{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_5186/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_5186","id":"gutenberg_5186","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5186","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Finnish poetry -- Translations into English"],"text":"Kalevala\nTHE\nEPIC POEM OF FINLAND\n\nINTO ENGLISH\n\n\nBY\nJOHN MARTIN CRAWFORD\n\n\n[1888]\n\nTO\n\nDR. J.D. BUCK,\n\nAN ENCOURAGING AND UNSELFISH FRIEND, AND TO HIS AFFECTIONATE FAMILY,\n\nTHESE PAGES ARE GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED.\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n PREFACE\n PROEM\n RUNE I. Birth of Wainamoinen\n RUNE II. Wainamoinen\u2019s Sowing\n RUNE III. Wainamoinen and Youkahainen\n RUNE IV. The Fate of Aino\n RUNE V. Wainamoinen\u2019s Lamentation\n RUNE VI. Wainamoinen\u2019s Hapless Journey\n RUNE VII. Wainamoinen\u2019s Rescue\n RUNE VIII. Maiden of the Rainbow\n RUNE IX. Origin of Iron\n RUNE X. Ilmarinen forges the Sampo\n RUNE XI. Lemminkainen\u2019s Lament\n RUNE XII. Kyllikki\u2019s Broken Vow\n RUNE XIII. Lemminkainen\u2019s Second Wooing\n RUNE XIV. Death of Lemminkainen\n RUNE XV. Lemminkainen\u2019s Restoration\n RUNE XVI. Wainainoinen\u2019s Boat-building\n RUNE XVII. Wainamoinen finds the Lost Word\n RUNE XVIII. THE RIVAL SUITORS.\n RUNE XIX. Ilmarinen\u2019s Wooing\n RUNE XX. The Brewing of Beer\n RUNE XXI. Ilmarinen\u2019s Wedding-feast\n RUNE XXII. The Bride\u2019s Farewell\n RUNE XXIII. Osmotar, the Bride-adviser\n RUNE XXIV. The Bride\u2019s Farewell\n RUNE XXV. Wainamoinen\u2019s Wedding-songs\n RUNE XXVI. Origin of the Serpent\n RUNE XXVII. The Unwelcome Guest\n RUNE XXVIII. The Mother\u2019s Counsel\n RUNE XXIX. The Isle of Refuge\n RUNE XXX. The Frost-fiend\n RUNE XXXI. Kullerwoinen, Son of Evil\n RUNE XXXII. Kullervo as a Shepherd\n RUNE XXXIII. Kullervo and the Cheat-cake\n RUNE XXXIV. Kullervo finds his Tribe-folk\n RUNE XXXV. Kullervo\u2019s Evil Deeds\n RUNE XXXVI. Kullerwoinen\u2019s Victory and Death\n RUNE XXXVII. Ilmarinen\u2019s Bride of Gold\n RUNE XXXVIII. Ilmarinen\u2019s Fruitless Wooing\n RUNE XXXIX. Wainamoinen\u2019s Sailing\n RUNE XL. Birth of the Harp\n RUNE XLI. Wainamoinen\u2019s Harp-songs\n RUNE XLII. Capture of the Sampo\n RUNE XLIII. The Sampo lost in the Sea\n RUNE XLIV. Birth of the Second Harp\n RUNE XLV. Birth of the Nine Diseases\n RUNE XLVI. Otso the Honey-eater\n RUNE XLVII. Louhi steals Sun, Moon, and Fire\n RUNE XLVIII. Capture of the Fire-fish\n RUNE XLIX. Restoration of the Sun and Moon\n RUNE L. Mariatta\u2014Wainamoinen\u2019s Departure\n EPILOGUE\n GLOSSARY\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe following translation was undertaken from a desire to lay before\nthe English-speaking people the full treasury of epical beauty,\nfolklore, and mythology comprised in _The Kalevala_, the national epic\nof the Finns. A brief description of this peculiar people, and of their\nethical, linguistic, social, and religious life, seems to be called for\nhere in order that the following poem may be the better understood.\n\nFinland (Finnish, Suomi or Suomenmaa, the swampy region, of which\nFinland, or Fen-land is said to be a Swedish translation,) is at\npresent a Grand-Duchy in the north-western part of the Russian empire,\nbordering on Olenetz, Archangel, Sweden, Norway, and the Baltic Sea,\nits area being more than 144,000 square miles, and inhabited by some\n2,000,000 of people, the last remnants of a race driven back from\nthe East, at a very early day, by advancing tribes. The Finlanders\nlive in a land of marshes and mountains, lakes and rivers, seas,\ngulfs, islands, and inlets, and they call themselves Suomilainen,\nFen-dwellers. The climate is more severe than that of Sweden. The mean\nyearly temperature in the north is about 27\u00b0F., and about 38\u00b0F., at\nHelsingfors, the capital of Finland. In the southern districts the\nwinter is seven months long, and in the northern provinces the sun\ndisappears entirely during the months of December and January.\n\nThe inhabitants are strong and hardy, with bright, intelligent faces,\nhigh cheek-bones, yellow hair in early life, and with brown hair in\nmature age. With regard to their social habits, morals, and manners,\nall travellers are unanimous in speaking well of them. Their temper\nis universally mild; they are slow to anger, and when angry they keep\nsilence. They are happy-hearted, affectionate to one another, and\nhonorable and honest in their dealings with strangers. They are a\ncleanly people, being much given to the use of vapor-baths. This trait\nis a conspicuous note of their character from their earliest history\nto the present day. Often in the runes of The Kalevala reference is\nmade to the \u201ccleansing and healing virtues of the vapors of the heated\nbathroom.\u201d\n\nThe skull of the Finn belongs to the brachycephalic (short-headed)\nclass of Retzius. Indeed the Finn-organization has generally been\nregarded as Mongol, though Mongol of a modified type. His color is\nswarthy, and his eyes are gray. He is not inhospitable, but not\nover-easy of access; nor is he a friend of new fashions. Steady,\ncareful, laborious, he is valuable in the mine, valuable in the field,\nvaluable oil shipboard, and, withal, a brave soldier on land.\n\nThe Finns are a very ancient people. It is claimed, too, that they\nbegan earlier than any other European nation to collect and preserve\ntheir ancient folk-lore. Tacitus, writing in the very beginning of the\nsecond century of the Christian era, mentions the Fenni, as he calls\nthem, in the 46th chapter of his De Moribus Germanoram. He says of\nthem: \u201cThe Finns are extremely wild, and live in abject poverty. They\nhave no arms, no horses, no dwellings; they live on herbs, they clothe\nthemselves in skins, and they sleep on the ground. Their only resources\nare their arrows, which for the lack of iron are tipped with bone.\u201d\nStrabo and the great geographer, Ptolemy, also mention this curious\npeople. There is evidence that at one time they were spread over large\nportions of Europe and western Asia.\n\nPerhaps it should be stated here that the copper, so often mentioned in\nThe Kalevala, when taken literally, was probably bronze, or \u201chardened\ncopper,\u201d the amount and quality of the alloy used being not now known.\nThe prehistoric races of Europe were acquainted with bronze implements.\n\nIt may be interesting to note in this connection that Canon Isaac\nTaylor, and Professor Sayce have but very recently awakened great\ninterest in this question, in Europe especially, by the reading of\npapers before the British Philological Association, in which they argue\nin favor of the Finnic origin of the Aryans. For this new theory these\nscholars present exceedingly strong evidence, and they conclude that\nthe time of the separation of the Aryan from the Finnic stock must have\nbeen more than five thousand years ago.\n\nThe Finnish nation has one of the most sonorous and flexible of\nlanguages. Of the cultivated tongues of Europe, the Magyar, or\nHungarian, bears the most positive signs of a deep-rooted similarity\nto the Finnish. Both belong to the Ugrian stock of agglutinative\nlanguages, i.e., those which preserve the root most carefully, and\neffect all changes of grammar by suffixes attached to the original\nstein. Grimm has shown that both Gothic and Icelandic present traces of\nFinnish influence.\n\nThe musical element of a language, the vowels, are well developed in\nFinnish, and their due sequence is subject to strict rules of euphony.\nThe dotted \u00f6 (equivalent to the French eu) of the first syllable must\nbe followed by an e or an i. The Finnish, like all Ugrian tongues,\nadmits rhyme, but with reluctance, and prefers alliteration. Their\nalphabet consists of but nineteen letters, and of these, b, c, d, f, g,\nare found only in a few foreign words, and many others are never found\ninitial.\n\nOne of the characteristic features of this language, and one that is\nlikewise characteristic of the Magyar, Turkish, Mordvin, and other\nkindred tongues, consists in the frequent use of endearing diminutives.\nBy a series of suffixes to the names of human beings, birds, fishes,\ntrees, plants, stones, metals, and even actions, events, and feelings,\ndiminutives are obtained, which by their form, present the names so\nmade in different colors; they become more na\u00efve, more childlike,\neventually more roguish, or humorous, or pungent. These traits can\nscarcely be rendered in English; for, as Robert Ferguson remarks: \u201cThe\nEnglish language is not strong in diminutives, and therefore it lacks\nsome of the most effective means for the expression of affectionate,\ntender, and familiar relations.\u201d In this respect all translations from\nthe Finnish into English necessarily must fall short of the original.\nThe same might be said of the many emotional interjections in which\nthe Finnish, in common with all Ugrian dialects, abounds. With the\nexception of these two characteristics of the Ugrian languages, the\nchief beauties of the Finnish verse admit of an apt rendering into\nEnglish. The structure of the sentences is very simple indeed, and\nadverbs and adjectives are used sparingly.\n\nFinnish is the language of a people who live pre-eminently close to\nnature, and are at home amongst the animals of the wilderness, beasts\nand birds, winds, and woods, and waters, falling snows, and flying\nsands, and rolling rocks, and these are carefully distinguished by\ncorresponding verbs of ever-changing acoustic import. Conscious of the\nfact that, in a people like the Finns where nature and nature-worship\nform the centre of all their life, every word connected with the powers\nand elements of nature must be given its fall value, great care has\nbeen taken in rendering these finely shaded verbs. A glance at the\nmythology of this interesting people will place the import of this\nremark in better view.\n\nIn the earliest age of Suomi, it appears that the people worshiped\nthe conspicuous objects in nature under their respective, sensible\nforms. All beings were persons. The Sun, Moon, Stars, the Earth, the\nAir, and the Sea, were to the ancient Finns, living, self-conscious\nbeings. Gradually the existence of invisible agencies and energies\nwas recognized, and these were attributed to superior persons who\nlived independent of these visible entities, but at the same time were\nconnected with them. The basic idea in Finnish mythology seems to lie\nin this: that all objects in nature are governed by invisible deities,\ntermed _haltiat_, regents or genii. These _haltiat_, like members of\nthe human family, have distinctive bodies and spirits; but the minor\nones are somewhat immaterial and formless, and their existences are\nentirely independent of the objects in which they are particularly\ninterested. They are all immortal, but they rank according to the\nrelative importance of their respective charges. The lower grades of\nthe Finnish gods are sometimes subservient to the deities of greater\npowers, especially to those who rule respectively the air, the water,\nthe field, and the forest. Thus, Pilajatar, the daughter of the aspen,\nalthough as divine as Tapio, the god of the woodlands, is necessarily\nhis servant. One of the most notable characteristics of the Finnish\nmythology is the interdependence among the gods. \u201cEvery deity\u201d,\nsays Castr\u00e9n, \u201chowever petty he may be, rules in his own sphere as\na substantial, independent power, or, to speak in the spirit of The\nKalevala, as a self-ruling householder. The god of the Polar-star only\ngoverns an insignificant spot in the vault of the sky, but on this spot\nhe knows no master.