot the ends of the vein, where the carmine is shaken out, a drop of blood is trickling down, that to the ground the blood sha\u2019n\u2019t pour, in a hot stream shall not gush forth. If that is not enough, thy tiny kettle bring, in which the blood will be seethed, the bubbling gore be heated up, that a drop of blood sha\u2019n\u2019t drip, sha\u2019n\u2019t sputter on the dirt.\nO charming woman, Helka, come here, there is need of thee, to arrange the veins, to knot up the ends of veins. From the swamp take moss, fetch some grassy knolls to block blood's mouth, to dam blood's path; pray stop with sods of turf, stuff meadow hair-grass in, cover over with little stones the hole that has been torn, so that the 'milk' sha\u2019n\u2019t reach the ground, no carmine drop upon the field.\nLord, fling thy gloves, O Lord, throw down thy mitts as a stopper on the fearful hole, as a patch on the evil gate, that to the ground the 'milk' sha\u2019n\u2019t flow, that the carmine shall not fall. May the Maker's lock be a lock, may the Lord's word (v. bar) be a bar, that the milk to the ground sha\u2019n\u2019t flow, nor the guiltless blood\u2014upon the dirt, despite the nature of God, against the intention of the Blest.\nCome, Ukko of the air, when summoned here approach to close blood's mouth, to stop the flow, that on my beard it shall not spurt, not pour upon my ragged clothes; stop it up with turf, toss on some lumps from a knoll, but if it\npay no heed thereto, thrust in thy bulky hand, press thy thick thumb, bring thy fleshy finger near, as a stopper in the fearful hole, as a patch on the evil gate, that the blood sha\u2019n\u2019t flow, that the veins sha\u2019n\u2019t throb; lay on a healing leaf, apply a golden [v. honeyed] water-lily leaf.\nOld white-headed Ukko come hither at the nick of time, place thy plough with its sharp end, turn thy ploughshare with its point to the far end of Tuonela, to the headland of a holy field, tear up a pile of turf, a bit of a rush-grown knoll; bring a spigot from Tuonela, a bar from Kalma's pen to stop blood's mouth, to bar blood's path; stop its mouth with turf, toss on some pieces from a knoll, draw a rug as a covering over it, a skin upon it as a sheet, by day draw the covering, at night cause the skin to grow.\nThou fiery-throated Laplander, dry-throated Northerner (Pohjolainen) that drank up rivers of fire, sipped streams of sparks, come to sip up blood, to stop blood's mouth, and the guggling of the gore; pray fetch a stopper from the Fells, a rivet-nail from Pohjola as a stopper for the bloody flood; get ready a copper pipe, for pay make a pipe of tin, draw the blood to lungs, to the heart direct it straight, in the heart is the place for blood, its cellar is in the lungs, under the liver is its hut, under the spleen its nest.\nO Homma, the briskest king, when needed hither come. For a long time back the veins pulsate, the fleshy members are quivering, the blood is coming like a flood, the gore is\nwildly spirting out. Come to stop the blood, to bar the rush, to close blood's mouth, to squeeze its throat; pray fetch a little bit of flesh, tear it from Lempo's thigh, from the evil spirit's loin to plug this flood, that the milk to the ground sha\u2019n\u2019t flow nor a man's 'beauty' mix with dew.\nThou fiery Hiisi, come from fiery Hell with thy three sons, with thy daughters two; O Hiisi, fling thy hair, press down thy shaggy glove to bar blood's path, and if it pay no heed thereto, tear a collop from thy fat thigh, to plug the fearful hole, to patch the evil gate.\nWe row, we are taking our time on [v. to] the waters of those sorcerers, in [v. to] the wizards\u2019 neighbourhood, on billows capped with foam, on the man-eating open sea, that drowneth full-grown men; if the oars should be too short, the rowers\u2014of little strength, the steersmen\u2014little babes, the owners of the ship\u2014mere bairns, give Ahti, other oars, bring me a better steering-oar, give assistance to the oars, relief to the steering-oar, that I can row straight on, can traverse the waters easily, can cruise on the open sea, can hurry through the waves. If a wave exalt itself, rise extremely high, O Ahti, still the waves, ye sons of Ahti, still the swell, so that a wooden boat shall speed, the iron thole shall bang and creak, making the wide waters sparkle, forming curves in the narrow waters, so that the wind shall sway the boat, the west wind dash it along without being touched by hand, without assistance from the oars.