\u201d\n\nThe Finnish deities, like the ancient gods of Italy and Greece,\nare generally represented in pairs, and all the gods are probably\nwedded. They have their individual abodes and are surrounded by their\nrespective families. The Primary object of worship among the early\nFinns was most probably the visible sky with its sun, moon, and stars,\nits aurora-lights, its thunders and its lightnings. The heavens\nthemselves were thought divine. Then a personal deity of the heavens,\ncoupled with the name of his abode, was the next conception; finally\nthis sky-god was chosen to represent the supreme Ruler. To the sky, the\nsky-god, and the supreme God, the term Jumala (thunder-home) was given.\n\nIn course of time, however, when the Finns came to have more purified\nideas about religion, they called the sky Taivas and the sky-god Ukko.\nThe word, Ukko, seems related to the Magyar Agg, old, and meant,\ntherefore, an old being, a grandfather; but ultimately it came to be\nused exclusively as the name of the highest of the Finnish deities.\nFrost, snow, hail, ice, wind and rain, sunshine and shadow, are\nthought to come from the hands of Ukko. He controls the clouds; he is\ncalled in The Kalevala, \u201cThe Leader of the Clouds,\u201d \u201cThe Shepherd of\nthe Lamb-Clouds,\u201d \u201cThe God of the Breezes,\u201d \u201cThe Golden King,\u201d \u201cThe\nSilvern Ruler of the Air,\u201d and \u201cThe Father of the Heavens.\u201d He wields\nthe thunder-bolts, striking down the spirits of evil on the mountains,\nand is therefore termed, \u201cThe Thunderer,\u201d like the Greek Zeus, and\nhis abode is called, \u201cThe Thunder-Home.\u201d Ukko is often represented\nas sitting upon a cloud in the vault of the sky, and bearing on his\nshoulders the firmament, and therefore he is termed, \u201cThe Pivot of the\nHeavens.\u201d He is armed as an omnipotent warrior; his fiery arrows are\nforged from copper, the lightning is his sword, and the rainbow his\nbow, still called Ukkon Kaari. Like the German god, Thor, Ukko swings\na hammer; and, finally, we find, in a vein of familiar symbolism, that\nhis skirt sparkles with fire, that his stockings are blue, and his\nshoes, crimson colored.\n\nIn the following runes, Ukko here and there interposes. Thus, when the\nSun and Moon were stolen from the heavens, and hidden away in a cave\nof the copper-bearing mountain, by the wicked hostess of the dismal\nSariola, he, like Atlas in the mythology of Greece, relinquishes the\nsupport of the heavens, thunders along the borders of the darkened\nclouds, and strikes fire from his sword to kindle a new sun and a new\nmoon. Again, when Lemminkainen is hunting the fire-breathing horse\nof Piru, Ukko, invoked by the reckless hero, checks the speed of the\nmighty courser by opening the windows of heaven, and showering upon\nhim flakes of snow, balls of ice, and hailstones of iron. Usually,\nhowever, Ukko prefers to encourage a spirit of independence among his\nworshipers. Often we find him, in the runes, refusing to heed the call\nof his people for help, as when Ilmatar, the daughter of the air,\nvainly invoked him to her aid, that Wainamoinen, already seven hundred\nyears unborn, might be delivered. So also Wainamoinen beseeches Ukko in\nvain to check the crimson streamlet flowing from his knee wounded by\nan axe in the hands of Hisi. Ukko, however, with all his power, is by\nno means superior to the Sun, Moon, and other bodies dwelling in the\nheavens; they are uninfluenced by him, and are considered deities in\ntheir own right. Thus, P\u00e6iv\u00e6 means both sun and sun-god; Kun means moon\nand moon-god; and Taehti and Ottava designate the Polar-star and the\nGreat Bear respectively, as well as the deities of these bodies.\n\nThe Sun and the Moon have each a consort, and sons, and daughters. Two\nsons only of P\u00e6iv\u00e6 appear in The Kalevala, one comes to aid Wainamoinen\nin his efforts to destroy the mystic Fire-fish, by throwing from the\nheavens to the girdle of the hero, a \u201cmagic knife, silver-edged, and\ngolden-handled;\u201d the other son, Panu, the Fire-child, brings back to\nKalevala the fire that bad been stolen by Louhi, the wicked hostess of\nPohyola. From this myth Castr\u00e9n argues that the ancient Finns regarded\nfire as a direct emanation from the Sun. The daughters of the Sun,\nMoon, Great Bear, Polar-star, and of the other heavenly dignitaries,\nare represented as ever-young and beautiful maidens, sometimes seated\non the bending branches of the forest-trees, sometimes on the crimson\nrims of the clouds, sometimes on the rainbow, sometimes on the dome of\nheaven. These daughters are believed to be skilled to perfection in the\narts of spinning and weaving, accomplishments probably attributed to\nthem from the fanciful likeness of the rays of light to the warp of the\nweaver\u2019s web.\n\nThe Sun\u2019s career of usefulness and beneficence in bringing light\nand life to Northland is seldom varied. Occasionally he steps from\nhis accustomed path to give important information to his suffering\nworshipers. For example, when the Star and the Moon refuse the\ninformation, the Sun tells the Virgin Mariatta, where her golden infant\nlies hidden.\n\n\u201cYonder is thy golden infant,\nThere thy holy babe lies sleeping,\nHidden to his belt in water,\nHidden in the reeds and rushes.\u201d\n\nAgain when the devoted mother of the reckless hero, Lemminkainen,\n(chopped to pieces by the Sons Of Mana, as in the myth of Osiris) was\nraking together the fragments of his body from the river of Tuoni,\nand fearing that the sprites of the Death-stream might resent her\nintrusion, the Sun, in answer to her entreaties, throws his Powerful\nrays upon the dreaded Shades, and sinks them into a deep sleep, while\nthe mother gathers up the fragments of her son\u2019s body in safety. This\nrune of the Kalevala is particularly interesting as showing the belief\nthat the dead can be restored to life through the blissful light of\nheaven.\n\nAmong the other deities of the air are the Luonnotars, mystic maidens,\nthree of whom were created by the rubbing of Ukko\u2019s hands upon his left\nknee. They forthwith walk the crimson borders of the clouds, and one\nsprinkles white milk, one sprinkles red milk, and the third sprinkles\nblack milk over the hills and mountains; thus they become the \u201cmothers\nof iron,\u201d as related in the ninth rune of The Kalevala. In the highest\nregions of the heavens, Untar, or Undutar, has her abode, and presides\nover mists and fogs. These she passes through a silver sieve before\nsending them to the earth. There are also goddesses of the winds, one\nespecially noteworthy, Suvetar (_suve_, south, summer), the goddess of\nthe south-wind. She is represented as a kind-hearted deity, healing\nher sick and afflicted followers with honey, which she lets drop from\nthe clouds, and she also keeps watch over the herds grazing in the\nfields and forests. Second only to air, water is the element held most\nin reverence by the Finns and their kindred tribes. \u201cIt could hardly\nbe otherwise,\u201d says Castr\u00e9n, \u201cfor as soon as the soul of the savage\nbegan to suspect that the godlike is spiritual, super-sensual, then,\neven though he continues to pay reverence to matter, he in general\nvalues it the more highly the less compact it is. He sees on the one\nhand how easy it is to lose his life on the surging waves, and on the\nother, he sees that from these same waters he is nurtured, and his life\nprolonged.\u201d Thus it is that the map of Finland is to this day full of\nnames like Pyh\u00e4j\u00e4rvi (sacred lake) and Pyh\u00e4joki (sacred river). Some\nof the Finlanders still offer goats and calves to these sacred waters;\nand many of the Ugrian clans still sacrifice the reindeer to the river\nOb. In Esthonia is a rivulet, V\u00f6handa, held in such reverence that\nuntil very recently, none dared to fell a tree or cut a shrub in its\nimmediate vicinity, lest death should overtake the offender within\na year, in punishment for his sacrilege. The lake, Eim, is still\nheld sacred by the Esthonians, and the Eim-legend is thus told by F.\nThiersch, quoted also by Grimm and by Mace da Charda:\n\n\u201cSavage, evil men dwelt by its borders. They neither mowed the meadows\nwhich it watered, nor sowed the fields which it made fruitful, but\nrobbed and murdered, insomuch that its clear waves grew dark with the\nblood of the slaughtered men. Then did the lake Eim mourn, and one\nevening it called together all its fishes, _and rose aloft with them\ninto the air_. When the robbers heard the sound, they exclaimed: \u2018Eim\nhath arisen; let us gather its fishes and treasures.\u2019 But the fishes\nhad departed with the lake, and nothing was found on the bottom but\nsnakes, and lizards, and toads. And Eim rose higher, and higher, and\nhastened through the air like a white cloud. And the hunters in the\nforest said: \u2018What bad weather is coming on!\u2019 The herdsmen said: \u2018What\na white swan is flying above there!\u2019 _For the whole night the lake\nhovered among the stars_, and in the morning the reapers beheld it\nsinking. And from the swan grew a white ship, and from the ship a dark\ntrain of clouds; and a voice came from the waters: \u2018Get thee hence with\nthy harvest, for I will dwell beside thee.\u2019 Then they bade the lake\nwelcome, if it would only bedew their fields and meadows; and it sank\ndown and spread itself out in its home to the full limits. Then the\nlake made all the neighborhood fruitful, and the fields became green,\nand the people danced around it, so that the old men grew joyous as the\nyouth.\u201d\n\nThe chief water-god is Ahto, on the etymology of which the Finnish\nlanguage throws little light. It is curiously like Ahti, another name\nfor the reckless Lemminkainen. This water-god, or \u201cWave-host,\u201d as he is\ncalled, lives with his \u201ccold and cruel-hearted spouse,\u201d Wellamo, at the\nbottom of the sea, in the chasms of the Salmon-rocks, where his palace,\nAhtola, is constructed. Besides the fish that swim in his dominions,\nparticularly the salmon, the trout, the whiting, the perch, the\nherring, and the white-fish, he possesses a priceless treasure in the\nSampo, the talisman of success, which Louhi, the hostess of Pohyola,\ndragged into the sea in her efforts to regain it from the heroes\nof Kalevala. Ever eager for the treasures of others, and generally\nunwilling to return any that come into his possession, Ahto is not\nincapable of generosity. For example, once when a shepherd lad was\nwhittling a stick on the bank of a river, he dropped his knife into the\nstream. Ahto, as in the fable, \u201cMercury and the Woodman,\u201d moved by the\ntears of the unfortunate lad, swam to the scene, dived to the bottom,\nbrought up a knife of gold, and gave it to the young shepherd. Innocent\nand honest, the herd-boy said the knife was not his. Then Ahto dived\nagain, and brought up a knife of silver, which he gave to the lad, but\nthis in turn was not accepted. Thereupon the Wave-host dived again, and\nthe third time brought the right knife to the boy who gladly recognized\nhis own, and received it with gratitude. To the shepherd-lad Ahto gave\nthe three knives as a reward for his honesty.\n\nA general term for the other water-hosts living not only in the sea,\nbut also in the rivers, lakes, cataracts, and fountains, is Ahtolaiset\n(inhabitants of Ahtola), \u201cWater-people,\u201d \u201cPeople of the Foam and\nBillow,\u201d \u201cWellamo\u2019s Eternal People.\u201d Of these, some have specific\nnames; as Allotar (wave-goddess), Koskenneiti (cataract-maiden),\nMelatar (goddess of the helm), and in The Kalevala these are sometimes\npersonally invoked. Of these minor deities, Pikku Mies (the Pigmy) is\nthe most noteworthy. Once when the far-outspreading branches of the\nprimitive oak-tree shut out the light of the sun from Northland, Pikku\nMies, moved by the entreaties of Wainamoinen, emerged from the sea in\na suit of copper, with a copper hatchet in his belt, quickly grew from\na pigmy to a gigantic hero, and felled the mighty oak with the third\nstroke of his axe. In general the water-deities are helpful and full\nof kindness; some, however, as Wetehilien and Iku-Turso, find their\ngreatest pleasure in annoying and destroying their fellow-beings.\n\nOriginally the Finlanders regarded the earth as a godlike existence\nwith personal powers, and represented as a beneficent mother bestowing\npeace and plenty on all her worthy worshipers. In evidence of this we\nfind the names, Maa-em\u00e6 (mother-earth), and Maan-emo (mother of the\nearth), given to the Finnish Demeter. She is always represented as\na goddess of great powers, and, after suitable invocation, is ever\nwilling and able to help her helpless sufferers. She is according to\nsome mythologists espoused to Ukko, who bestows upon her children the\nblessings of sunshine and rain, as G\u00e9 is wedded to Ouranos, Jordh to\nOdhin, and Papa to Rangi.\n\nOf the minor deities of the earth, who severally govern the plants,\nsuch as trees, rye, flax, and barley, Wirokannas only is mentioned\nin The Kalevala. Once, for example, this \u201cgreen robed Priest of the\nForest\u201d abandoned for a time his presidency over the cereals in order\nto baptize the infant-son of the Virgin Mariatta. Once again Wirokannas\nleft his native sphere of action, this time making a most miserable and\nludicrous failure, when he emerged from the wilderness and attempted\nto slay the Finnish Taurus, as described in the runes that follow. The\nagricultural deities, however, receive but little attention from the\nFinns, who, with their cold and cruel winters, and their short but\ndelightful summers, naturally neglect the cultivation of the fields,\nfor cattle-raising, fishing, and hunting.\n\nThe forest deities proper, however, are held in high veneration. Of\nthese the chief is Tapio, \u201cThe Forest-Friend,\u201d \u201cThe Gracious God of\nthe Woodlands.\u201d He is represented as a very tall and slender divinity,\nwearing a long, brown board, a coat of tree-moss, and a high-crowned\nhat of fir-leaves. His consort is Mielikki, \u201cThe Honey-rich Mother of\nthe Woodland,\u201d \u201cThe Hostess of the Glen and Forest.\u201d When the hunters\nwere successful she was represented as beautiful and benignant, her\nhands glittering with gold and silver ornaments, wearing ear-rings and\ngarlands of gold, with hair-bands silver-tinseled, on her forehead\nstrings of pearls, and with blue stockings on her feet, and red strings\nin her shoes. But if the game-bag came back empty, she was described as\na hateful, hideous thing, robed in untidy rags, and shod with straw.\nShe carries the keys to the treasury of Metsola, her husband\u2019s abode,\nand her bountiful chest of honey, the food of all the forest-deities,\nis earnestly sought for by all the weary hunters of Suomi. These\ndeities are invariably described as gracious and tender-hearted,\nprobably because they are all females with the exception of Tapio and\nhis son, Nyrikki, a tall and stately youth who is engaged in building\nbridges over marshes and forest-streams, through which the herds\nmust pass on their way to the woodland-pastures. Nyrikki also busies\nhimself in blazing the rocks and the trees to guide the heroes to their\nfavorite hunting-grounds. Sima-suu (honey-mouth), one of the tiny\ndaughters of Tapio, by playing on her Sima-pilli (honey-flute), also\nacts as guide to the deserving hunters.\n\nHiisi, the Finnish devil, bearing also the epithets, Juntas, Piru, and\nLempo, is the chief of the forest-demons, and is inconceivably wicked.\nHe was brought into the world consentaneously with Suoyatar, from whose\nspittle, as sung in The Kalevala, he formed the serpent. This demon\nis described as cruel, horrible, hideous, and bloodthirsty, and all\nthe most painful diseases and misfortunes that ever afflict mortals\nare supposed to emanate from him. This demon, too, is thought by the\nFinlanders to have a hand in all the evil done in the world.\n\nTurning from the outer world to man, we find deities whose energies\nare used only in the domain of human existence. \u201cThese deities,\u201d says\nCastr\u00e9n, \u201chave no dealings with the higher, spiritual nature of man.\nAll that they do concerns man solely as an object in nature. Wisdom\nand law, virtue and justice, find in Finnish mythology no protector\namong the gods, who trouble themselves only about the temporal wants\nof humanity.\u201d The Love-goddess was Sukkamieli (stocking-lover).\n\u201cStockings,\u201d says Castr\u00e9n gravely, \u201care soft and tender things, and\nthe goddess of love was so called because she interests herself in the\nsoftest and tenderest feelings of the heart.\u201d This conception, however,\nis as farfetched as it is modern. The Love-deity of the _ancient_ Finns\nwas Lempo, the evil-demon. It is more reasonable therefore to suppose\nthat the Finns chose the son of Evil to look after the feelings of the\nhuman heart, because they regarded love as an insufferable passion,\nor frenzy, that bordered on insanity, and incited in some mysterious\nmanner by an evil enchanter.\n\nUni is the god of sleep, and is described as a kind-hearted and welcome\ndeity. Untamo is the god of dreams, and is always spoken of as the\npersonification of indolence. Munu tenderly looks after the welfare\nof the human eye. This deity, to say the least, is an oculist of long\nand varied experience, in all probability often consulted in Finland\nbecause of the blinding snows and piercing winds of the north. Lemmas\nis a goddess in the mythology of the Finns who dresses the wounds of\nher faithful sufferers, and subdues their pains. Suonetar is another\ngoddess of the human frame, and plays a curious and important part in\nthe restoration to life of the reckless Lemminkainen, as described\nin the following runes. She busies herself in spinning veins, and in\nsewing up the wounded tissues of such deserving worshipers as need her\nsurgical skill.\n\nOther deities associated with the welfare of mankind are the Sinettaret\nand Kankahattaret, the goddesses respectively of dyeing and weaving.\nMatka-Teppo is their road-god, and busies himself in caring for horses\nthat are over-worked, and in looking after the interests of weary\ntravellers. Aarni is the guardian of hidden treasures. This important\noffice is also filled by a hideous old deity named Mammelainen, whom\nRenwall, the Finnish lexicographer, describes as \u201cfemina maligna,\nmatrix serpentis, divitiarum subterranearum custos,\u201d a malignant woman,\nthe mother of the snake, and the guardian of subterranean treasures.\nFrom this conception it is evident that the idea of a kinship between\nserpents and hidden treasures frequently met with in the myths of the\nHungarians, Germans, and Slavs, is not foreign to the Finns.\n\nNowhere are the inconsistencies of human theory and practice more\ncuriously and forcibly shown than in the custom in vogue among\nthe clans of Finland who are not believers in a future life, but,\nnotwithstanding, perform such funereal ceremonies as the burying in\nthe graves of the dead, knives, hatchets, spears, bows, and arrows,\nkettles, food, clothing, sledges and snow-shoes, thus bearing witness\nto their practical recognition of some form of life beyond the grave.\nThe ancient Finns occasionally craved advice and assistance from the\ndead. Thus, as described in The Kalevala, when the hero of Wainola\nneeded three words of master-magic wherewith to finish the boat in\nwhich he was to sail to win the mystic maiden of Sariola, he first\nlooked in the brain of the white squirrel, then in the mouth of the\nwhite-swan when dying, but all in vain; then he journeyed to the\nkingdom of Tuoni, and failing there, he \u201cstruggled over the points of\nneedles, over the blades of swords, over the edges of hatchets\u201d to the\ngrave of the ancient wisdom-bard, Antero Wipunen, where he \u201cfound the\nlost-words of the Master.\u201d In this legend of The Kalevala, exceedingly\ninteresting, instructive, and curious, are found, apparently, the\nremote vestiges of ancient Masonry.\n\nIt would seem that the earliest beliefs of the Finns regarding the dead\ncentred in this: that their spirits remained in their graves until\nafter the complete disintegration of their bodies, over which Kalma,\nthe god of the tombs, with his black and evil daughter, presided. After\ntheir spirits had been fully purified, they were then admitted to the\nKingdom of Manala in the under world. Those journeying to Tuonela were\nrequired to voyage over nine seas, and over one river, the Finnish\nStyx, black, deep, and violent, and filled with hungry whirlpools, and\nangry waterfalls.\n\nLike Helheim of Scandinavian mythology, Manala, or Tuonela, was\nconsidered as corresponding to the upper world. The Sun and the Moon\nvisited there; fen and forest gave a home to the wolf, the bear, the\nelk, the serpent, and the songbird; the salmon, the whiting, the perch,\nand the pike were sheltered in the \u201ccoal-black waters of Manala.