\nO Ahti, give thine oars, O water's master, give thy boat, new oars and better ones, another stouter steering-oar, with which I'll gently row, on the open waters cruise in front of a jealous person's house, past the entrance of the witches\u2019 gate; on the waters witches are numerous, there are jealous people in every place, Esthonians in groups of five and six, the Kyr\u00f6l\u00e4inens are in tens. Grant that the wooden boat shall speed, that the wooden boat shall sway, shall glide like bubbles on the lake, like water-lilies on the waves, that the sun shall not in anger shine, that the moon shall not in anger gleam, that the wind shall not in anger blow, that the rain shall not in anger fall.\nOld woman beneath the waves! the woman that lives near foam, rise with thy hand upon the foam, ascend with thy breast upon the waves to collect the foam, to take in charge the foam-headed waves in front of a sailing-boat, in the way of a tarry boat, lest they knock against a guiltless man, upset a man who is innocent.\nThou joyous bird 1 of the air, fly whither I command, to the furthest end of the eternal east, to the home of the dawn of day, distend thy cheeks with air, blow a delightful breeze, a favourable gale for me, that I can now go anywhere on these wide waters, on these broad open seas.\nRise, maiden, from the spring, from the gravel, slender-fingered one, rise to fetch water, pray bring energetic water,\nsing forth serviceable water, get by devices helpful water from the river Jordan, from an eddy in the holy stream, with which was christened Christ, the Almighty was baptized.\nHo! Ukko, god on high, the golden king of the air, cause a raging storm, raise the tempest's mighty strength, create a wind, launch forth a wave; don't bring it against myself, but against the hostile boat, \u2019gainst the host of the enemy.\nMist maiden, maid of fog, air maiden Auteretar! with a sieve sift mist, keep scattering fog, from the sky let fall thick fog, lower a vapour from the air on the clear surface of the sea, on the wide-open main; don't bring it against myself, nor yet against my followers, but against the enemy, \u2019gainst the forces of the enemy, lest they see to attack, lest they flee from me.\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, beloved mother, compassionate, come hither from the sky, descend from above the clouds, bring water from far away, fetch honey in a little stoup from the sky above, from behind the courtyard of the stars, as ointments for the pains, as embrocations for the hurts; milk honeyed milk from thy honeyed breasts into a golden-handled cup, into a copper-sided one;\nthyself anoint the exhausted one, stroke the sufferer with thy beautiful wee hands, with the finger without a name.\nIf that is not enough as an ointment for the pains, wash with Jesus\u2019 blood, souse with the gore of the Lord, rub with the Maker's tears, foment with the 'water of grief,' release a person from accidents, release from evil days, from oppressive 'bands,' from tight-fastened 'belts of pain.' 1\nO Virgin Mary, mother dear, beloved mother, compassionate, come to anoint the sores, quickly to still the sufferings. Pray bring some salves from there, from above nine skies, nine salves, eight magic medicines, take the wing of a finch, a wee snow-sparrow's spotless plume, a feather from a swallow's tail; with the salves anoint, foment with the emollients, smear with the grease that Jesus was anointed with, with which the Omnipotent was healed, when by Pilatus racked, when tortured by the evil power; anoint above, anoint below, anoint as well the middle parts; the first time salve and make the body quite well below, the intermediate time anoint and make the middle free from pain, the last time salve and free from smarts the parts above; let fall a salve to flow through bone, through joints, through the hot flesh, through loosened veins, don't allow the sores to suppurate, to discharge with pus, to swell up into lumps or into blisters to break out.