\u201d From\nthe seed-grains of the death-land fields and forests, the Tuoni-worm\n(the serpent) had taken its teeth. Tuoni, or Mana, the god of the under\nworld, is represented as a hard-hearted, and frightful, old personage\nwith three iron-pointed fingers on each hand, and wearing a hat drawn\ndown to his shoulders. As in the original conception of Hades, Tuoni\nwas thought to be the leader of the dead to their subterranean home,\nas well as their counsellor, guardian, and ruler. In the capacity of\nruler he was assisted by his wife, a hideous, horrible, old witch\nwith \u201ccrooked, copper-fingers iron-pointed,\u201d with deformed head and\ndistorted features, and uniformly spoken of in irony in the Kalevala as\n\u201c_hyva emanta_,\u201d the good hostess; she feasted her guests on lizards,\nworms, toads, and writhing serpents. Tuonen Poika, \u201cThe God of the\nRed Cheeks,\u201d so called because of his bloodthirstiness and constant\ncruelties, is the son and accomplice of this merciless and hideous pair.\n\nThree daughters of Tuoni are mentioned in the runes, the first of whom,\na tiny, black maiden, but great in wickedness, once at least showed a\ntouch of human kindness when she vainly urged Wainamoinen not to cross\nthe river of Tuoni, assuring the hero that while many visit Manala,\nfew return, because of their inability to brave her father\u2019s wrath.\nFinally, after much entreaty, she ferried him over the Finnish Styx,\nlike Charon, the son of Erebus and Nox, in the mythology of Greece.\nThe second daughter of Tuoni is Lowyatar, black and blind, and is\ndescribed as still more malignant and loathsome than the first. Through\nthe East-wind\u2019s impregnation she brought forth the spirits of the nine\ndiseases most dreaded by mankind, as described in the 45th Rune of the\nKalevala:\n\n\u201cColic, Pleurisy, and Fever,\nUlcer, Plague, and dread Consumption,\nGout, Sterility, and Cancer.\u201d\n\nThe third daughter of Tuoni combines the malevolent and repugnant\nattributes of her two sisters, and is represented as the mother and\nhostess of the impersonal diseases of mankind. The Finns regarded all\nhuman ailments as evil spirits or indwelling devils, some formless,\nothers taking the shapes of the most odious forms of animal life, as\nworms and mites; the nine, however, described above, were conceived to\nhave human forms.\n\nWhere the three arms of the Tuoni river meet a frightful rock arises,\ncalled Kipu-Kivi, or Kipuvuori, in a dungeon beneath which the spirits\nof all diseases are imprisoned. On this rock the third daughter of\nTuoni sits, constantly whirling it round like a millstone, grinding\nher subjects until they escape and go forth to torture and slay the\nchildren of men; as in Hindu mythology, Kali (black) sits in judgment\non the dead.\n\nVarious other spiritual powers than gods and goddesses are held in\nhigh reverence by the Finns. Tontu is represented as a kind-hearted\nhouse-spirit, a sort of diminutive Cyclops, and offerings of bread and\nbroth are made to him every morning. Putting a mare\u2019s collar on one\u2019s\nneck and walking nine times around a church is thought to be a certain\nmeans of attracting one to the place desired. Para is a mystical,\nthree-legged being, constructed in many ways, and which, according to\nCastr\u00e9n, attains life and action when its possessor, cutting the little\nfinger of his left hand, lets three drops of blood fall upon it, and\nat the same time pronouncing the proper magic word. The possessor,\nby whatever means, of this mystic being, is always supplied with\nabundance of milk and cheese. The Maahiset are the dwarfs of Finnish\nmythology. Their abode is under stumps, trees, blocks, thresholds and\nhearth-stones. Though exceedingly minute and invisible to man they have\nhuman forms. They are irritable and resentful, and they punish with\nulcers, tetter, ringworms, pimples, and other cutaneous affections, all\nthose who neglect them at brewings, bakings, and feastings. They punish\nin a similar manner those who enter new houses without making obeisance\nto the four corners, and paying them other kindly attentions; those\nwho live in untidy houses are also likewise punished. The Kirkonw\u00e6ki\n(church-folk) are little deformed beings living under the altars of\nchurches. These misshapen things are supposed to be able to aid their\nsorrowing and suffering worshipers.\n\nCertain beasts, and birds, and trees, are held sacred in Finland. In\nthe Kalevala are evident traces of arctolatry, bear-worship, once very\ncommon among the tribes of the north. Otso, the bear, according to\nFinnish mythology, was born on the shoulders of Otava, in the regions\nof the sun and moon, and \u201cnursed by a goddess of the woodlands in a\ncradle swung by bands of gold between the bending branches of budding\nfir-trees.\u201d His nurse would not give him teeth and claws until he had\npromised never to engage in bloody strife, or deeds of violence. Otso,\nhowever, does not always keep his pledge, and accordingly the hunters\nof Finland find it comparatively easy to reconcile their consciences\nto his destruction. Otso is called in the runes by many endearing\ntitles as \u201cThe Honey-Eater,\u201d \u201cGolden Light-Foot,\u201d \u201cThe Forest-Apple,\u201d\n\u201cHoney-Paw of the Mountains,\u201d \u201cThe Pride of the Thicket,\u201d \u201cThe\nFur-robed Forest-Friend.\u201d Ahava, the West-wind, and Penitar, a blind\nold witch of Sariola, are the parents of the swift dogs of Finland,\njust as the horses of Achilles, Xanthos and Belios, sprang from\nZephyros and the harpy Podarge.\n\nAs to birds, the duck, according to the Kalevala, the eagle, according\nto other traditions, lays the mundane egg, thus taking part in the\ncreation of the world. Puhuri, the north-wind, the father of Pakkanen\n(frost) is sometimes personified as a gigantic eagle. The didapper\nis reverenced because it foretells the approach of rain. Linnunrata\n(bird-path) is the name given to the Milky-way, due probably to a myth\nlike those of the Swedes and Slavs, in which liberated songs take the\nform of snow-white dovelets. The cuckoo to this day is sacred, and is\nbelieved to have fertilized the earth with his songs. As to insects,\nhoney-bees, called by the Finns, Mehilainen, are especially sacred, as\nin the mythologies of many other nations. Ukkon-koiva (Ukko\u2019s dog) is\nthe Finnish name for the butterfly, and is looked upon as a messenger\nof the Supreme Deity. It may be interesting to observe here that the\nBretons in reverence called butterflies, \u201cfeathers from the wings of\nGod.\u201d\n\nAs to inanimate nature, certain lakes, rivers, springs, and fountains,\nare held in high reverence. In the Kalevala the oak is called Pun\nJumalan (God\u2019s tree). The mountain-ash even to this day, and the\nbirch-tree, are held sacred, and peasants plant them by their cottages\nwith reverence.\n\nRespecting the giants of Finnish mythology, Castr\u00e9n is silent, and\nthe following notes are gleaned from the Kalevala, and from Grimm\u2019s\nTeutonic Mythology. \u201cThe giants,\u201d says Grimm, \u201care distinguished by\ntheir cunning and ferocity from the stupid, good-natured monsters of\nGermany and Scandinavia.\u201d Soini, for example, a synonym of Kullervo,\nthe hero of the saddest episode of the Kalevala when only three days\nold, tore his swaddling clothes to tatters. When sold to a forgeman of\nKarelia, he was ordered to nurse an infant, but he dug out the eyes\nof the child, killed it, and burned its cradle. Ordered to fence the\nfields, he built a fence from earth to heaven, using entire pine-trees\nfor fencing materials, and interweaving their branches with venomous\nserpents. Ordered to tend the herds in the woodlands, he changed the\ncattle to wolves and bears, and drove them home to destroy his mistress\nbecause she had baked a stone in the centre of his oat-loaf, causing\nhim to break his knife, the only keepsake of his people.\n\nRegarding the heroes of the Kalevala, much discussion has arisen as to\ntheir place in Finnish mythology. The Finns proper regard the chief\nheroes of the Suomi epic, Wainamoinen, Ilmarinen, and Lemminkainen, as\ndescendants of the Celestial Virgin, Ilmatar, impregnated by the winds\nwhen Ilma (air), Light, and Water were the only material existences. In\nharmony with this conception we find in the Kalevala, a description of\nthe birth of Wainamoinen, or Vaino, as he is sometimes called in the\noriginal, a word probably akin to the Magyar Ven, old. The Esthonians\nregard these heroes as sons of the Great Spirit, begotten before the\nearth was created, and dwelling with their Supreme Ruler in Jumala.\n\nThe poetry of a people with such an elaborate mythology and with\nsuch a keen and appreciative sense of nature and of her various\nphenomena, was certain, sooner or later, to attract the attention\nof scholars. And, in fact, as early as the seventeenth century, we\nmeet men of literary tastes who tried to collect and interpret the\nvarious national songs of the Finns. Among these were Palmsk\u00f6ld and\nPeter B\u00e4ng. They collected portions of the national poetry, consisting\nchiefly of wizard-incantations, and all kinds of pagan folk-lore.\nGabriel Maxenius, however, was the first to publish a work on Finnish\nnational poetry, which brought to light the beauties of the Kalevala.\nIt appeared in 1733, and bore the title: De Effectibus Naturalibus.\nThe book contains a quaint collection of Finnish poems in lyric forms,\nchiefly incantations; but the author was entirely at a loss how to\naccount for them, or how to appreciate them. He failed to see their\nintimate connection with the religious worship of the Finns in paganism.\n\nThe next to study the Finnish poetry and language was Daniel Juslenius,\na celebrated bishop, and a highly-gifted scholar. In a dissertation,\npublished as early as 1700, entitled, Aboa vetus et nova, he discussed\nthe origin and nature of the Finnish language; and in another work of\nhis, printed in 1745, he treated of Finnish incantations, displaying\nwithal a thorough understanding of the Finnish folk-lore, and of the\nimportance of the Finnish language and national poetry. With great care\nhe began to collect the songs of Suomi, but this precious collection\nwas unfortunately burned.\n\nPorthan, a Finnish scholar of great attainments, born in 1766,\ncontinuing the work of Juslenius, accumulated a great number of\nnational songs and poems, and by his profound enthusiasm for the\npromotion of Finnish literature, succeeded in founding the Society of\nthe Fennophils, which to the present day, forms the literary centre\nof Finland. Among his pupils were E. Lenquist, and Chr. Ganander,\nwhose works on Finnish mythology are among the references used in\npreparing this preface. These indefatigable scholars were joined by\nReinhold Becker and others, who were industriously searching for more\nand more fragments of what evidently was a great epic of the Finns.\nFor certainly neither of the scholars just mentioned, nor earlier\ninvestigators, could fail to see that the runes they collected,\ngathered round two or three chief heroes, but more especially around\nthe central figure of Wainamoinen, the hero of the following epic.\n\nThe Kalevala proper was collected by two great Finnish scholars,\nZacharias Topelius and Elias L\u00f6nnrot. Both were practicing physicians,\nand in this capacity came into frequent contact with the people of\nFinland. Topelius, who collected eighty epical fragments of the\nKalevala, spent the last eleven years of his life in bed, afflicted\nwith a fatal disease. But this sad and trying circumstance did not\ndampen his enthusiasm. His manner of collecting these songs was as\nfollows: Knowing that the Finns of Russia preserved most of the\nnational poetry, and that they came annually to Finland proper, which\nat that time did not belong to Russia, he invited these itinerant\nFinnish merchants to his bedside, and induced them to sing their heroic\npoems, which he copied as they were uttered. And, when he heard of a\nrenowned Finnish singer, or minstrel, he did all in his power to bring\nthe song-man to his house, in order that he might gather new fragments\nof the national epic. Thus the first glory of collecting the fragments\nof the Kalevala and of rescuing it from literary oblivion, belongs to\nTopelius. In 1822 he published his first collections, and in 1831, his\nlast.\n\nElias L\u00f6nnrot, who brought the whole work to a glorious completion,\nwas born April 9, 1802. He entered the University of Abo in 1822, and\nin 1832, received the degree of Doctor of Medicine from the University\nof Helsingfors. After the death of Castr\u00e9n in 1850, L\u00f6nnrot was\nappointed professor of the Suomi (Finnish) language and literature\nin the University, where he remained until 1862, at which time he\nwithdrew from his academical activity and devoted himself exclusively\nto the study of his native language, and its epical productions. Dr.\nL\u00f6nnrot had already published a scholarly treatise, in 1827, on the\nchief hero of the Kalevala, before he went to Sava and Karjala to glean\nthe songs and parts of songs front the lips of the people. This work\nwas entitled: De Wainainoine priscorum Fennorum numine. In the year\n1828, he travelled as far as Kajan, collecting poems and songs of the\nFinnish people, sitting by the fireside of the aged, rowing on the\nlakes with the fishermen, and following the flocks with the shepherds.\nIn 1829 he published at Helsingfors a work under the following title:\nKantele taikka Suomee Kansan sek vazhoja ett\u00e4 nykysempia Runoja ja\nLauluja (Lyre, or Old and New Songs and Lays of the Finnish Nation). In\nanother work edited in 1832, written in Swedish, entitled: Om Finnarues\nMagiska Medicin (On the Magic Medicine of the Finns), he dwells on the\nincantations so frequent in Finnish poetry, notably in the Kalevala.\nA few years later he travelled in the province of Archangel, and\nso ingratiated himself into the hearts of the simple-minded people\nthat they most willingly aided him in collecting these songs. These\njourneys were made through wild fens, forests, marshes, and ice-plains,\non horseback, in sledges drawn by the reindeer, in canoes, or in\nsome other forms of primitive conveyance. The enthusiastic physician\ndescribed his journeyings and difficulties faithfully in a paper\npublished at Helsingfors in Swedish in 1834. He had the peculiar good\nluck to meet an old peasant, one of the oldest of the runolainen in\nthe Russian province of Wuokiniem, who was by far the most renowned\nminstrel of the country, and with whose closely impending death,\nnumerous very precious runes would have been irrevocably lost.\n\nThe happy result of his travels throughout Finland, Dr. L\u00f6nnrot now\ncommenced to arrange under the central idea of a great epic, called\nKalevala, and in February, 1835, the manuscript was transmitted to the\nFinnish Literary Society, which had it published in two parts. L\u00f6nnrot,\nhowever, did not stop here; he went on searching and collecting, and,\nin 1840, had brought together more than one thousand fragments of\nepical poetry, national ballads, and proverbs. These he published in\ntwo works, respectively entitled, Kanteletar (Lyre-charm), and The\nProverbs of the Suomi People, the latter containing over 1700 proverbs,\nadages, gnomic sentences, and songs.\n\nHis example was followed by many of his enthusiastic countrymen, the\nmore prominent of whom are Castr\u00e9n, Europ\u00e6us, Pol\u00e9n and Reniholm.\nThrough the collections of these scholars so many additional parts of\nthe epical treasure of Finland were made public that a new edition of\nthe Kalevala soon became an imperative necessity. The task of sifting,\narranging, and organizing the extensive material, was again allotted\nto Dr. L\u00f6nnrot, and in his second editions of the Kalevala, which\nappeared in 1849, the epic, embracing fifty runes and 22,793 lines,\nhad reached its mature form. The Kalevala was no sooner published than\nit attracted the attention of the leading scholars of Europe. Men of\nsuch world-wide fame as Jacob Grimm, Steinthal, Uhland, Carri\u00e8re and\nMax M\u00fcller hastened to acknowledge its surpassing value and intrinsic\nbeauty. Jacob Grimm, in a separate treatise, published in his Kleinere\nSchriften, said that the genuineness and extraordinary value of the\nKalevala is easily proved by the fact that from its mythological\nideas we can frequently interpret the mythological conceptions of the\nancient Germans, whereas the poems of Ossian manifest their modern\norigin by their inability to clear up questions of old Saxon or German\nmythology. Grimm, furthermore, shows that both the Gothic and Icelandic\nliteratures display unmistakable features of Finnish influence.\n\nMax M\u00fcller places the Kalevala on a level with the greatest epics of\nthe world. These are his words:\n\n\u201cFrom the mouths of the aged an epic poem has been collected equalling\nthe Iliad in length and completeness; nay, if we can forget for a\nmoment, all that we in our youth learned to call beautiful, not less\nbeautiful. A Finn is not a Greek, and Wainamoinen was not a Homer\n[Achilles?]; but if the poet may take his colors from that nature by\nwhich he is surrounded, if he may depict the men with whom he lives,\nthe Kalevala possesses merits not dissimilar from those of the Iliad,\nand will claim its place as the fifth national epic of the world, side\nby side with the Ionian Songs, with the Mahabharata, the Shahnameth,\nand the Nibelunge.\u201d\n\nSteinthal recognizes but four great national epics, viz., the Iliad,\nKalevala, Nibelunge and the Roland Songs.\n\nThe Kalevala describes Finnish nature very minutely and very\nbeautifully. Grimm says that no poem is to be compared with it in\nthis respect, unless it be some of the epics of India. It has been\ntranslated into several European languages; into Swedish by Alex.\nCastr\u00e9n, in 1844; into French prose by L. LeDuc, in 1845; into German\nby Anton Schiefuer, in 1852; into Hungarian by Ferdinand Barna, in\n1871; and a very small portion of it\u2014the legend of Aino\u2014into English,\nin 1868, by the late Prof. John A. Porter, of Yale College. It must\nremain a matter of universal regret to the English-speaking people that\nProf. Porter\u2019s life could not have been spared to finish the great work\nhe had so beautifully begun.\n\nSome of the most convincing evidences of the genuineness and great\nage of the Kalevala have been supplied by the Hungarian translator.\nThe Hungarians, as is well known, are closely related to the Finns,\nand their language, the Magyar dialect, has the same characteristic\nfeatures as the Finnish tongue. Barna\u2019s translation, accordingly, is\nthe best rendering of the original. In order to show the genuineness\nand antiquity of the Kalevala, Barna adduces a Hungarian book\nwritten by a certain Peter Bornemissza, in 1578, entitled _\u00d6rd\u00f6gi\nKisertetekr\u00f6l_ (on Satanic Specters), the unique copy of which he\nfound in the library of the University of Budapest. In this book\nBornemissza collected all the incantations (_r\u00e1olvas\u00e1sok_) in use among\nHungarian country-people of his day for the expulsion of diseases and\nmisfortunes. These incantations, forming the common stock of all Ugrian\npeoples, of which the Finns and Hungarians are branches, display a most\nsatisfactory sameness with the numerous incantations of the Kalevala\nused for the same purpose. Barna published an elaborate treatise on\nthis subject; it appeared in the Transactions of the Hungarian Academy\nof Sciences, Philological Department, for 1870. Again, in 1868,\ntwenty-two Hungarian deeds, dating from 1616-1660, were sent to the\nHungarian Academy of Sciences, as having been found in the Hegyalja,\nwhere the celebrated wine of Tokay is made. These deeds contained\nseveral contracts for the sale of vineyards, and at the end of each\ndeed the customary cup of wine was said to have been emptied by both\nparties to the contract. This cup of wine, in the deeds, was termed,\n\u201cUkkon\u2019s cup.\u201d Ukko, however, is the chief God according to Finnish\nmythology, and thus the coincidence of the Magyar Ukkon and the Finnish\nUkko was placed beyond doubt.\n\nThe Kalevala (the Land of Heroes) relates the ever-varying contests\nbetween the Finns and the \u201cdarksome Laplanders\u201d, just as the Iliad\nrelates the contests between the Greeks and the Trojans. Castr\u00e9n is of\nthe opinion that the enmity between the Finns and the Lapps was sung\nlong before the Finns had left their Asiatic birth-place.\n\nA deeper and more esoteric meaning of the Kalevala, however, points\nto a contest between Light and Darkness, Good and Evil; the Finns\nrepresenting the Light and the Good, and the Lapps, the Darkness and\nthe Evil. Like the Niebelungs, the heroes of the Finns woo for brides\nthe beauteous maidens of the North; and the similarity is rendered\nstill more striking by their frequent inroads into the country of\nthe Lapps, in order to possess themselves of the envied treasure\nof Lapland, the mysterious Sampo, evidently the Golden Fleece of\nthe Argonautic expedition. Curiously enough public opinion is often\nexpressed in the runes, in the words of an infant; often too the\nunexpected is introduced after the manner of the Greek dramas, by a\nyoung child, or an old man.\n\nThe whole poem is replete with the most fascinating folk-lore about\nthe mysteries of nature, the origin of things, the enigmas of human\ntears, and, true to the character of a national epic, it represents not\nonly the poetry, but the entire wisdom and accumulated experience of\na nation. Among others, there is a profoundly philosophical trait in\nthe poem, indicative of a deep insight into the workings of the human\nmind, and into the forces of nature. Whenever one of the heroes of the\nKalevala wishes to overcome the aggressive power of an evil force, as a\nwound, a disease, a ferocious beast, or a venomous serpent, he achieves\nhis purpose by chanting the origin of the inimical force. The thought\nunderlying this idea evidently is that all evil could be obviated had\nwe but the knowledge of whence and how it came.