\nThou beautiful Mother of Pains, great mistress of the Hill of Pain, old maker of salves, that meltest sweet stuff, cook reliable salves, the very best of magic cures, try them\nthyself upon thy tongue, taste the flavour with thy mouth, whether it be a potent salve, if thy concoction is suitable to be laid upon a hurt, to be poured upon a wound. If the ointment be a potent one, come here where there is need of thee, make flutter thy skirts, give the reliable salve as an ointment for the hurts, as a remedy for wounds.\nDear Ukko, the Maker up above, the God that dwelleth in the sky, boil water, some honey boil, concoct a goodly salve in the sky above, above six 'speckly lids'\u2014cut up a salmon fish, add a bit of salmon trout, a pat of butter, one of fat, and a rasher of the flesh of swine [v. of Palvonen]; concoct a potent salve with which I'll smear the exhausted one, smear bones till they get fractureless, and joints till they get fissureless, that they shall feel no pain, that they shall know no ache.\nO Ukko, the golden king, the powerful father of the sky, with thy breast push clouds, join them together end to end, rain honey from the sky, rain honey, rain water down, rain down a goodly salve, the best of magic remedies; from the sky thrust the herding-horns, from the clouds send the pipes, from which let an ointment pour, on the earth let a magic medicine grow, to be laid upon a hurt, to be poured over wounds.\nO bee, our bird, our bird, the pleasant bird, just fetch some honey from Metsola, some luscious stuff from Tapiola, from the honey-dropping sward, from gracious fields o\u2019ergrown with scrub, bring honey from the meadow's\nhead, from the end of the gracious scrubby field, from the cup of a golden flower, from seed-vessel of a hundred herbs, cook the honey on thy tongue, in thy mouth melt the luscious stuff to be laid upon a hurt, as a healing remedy for sores.\nThou bird of the air, the bee, fly away to another place, across nine seas, nine seas and a half, without sitting on a reed, without resting on a leaf; to an island in the open sea, to an islet in the sea; pray bring some salves from there, bring goodly salves from nine anointers, from eight men skilled in healing arts. There is an islet in the sea, on the islet a honey-lake, delightful honey is therein, a goodly salve is there that is suitable for veins, is serviceable for the joints.\nThou bee, thou bumble bee, fly away with fluttering flight across nine seas, nine seas and a half, to the new house of Tuuri, to the roofless one of Palvonen; there they make salves, cook honey properly on a single cooking fire, made with nine sorts of wood, in nine clay pots, in lovely kettles that would fit a finger point, would hold a thumb; into the honey thrust thy wing, thy feather\u2014in the melted butter, in the young maiden's chest, in the old woman's box; thou\u2019lt get enough of honey there, thy full desire of honeyed sweets for frost bites caused by bitter cold, for places touched by cruel air.\nRise from the earth, thou bee, from the knoll, thou honey-wing,' fly away with fluttering wing above the moon, below the sun, along the shoulders of Charles's Wain, \u2019long\nthe back of the Seven stars, fly to the Maker's porch, to the chamber of the Omnipotent. There they make salves, and ointments (F. fats) they prepare in silver pots, in kettles of gold, here there is honey, water there, here there are other salves; in the middle the honey seethes, the melting butter at the sides, the honey at the southern side, the ointments (F. fats) at the northern end. Into the ointment dip thy claw, thy feather\u2014in the melted butter, from there bring salves, fetch the magic remedies, nine salves, eight magic remedies, place them in Jesus\u2019 hands, in Mary's gentle mouth. Try them, Jesus, with thy tongue, Mary, in thy gentle mouth, whether they are the salves, the Almighty's magic remedies with which the Maker was besmeared, the Omnipotent was healed, when by a devil (pirulainen) pierced, when tortured by the evil power.