\n\nThe numerous myths of the poem are likewise full of significance and\nbeauty, and the Kalevala should be _read between the lines_, in order\nthat the fall meaning of this great epic may be comprehended. Even such\na hideous impersonation as that of Kullerwoinen, is rich with pointed\nmeaning, showing as it does, the incorrigibility of ingrained evil.\nThis legend, like all others of the poem, has its deep-running stream\nof esoteric interpretation. The Kalevala, perhaps, more than any other,\nuses its lines on the surface in symbolism to point the human mind to\nthe brighter gems of truth beneath.\n\nThe three main personages, Wainamoinen, the ancient singer, Ilmarinen,\nthe eternal forgeman, and Lemminkainen, the reckless wizard, as\nmentioned above, are conceived as being of divine origin. In fact, the\nacting characters of the Kalevala are mostly superhuman, magic beings.\nEven the female actors are powerful sorceresses, and the hostess of\nPohyola, especially, braves the might of all the enchanters of Wainola\ncombined. The power of magic is a striking feature of the poem. Here,\nas in the legends of no other people, do the heroes and demi-gods\naccomplish nearly everything by magic. The songs of Wainamoinen disarm\nhis opponents; they quiet the angry sea; they give warmth to the new\nsun and the new moon which his brother, Ilmarinen, forges from the\nmagic metals; they give life to the spouse of Ilmarinen, which the\n\u201ceternal metal-artist\u201d forges from gold, silver, and copper. In fact\nwe are among a people that endows everything with life, and with human\nand divine attributes. Birds, and beasts, and fishes, and serpents, as\nwell as the Sun, the Moon, the Great Bear, and the stars, are either\nkind or unkind. Drops of blood find speech; men and maidens transform\nthemselves into other shapes and resume again their native forms at\nwill; ships, and trees, and waters, have magic powers; in short, all\nnature speaks in human tongues.\n\nThe Kalevala dates back to an enormous antiquity. One reason for\nbelieving this, lies in the silence of the Kalevala about Russians,\nGermans, or Swedes, their neighbors. This evidently shows that the\npoem must have been composed at a time when these nations had but very\nlittle or no intercourse with the Finns. The coincidence between the\nincantations adduced above, proves that these witch-songs date from\na time when the Hungarians and the Finns were still united as one\npeople; in other words, to a time at least 3000 years ago. The whole\npoem betrays no important signs of foreign influence, and in its entire\ntenor is a thoroughly pagan epic. There are excellent reasons for\nbelieving that the story of Mariatta, recited in the 50th Rune, is an\nante-Christian legend.\n\nAn additional proof of the originality and independent rise of the\nKalevala is to be found in its metre. All genuine poetry must have its\npeculiar verse, just as snow-flakes cannot exist without their peculiar\ncrystalizations. It is thus that the Iliad is inseparably united,\nand, as it were, immersed in the stately hexametre, and the French\nepics, in the graceful Alexandrine verse. The metre of the Kalevala is\nthe \u201ceight-syllabled trochaic, with the part-line echo,\u201d and is the\ncharacteristic verse of the Finns. The natural speech of this people\nis poetry. The young men and maidens, the old men and matrons, in\ntheir interchange of ideas, unwittingly fall into verse. The genius of\ntheir language aids to this end, inasmuch as their words are strongly\ntrochaic.\n\nThis wonderfully versatile metre admits of keeping the right medium\nbetween the dignified, almost prancing hexameter, and the shorter\nmetres of the lyrics. Its feet are nimble and fleet, but yet full of\nvigor and expressiveness. In addition, the Kalevala uses alliteration,\nand thus varies the rhythm of time with the rhythm of sound. This\nmetre is especially fit for the numerous expressions of endearment\nin which the Finnish epic abounds. It is more especially the love of\nthe mother for her children, and the love of the children for their\nmother, that find frequent and ever-tender expression in the sonorous\nlines of the Kalevala. The Swedish translation by Castr\u00e9n, the German,\nby Schiefner, and the Hungarian, by Barna, as well as the following\nEnglish translation, are in the original metre of the Kalevala.\n\nTo prove that this peculiar and fascinating style of verse is of very\nancient origin, the following lines have been accurately copied from\nthe first edition in Finnish of the Kalevala, collated by Dr. L\u00f6nnrot,\nand published in 1835 at Helsingfors, the quotation beginning with the\n150th line of the 2nd Rune:\n\nLouhi Pohjolan emanta\nSanan wirkko, noin nimesi:\n\u201cNiin mita minulle annat,\nKun saatan omille maille,\nOman pellon pientarelle,\nOman pihan rikkasille?\u201d\nSano wanha Wainamoinen:\n\u201cMitapa kysyt minulta,\nKun saatat omille maille,\nOman ka\u00ebn kukkumille,\nOman kukon kuuluwille,\nOman saunan lampimille?\u201d\nSano Pohjolan emanta:\n\u201cOhoh wiisas Wainamoinen!\nTaiatko takoa sammon,\nKirjokannen kirja\u00eblla,\nYhen joukkosen sulasta,\nYhen willan kylkyesta,\nYhen otrasen jywasta,\nYhen warttinan muruista.\u201d\n\nAs to the architecture of the Kalevala, it stands midway between\nthe epical ballads of the Servians and the purely epical structure\nof the Iliad. Though a continuous whole, it contains several almost\nindependent parts, as the contest of Youkahainen, the Kullervo episode,\nand the legend of Mariatta.\n\nBy language-masters this epic of Suomi, descending unwritten from\nthe mythical age to the present day, kept alive from generation to\ngeneration by minstrels, or song-men, is regarded as one of the most\nprecious contributions to the literature of the world, made since the\ntime of Milton and the German classics.\n\nAcknowledgment is hereby made to the following sources of information\nused in the preparation of this work: to E. Lenquist\u2019s De Superstitione\nveterum Fennorum theoretica et practica; to Chr. Ganander\u2019s Mythologia\nFennica; to Becker\u2019s De Vainamoine; to Max M\u00fcller\u2019s Oxford Essays; to\nProf. John A. Porter\u2019s Selections from the Kalevala; to the writings\nof the two Grimms; to Latham\u2019s Native Races of the Russian Empire; to\nthe translations of the Kalevala by Alex. Castr\u00e9n, Anton Schieffier, L.\nLeDuc and Ferdinand Barna; and especially to the excellent treatises\non the Kalevala, and on the Mythology of the Finns, by Mace Da Charda\nand Alex. Castr\u00e9n; to Prof. Hel\u00e9na Klingner, of Cincinnati, a linguist\nof high rank, and who has compared very conscientiously the manuscript\nof the following pages with the German translation of the Kalevala\nby Anton Schiefner; to Dr. Emil Reich, a native Hungarian, a close\nstudent of the Ugrian tongues, who, in a most thorough manner, has\ncompared this translation with the Hungarian by Ferdinand Barna, and\nwho, familiar with the habits, customs, and religious notions of the\nFinns, has furnished much valuable material used in the preparation of\nthis preface; and, finally, to Prof. Thomas C. Porter, D.D., LL.D.,\nof Lafayette College, who has become an authority on the Kalevala\nthrough his own researches for many years, aided by a long and intimate\nacquaintance with Prof. A. F. Soldan, a Finn by birth, an enthusiastic\nlover of his country, a scholar of great attainments, acquainted\nwith many languages, and once at the head of the Imperial Mint at\nHelsingfors, the capital of Finland. Prof. Porter has very kindly\nplaced in the hands of the author of these pages, all the literature on\nthis subject at his command, including his own writings; he has watched\nthe growth of this translation with unusual interest; and, with the\neye of a gifted poet and scholar, he has made two careful and critical\nexaminations of the entire manuscript, making annotations, emendations,\nand corrections, by which this work has been greatly improved.\n\nWith this prolonged introduction, this, the first English translation\nof the Kalevala, with its many imperfections, is hesitatingly given to\nthe public.\n\nJOHN MARTIN CRAWFORD.\n\n\nOctober 1, 1887.\n\n\n\n\nTHE KALEVALA.\n\n\n\n\nPROEM\n\n\nMastered by desire impulsive,\nBy a mighty inward urging,\nI am ready now for singing,\nReady to begin the chanting\nOf our nation\u2019s ancient folk-song\nHanded down from by-gone ages.\nIn my mouth the words are melting,\nFrom my lips the tones are gliding,\nFrom my tongue they wish to hasten;\nWhen my willing teeth are parted,\nWhen my ready mouth is opened,\nSongs of ancient wit and wisdom\nHasten from me not unwilling.\n\nGolden friend, and dearest brother,\nBrother dear of mine in childhood,\nCome and sing with me the stories,\nCome and chant with me the legends,\nLegends of the times forgotten,\nSince we now are here together,\nCome together from our roamings.\nSeldom do we come for singing,\nSeldom to the one, the other,\nO\u2019er this cold and cruel country,\nO\u2019er the poor soil of the Northland.\nLet us clasp our hands together\nThat we thus may best remember.\nJoin we now in merry singing,\nChant we now the oldest folk-lore,\nThat the dear ones all may hear them,\nThat the well-inclined may hear them,\nOf this rising generation.\nThese are words in childhood taught me,\nSongs preserved from distant ages,\nLegends they that once were taken\nFrom the belt of Wainamoinen,\nFrom the forge of Ilmarinen,\nFrom the sword of Kaukomieli,\nFrom the bow of Youkahainen,\nFrom the pastures of the Northland,\nFrom the meads of Kalevala.\nThese my dear old father sang me\nWhen at work with knife and hatchet\nThese my tender mother taught me\nWhen she twirled the flying spindle,\nWhen a child upon the matting\nBy her feet I rolled and tumbled.\n\nIncantations were not wanting\nOver Sampo and o\u2019er Louhi,\nSampo growing old in singing,\nLouhi ceasing her enchantment.\nIn the songs died wise Wipunen,\nAt the games died Lemminkainen.\nThere are many other legends,\nIncantations that were taught me,\nThat I found along the wayside,\nGathered in the fragrant copses,\nBlown me from the forest branches,\nCulled among the plumes of pine-trees,\nScented from the vines and flowers,\nWhispered to me as I followed\nFlocks in land of honeyed meadows,\nOver hillocks green and golden,\nAfter sable-haired Murikki,\nAnd the many-colored Kimmo.\nMany runes the cold has told me,\nMany lays the rain has brought me,\nOther songs the winds have sung me;\nMany birds from many forests,\nOft have sung me lays in concord\nWaves of sea, and ocean billows,\nMusic from the many waters,\nMusic from the whole creation,\nOft have been my guide and master.\nSentences the trees created,\nRolled together into bundles,\nMoved them to my ancient dwelling,\nOn the sledges to my cottage,\nTied them to my garret rafters,\nHung them on my dwelling-portals,\nLaid them in a chest of boxes,\nBoxes lined with shining copper.\nLong they lay within my dwelling\nThrough the chilling winds of winter,\nIn my dwelling-place for ages.\n\nShall I bring these songs together\nFrom the cold and frost collect them?\nShall I bring this nest of boxes,\nKeepers of these golden legends,\nTo the table in my cabin,\nUnderneath the painted rafters,\nIn this house renowned and ancient?\nShall I now these boxes open,\nBoxes filled with wondrous stories?\nShall I now the end unfasten\nOf this ball of ancient wisdom,\nThese ancestral lays unravel?\nLet me sing an old-time legend,\nThat shall echo forth the praises\nOf the beer that I have tasted,\nOf the sparkling beer of barley.\nBring to me a foaming goblet\nOf the barley of my fathers,\nLest my singing grow too weary,\nSinging from the water only.\nBring me too a cup of strong-beer,\nIt will add to our enchantment,\nTo the pleasure of the evening,\nNorthland\u2019s long and dreary evening,\nFor the beauty of the day-dawn,\nFor the pleasure of the morning,\nThe beginning of the new-day.\n\nOften I have heard them chanting,\nOften I have heard them singing,\nThat the nights come to us singly,\nThat the Moon beams on us singly,\nThat the Sun shines on us singly;\nSingly also, Wainamoinen,\nThe renowned and wise enchanter,\nBorn from everlasting Ether\nOf his mother, Ether\u2019s daughter.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE I.\nBIRTH OF WAINAMOINEN.\n\n\nIn primeval times, a maiden,\nBeauteous Daughter of the Ether,\nPassed for ages her existence\nIn the great expanse of heaven,\nO\u2019er the prairies yet enfolded.\nWearisome the maiden growing,\nHer existence sad and hopeless,\nThus alone to live for ages\nIn the infinite expanses\nOf the air above the sea-foam,\nIn the far outstretching spaces,\nIn a solitude of ether,\nShe descended to the ocean,\nWaves her coach, and waves her pillow.\nThereupon the rising storm-wind\nFlying from the East in fierceness,\nWhips the ocean into surges,\nStrikes the stars with sprays of ocean\nTill the waves are white with fervor.\nTo and fro they toss the maiden,\nStorm-encircled, hapless maiden;\nWith her sport the rolling billows,\nWith her play the storm-wind forces,\nOn the blue back of the waters;\nOn the white-wreathed waves of ocean,\nPlay the forces of the salt-sea,\nWith the lone and helpless maiden;\nTill at last in full conception,\nUnion now of force and beauty,\nSink the storm-winds into slumber;\nOverburdened now the maiden\nCannot rise above the surface;\nSeven hundred years she wandered,\nAges nine of man\u2019s existence,\nSwam the ocean hither, thither,\nCould not rise above the waters,\nConscious only of her travail;\nSeven hundred years she labored\nEre her first-born was delivered.\nThus she swam as water-mother,\nToward the east, and also southward,\nToward the west, and also northward;\nSwam the sea in all directions,\nFrightened at the strife of storm-winds,\nSwam in travail, swam unceasing,\nEre her first-born was delivered.\n\nThen began she gently weeping,\nSpake these measures, heavy-hearted:\n\u201cWoe is me, my life hard-fated!\nWoe is me, in this my travail!\nInto what have I now fallen?\nWoe is me, that I unhappy,\nLeft my home in subtle ether,\nCame to dwell amid the sea-foam,\nTo be tossed by rolling billows,\nTo be rocked by winds and waters,\nOn the far outstretching waters,\nIn the salt-sea\u2019s vast expanses,\nKnowing only pain and trouble!\nBetter far for me, O Ukko!\nWere I maiden in the Ether,\nThan within these ocean-spaces,\nTo become a water-mother!\nAll this life is cold and dreary,\nPainful here is every motion,\nAs I linger in the waters,\nAs I wander through the ocean.\nUkko, thou O God, up yonder,\nThou the ruler of the heavens,\nCome thou hither, thou art needed,\nCome thou hither, I implore thee,\nTo deliver me from trouble,\nTo deliver me in travail.\nCome I pray thee, hither hasten,\nHasten more that thou art needed,\nHaste and help this helpless maiden!\u201d\n\nWhen she ceased her supplications,\nScarce a moment onward passes,\nEre a beauteous duck descending,\nHastens toward the water-mother,\nComes a-flying hither, thither,\nSeeks herself a place for nesting.\nFlies she eastward, flies she westward,\nCircles northward, circles southward,\nCannot find a grassy hillock,\nNot the smallest bit of verdure;\nCannot find a spot protected,\nCannot find a place befitting,\nWhere to make her nest in safety.\nFlying slowly, looking round her,\nShe descries no place for resting,\nThinking loud and long debating,\nAnd her words are such as follow:\n\u201cBuild I in the winds my dwelling,\nOn the floods my place of nesting?\nSurely would the winds destroy it,\nFar away the waves would wash it.\u201d\n\nThen the daughter of the Ether,\nNow the hapless water-mother,\nRaised her shoulders out of water,\nRaised her knees above the ocean,\nThat the duck might build her dwelling,\nBuild her nesting-place in safety.\nThereupon the duck in beauty,\nFlying slowly, looking round her,\nSpies the shoulders of the maiden,\nSees the knees of Ether\u2019s daughter,\nNow the hapless water-mother,\nThinks them to be grassy hillocks,\nOn the blue back of the ocean.\nThence she flies and hovers slowly,\nLightly on the knee she settles,\nFinds a nesting-place befitting,\nWhere to lay her eggs in safety.\nHere she builds her humble dwelling,\nLays her eggs within, at pleasure,\nSix, the golden eggs she lays there,\nThen a seventh, an egg of iron;\nSits upon her eggs to hatch them,\nQuickly warms them on the knee-cap\nOf the hapless water-mother;\nHatches one day, then a second,\nThen a third day sits and hatches.\nWarmer grows the water round her,\nWarmer is her bed in ocean,\nWhile her knee with fire is kindled,\nAnd her shoulders too are burning,\nFire in every vein is coursing.\nQuick the maiden moves her shoulders,\nShakes her members in succession,\nShakes the nest from its foundation,\nAnd the eggs fall into ocean,\nDash in pieces on the bottom\nOf the deep and boundless waters.\nIn the sand they do not perish,\nNot the pieces in the ocean;\nBut transformed, in wondrous beauty\nAll the fragments come together\nForming pieces two in number,\nOne the upper, one the lower,\nEqual to the one, the other.\nFrom one half the egg, the lower,\nGrows the nether vault of Terra:\nFrom the upper half remaining,\nGrows the upper vault of Heaven;\nFrom the white part come the moonbeams,\nFrom the yellow part the sunshine,\nFrom the motley part the starlight,\nFrom the dark part grows the cloudage;\nAnd the days speed onward swiftly,\nQuickly do the years fly over,\nFrom the shining of the new sun\nFrom the lighting of the full moon.\n\nStill the daughter of the Ether,\nSwims the sea as water-mother,\nWith the floods outstretched before her,\nAnd behind her sky and ocean.\nFinally about the ninth year,\nIn the summer of the tenth year,\nLifts her head above the surface,\nLifts her forehead from the waters,\nAnd begins at last her workings,\nNow commences her creations,\nOn the azure water-ridges,\nOn the mighty waste before her.\nWhere her hand she turned in water,\nThere arose a fertile hillock;\nWheresoe\u2019er her foot she rested,\nThere she made a hole for fishes;\nWhere she dived beneath the waters,\nFell the many deeps of ocean;\nWhere upon her side she turned her,\nThere the level banks have risen;\nWhere her head was pointed landward,\nThere appeared wide bays and inlets;\nWhen from shore she swam a distance,\nAnd upon her back she rested,\nThere the rocks she made and fashioned,\nAnd the hidden reefs created,\nWhere the ships are wrecked so often,\nWhere so many lives have perished.\n\nThus created were the islands,\nRocks were fastened in the ocean,\nPillars of the sky were planted,\nFields and forests were created,\nCheckered stones of many colors,\nGleaming in the silver sunlight,\nAll the rocks stood well established;\nBut the singer, Wainamoinen,\nHad not yet beheld the sunshine,\nHad not seen the golden moonlight,\nStill remaining undelivered.\n\nWainamoinen, old and trusty,\nLingering within his dungeon\nThirty summers altogether,\nAnd of winters, also thirty,\nPeaceful on the waste of waters,\nOn the broad-sea\u2019s yielding bosom,\nWell reflected, long considered,\nHow unborn to live and flourish\nIn the spaces wrapped in darkness,\nIn uncomfortable limits,\nWhere he had not seen the moonlight,\nHad not seen the silver sunshine.\nThereupon these words he uttered,\nLet himself be heard in this wise:\n\u201cTake, O Moon, I pray thee, take me,\nTake me, thou, O Sun above me,\nTake me, thou, O Bear of heaven,\nFrom this dark and dreary prison,\nFrom these unbefitting portals,\nFrom this narrow place of resting,\nFrom this dark and gloomy dwelling,\nHence to wander from the ocean,\nHence to walk upon the islands,\nOn the dry land walk and wander,\nLike an ancient hero wander,\nWalk in open air and breathe it,\nThus to see the moon at evening,\nThus to see the silver sunlight,\nThus to see the Bear in heaven,\nThat the stars I may consider.\u201d\n\nSince the Moon refused to free him,\nAnd the Sun would not deliver,\nNor the Great Bear give assistance,\nHis existence growing weary,\nAnd his life but an annoyance,\nBursts he then the outer portals\nOf his dark and dismal fortress;\nWith his strong, but unnamed finger,\nOpens he the lock resisting;\nWith the toes upon his left foot,\nWith the fingers of his right hand,\nCreeps he through the yielding portals\nTo the threshold of his dwelling;\nOn his knees across the threshold,\nThrows himself head foremost, forward\nPlunges into deeps of ocean,\nPlunges hither, plunges thither,\nTurning with his hands the water;\nSwims he northward, swims he southward,\nSwims he eastward, swims he westward,\nStudying his new surroundings.\n\nThus our hero reached the water,\nRested five years in the ocean,\nSix long years, and even seven years,\nTill the autumn of the eighth year,\nWhen at last he leaves the waters,\nStops upon a promontory,\nOn a coast bereft of verdure;\nOn his knees he leaves the ocean,\nOn the land he plants his right foot,\nOn the solid ground his left foot,\nQuickly turns his hands about him,\nStands erect to see the sunshine,\nStands to see the golden moonlight,\nThat he may behold the Great Bear,\nThat he may the stars consider.\nThus our hero, Wainamoinen,\nThus the wonderful enchanter\nWas delivered from his mother,\nIlmatar, the Ether\u2019s daughter.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE II.\nWAINAMOINEN\u2019S SOWING.\n\n\nThen arose old Wainamoinen,\nWith his feet upon the island,\nOn the island washed by ocean,\nBroad expanse devoid of verdure;\nThere remained he many summers,\nThere he lived as many winters,\nOn the island vast and vacant,\nWell considered, long reflected,\nWho for him should sow the island,\nWho for him the seeds should scatter;\nThought at last of Pellerwoinen,\nFirst-born of the plains and prairies,\nWhen a slender boy, called Sampsa,\nWho should sow the vacant island,\nWho the forest seeds should scatter.