\nO bee, the pleasant bird, thou bustling 'blue-wing,' fly away with fluttering wing to old V\u00e4in\u00e4m\u00f6inen's place; snatch a honeyed wing from old V\u00e4in\u00e4m\u00f6inen's belt, and stroke with it a fainting man, heal one that has come to harm, that the sufferer can sleep, the loud screamer get repose, can rest without mouldering away, slumber without his being choked.\nFrom the south, O swallow, fly, O 'blue-wing' fly with whizzing wings, bring a feather from the genial land, from the warm land\u2014a downy plume, with which I'll stroke a helpless man, heal one that has come to harm, shall sweep away the fearful (F. holy) 'sparks,' shall remove (F. quench) the fearful (F. holy) plagues.\nGrant, Jesus, a barley-year, a corn-summer,\u2014O God, that we poor wretched sons in wretched Bothnia, on the borders of Savolax can take in our hands a drinking-cup, can put to our mouths a brandy flask, that servants too shall get some ale, hired servants also taste the brew, drawers of stone [v. water]\u2014some wort of malt.\n201:1 In the first edition of the Kalevala R. 21, 259, there is another variant\u2014Iki Liera, son of Tiera.\n201:2 Probably with allusion to tiera, 'the lump of snow that forms under the feet in walking.'\n202:1 The best man, the leader of the procession and master of the ceremonies, is here speaking.\n204:1 Wild animals, game.\n205:1 In Lapland the tyr\u00e4 was a ball about the size of a walnut made from the down of flies glued together and was used by Lapp witches and sorcerers. In Finnish the word means a testicle, but is used here as an epithet for the cabbage grub.\n208:1 i.e. bears.\n211:1 i.e. out in the open air.\n214:1 Turf smoke made to keep flies away from the cattle at night.\n217:1 In the index the word is printed Livetti by L\u00f6nnrot.\n222:1 i.e. by the sufferer.\n222:2 v. O ruddy maiden, Pullitar.\n226:1 i.e. the awful or terrible tree from having been made by a devil (piru), \u00a7 212, i. The Z\u1ecbrians call it the s\u00f6s-pu, 'the dirty or abominable tree.'\n229:1 The name of a particular man was probably thought of when this line was recited.\n231:1 A variant of the last two lines transports the action to recent times:\u2014\n231:2 Holohonka\u2014seems to be a proper name, though it may be only an epithet.\n232:1 Or runs, which form the entrance to the trap.\n232:2 Ganander, p. 51, translates, bird by 'roe deer' and lower down by 'elk.'\n232:3 The sticks and twigs refer to the trap.\n232:4 Some recite this over the cattle when driven into the cowhouse for the night on the eve of St. Michael's day in autumn.\n232:5 The 'holy field' often means the 'churchyard.'\n233:1 The boy that picks up the arrows that have been shot.\n233:2 Old man of the Knoll is an epithet of Tapio and of the bear.\n234:1 i.e. wild animals, birds, game of any kind.\n236:1 In winter the Finnish hunter dresses in pure white when he goes to the forest after game (Tervo, p. 3).\n237:1 It should be 'Queen,' as Kuuritar is a feminine form.\n239:1 'It is useless' or some such words must be understood here.\n239:2 The speaker.\n243:1 I have taken this variant from Kanteletar, ii. 354.\n249:1 The ring-finger.\n251:1 There is play here on the word kynsi, which means both 'nails' and 'hoofs.'\n261:1 'Window' and 'door' mean the trap.\n274:1 So as not to be seen by envious persons or evil-wishers, and rendered ineffectual.\n275:1 i.e. the spell-brought sickness that burns like sparks.\n280:1 v. the offspring of a Blue-cloaked One (F. sini-viittainen).\n281:1 i.e. a hearth.\n282:1 According to Ganander this song was recited by a man about to geld a horse.\n282:2 Gold, here, has a reference to game. According to Ganander (p. 36) K\u00e4rehet\u00e4r was the mother of foxes and this song was recited by a trapper.\n298:1 Or nightingale.\n300:1 An epithet for the pains of labour.","title":"Magic Songs of the West Finns, Vol. 2: Prayers","type":"page"}