\nPellerwoinen, thus consenting,\nSows with diligence the island,\nSeeds upon the lands he scatters,\nSeeds in every swamp and lowland,\nForest seeds upon the loose earth,\nOn the firm soil sows the acorns,\nFir-trees sows he on the mountains,\nPine-trees also on the hill-tops,\nMany shrubs in every valley,\nBirches sows he in the marshes,\nIn the loose soil sows the alders,\nIn the lowlands sows the lindens,\nIn the moist earth sows the willow,\nMountain-ash in virgin places,\nOn the banks of streams the hawthorn,\nJunipers in hilly regions;\nThis the work of Pellerwoinen,\nSlender Sampsa, in his childhood.\nSoon the fertile seeds were sprouting,\nSoon the forest trees were growing,\nSoon appeared the tops of fir-trees,\nAnd the pines were far outspreading;\nBirches rose from all the marshes,\nIn the loose soil grew the alders,\nIn the mellow soil the lindens;\nJunipers were also growing,\nJunipers with clustered berries,\nBerries on the hawthorn branches.\n\nNow the hero, Wainamoinen,\nStands aloft to look about him,\nHow the Sampsa-seeds are growing,\nHow the crop of Pellerwoinen;\nSees the young trees thickly spreading,\nSees the forest rise in beauty;\nBut the oak-tree has not sprouted,\nTree of heaven is not growing,\nStill within the acorn sleeping,\nIts own happiness enjoying.\nThen he waited three nights longer,\nAnd as many days he waited,\nWaited till a week had vanished,\nThen again the work examined;\nBut the oak-tree was not growing,\nHad not left her acorn-dwelling.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient hero,\nSpies four maidens in the distance,\nWater-brides, he spies a fifth-one,\nOn the soft and sandy sea-shore,\nIn the dewy grass and flowers,\nOn a point extending seaward,\nNear the forests of the island.\nSome were mowing, some were raking,\nRaking what was mown together,\nIn a windrow on the meadow.\n\nFrom the ocean rose a giant,\nMighty Tursas, tall and hardy,\nPressed compactly all the grasses,\nThat the maidens had been raking,\nWhen a fire within them kindles,\nAnd the flames shot up to heaven,\nTill the windrows burned to ashes,\nOnly ashes now remaining\nOf the grasses raked together.\nIn the ashes of the windrows,\nTender leaves the giant places,\nIn the leaves he plants an acorn,\nFrom the acorn, quickly sprouting,\nGrows the oak-tree, tall and stately,\nFrom the ground enriched by ashes,\nNewly raked by water-maidens;\nSpread the oak-tree\u2019s many branches,\nRounds itself a broad corona,\nRaises it above the storm-clouds;\nFar it stretches out its branches,\nStops the white-clouds in their courses,\nWith its branches hides the sunlight,\nWith its many leaves, the moonbeams,\nAnd the starlight dies in heaven.\n\nWainamoinen, old and trusty,\nThought awhile, and well considered,\nHow to kill the mighty oak-tree,\nFirst created for his pleasure,\nHow to fell the tree majestic,\nHow to lop its hundred branches.\nSad the lives of man and hero,\nSad the homes of ocean-dwellers,\nIf the sun shines not upon them,\nIf the moonlight does not cheer them!\nIs there not some mighty hero,\nWas there never born a giant,\nThat can fell the mighty oak-tree,\nThat can lop its hundred branches?\nWainamoinen, deeply thinking,\nSpake these words soliloquizing:\n\u201cKap\u00e9, daughter of the Ether,\nAncient mother of my being,\nLuonnotar, my nurse and helper,\nLoan to me the water-forces,\nGreat the powers of the waters;\nLoan to me the strength of oceans,\nTo upset this mighty oak-tree,\nTo uproot this tree of evil,\nThat again may shine the sunlight,\nThat the moon once more may glimmer.\u201d\n\nStraightway rose a form from ocean,\nRose a hero from the waters,\nNor belonged he to the largest,\nNor belonged he to the smallest,\nLong was he as man\u2019s forefinger,\nTaller than the hand of woman;\nOn his head a cap of copper,\nBoots upon his feet were copper,\nGloves upon his hands were copper,\nAnd its stripes were copper-colored,\nBelt around him made of copper,\nHatchet in his belt was copper;\nAnd the handle of his hatchet\nWas as long as hand of woman,\nOf a finger\u2019s breadth the blade was.\nThen the trusty Wainamoinen\nThought awhile and well considered,\nAnd his measures are as follow:\n\u201cArt thou, sir, divine or human?\nWhich of these thou only knowest;\nTell me what thy name and station.\nVery like a man thou lookest,\nHast the bearing of a hero,\nThough the length of man\u2019s first finger,\nScarce as tall as hoof of reindeer.\u201d\n\nThen again spake Wainamoinen\nTo the form from out the ocean:\n\u201cVerily I think thee human,\nOf the race of pigmy-heroes,\nMight as well be dead or dying,\nFit for nothing but to perish.\u201d\n\nAnswered thus the pigmy-hero,\nSpake the small one from the ocean\nTo the valiant Wainamoinen:\n\u201cTruly am I god and hero,\nFrom the tribes that rule the ocean;\nCome I here to fell the oak-tree,\nLop its branches with my hatchet.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and trusty,\nAnswers thus the sea-born hero:\n\u201cNever hast thou force sufficient,\nNot to thee has strength been given,\nTo uproot this mighty oak-tree,\nTo upset this thing of evil,\nNor to lop its hundred branches.\u201d\n\nScarcely had he finished speaking,\nScarcely had he moved his eyelids,\nEre the pigmy full unfolding,\nQuick becomes a mighty giant.\nWith one step he leaves the ocean,\nPlants himself, a mighty hero,\nOn the forest-fields surrounding;\nWith his head the clouds he pierces,\nTo his knees his beard extending,\nAnd his locks fall to his ankles;\nFar apart appear his eyeballs,\nFar apart his feet are stationed,\nFarther still his mighty shoulders.\nNow begins his axe to sharpen,\nQuickly to an edge he whets it,\nUsing six hard blocks of sandstone,\nAnd of softer whetstones, seven.\nStraightway to the oak-tree turning,\nThither stalks the mighty giant,\nIn his raiment long and roomy,\nFlapping in the winds of heaven;\nWith his second step he totters\nOn the land of darker color;\nWith his third stop firmly planted,\nReaches he the oak-tree\u2019s branches,\nStrikes the trunk with sharpened hatchet,\nWith one mighty swing he strikes it,\nWith a second blow he cuts it;\nAs his blade descends the third time,\nFrom his axe the sparks fly upward,\nFrom the oak-tree fire outshooting;\nEre the axe descends a fourth time,\nYields the oak with hundred branches,\nShaking earth and heaven in falling.\nEastward far the trunk extending,\nFar to westward flew the tree-tops,\nTo the South the leaves were scattered,\nTo the North its hundred branches.\nWhosoe\u2019er a branch has taken,\nHas obtained eternal welfare;\nWho secures himself a tree-top,\nHe has gained the master magic;\nWho the foliage has gathered,\nHas delight that never ceases.\nOf the chips some had been scattered,\nScattered also many splinters,\nOn the blue back of the ocean,\nOf the ocean smooth and mirrored,\nRocked there by the winds and waters,\nLike a boat upon the billows;\nStorm-winds blew them to the Northland,\nSome the ocean currents carried.\n\nNorthland\u2019s fair and slender maiden,\nWashing on the shore a head-dress,\nBeating on the rocks her garments,\nRinsing there her silken raiment,\nIn the waters of Pohyola,\nThere beheld the chips and splinters,\nCarried by the winds and waters.\nIn a bag the chips she gathered,\nTook them to the ancient court-yard,\nThere to make enchanted arrows,\nArrows for the great magician,\nThere to shape them into weapons,\nWeapons for the skilful archer,\nSince the mighty oak has fallen,\nNow has lost its hundred branches,\nThat the North may see the sunshine,\nSee the gentle gleam of moonlight,\nThat the clouds may keep their courses,\nMay extend the vault of heaven\nOver every lake and river,\nO\u2019er the banks of every island.\n\nGroves arose in varied beauty,\nBeautifully grew the forests,\nAnd again, the vines and flowers.\nBirds again sang in the tree-tops,\nNoisily the merry thrushes,\nAnd the cuckoos in the birch-trees;\nOn the mountains grew the berries,\nGolden flowers in the meadows,\nAnd the herbs of many colors,\nMany kinds of vegetation;\nBut the barley is not growing.\n\nWainamoinen, old and trusty,\nGoes away and well considers,\nBy the borders of the waters,\nOn the ocean\u2019s sandy margin,\nFinds six seeds of golden barley,\nEven seven ripened kernels,\nOn the shore of upper Northland,\nIn the sand upon the sea-shore,\nHides them in his trusty pouches,\nFashioned from the skin of squirrel,\nSome were made from skin of marten;\nHastens forth the seeds to scatter,\nQuickly sows the barley kernels,\nOn the brinks of Kalew-waters,\nOn the Osma-hills and lowlands.\n\nHark! the titmouse wildly crying,\nFrom the aspen, words as follow:\n\u201cOsma\u2019s barley will not flourish,\nNot the barley of Wainola,\nIf the soil be not made ready,\nIf the forest be not levelled,\nAnd the branches burned to ashes.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, wise and ancient,\nMade himself an axe for chopping,\nThen began to clear the forest,\nThen began the trees to level,\nFelled the trees of all descriptions,\nOnly left the birch-tree standing\nFor the birds a place of resting,\nWhere might sing the sweet-voiced cuckoo,\nSacred bird in sacred branches.\nDown from heaven came the eagle,\nThrough the air he came a-flying,\nThat he might this thing consider;\nAnd he spake the words that follow:\n\u201cWherefore, ancient Wainamoinen,\nHast thou left the slender birch-tree,\nLeft the birch-tree only standing?\u201d\nWainamoinen thus made answer:\n\u201cTherefore is the birch left standing,\nThat the birds may nest within it,\nThat the eagle there may rest him,\nThere may sing the sacred cuckoo.\u201d\nSpake the eagle, thus replying:\n\u201cGood indeed, thy hero-judgment,\nThat the birch-tree thou hast left us,\nLeft the sacred birch-tree standing,\nAs a resting-place for eagles,\nAnd for birds of every feather,\nEven I may rest upon it.\u201d\nQuickly then this bird of heaven,\nKindled fire among the branches;\nSoon the flames are fanned by north-winds,\nAnd the east-winds lend their forces,\nBurn the trees of all descriptions,\nBurn them all to dust and ashes,\nOnly is the birch left standing.\n\nWainamoinen, wise and ancient,\nBrings his magic grains of barley,\nBrings he forth his seven seed-grains,\nBrings them from his trusty pouches,\nFashioned from the skin of squirrel,\nSome were made from skin of marten.\nThence to sow his seeds he hastens,\nHastes the barley-grains to scatter,\nSpeaks unto himself these measures:\n\u201cI the seeds of life am sowing,\nSowing through my open fingers,\nFrom the hand of my Creator,\nIn this soil enriched with ashes,\nIn this soil to sprout and flourish.\nAncient mother, thou that livest\nFar below the earth and ocean,\nMother of the fields and forests,\nBring the rich soil to producing,\nBring the seed-grains to the sprouting,\nThat the barley well may flourish.\nNever will the earth unaided,\nYield the ripe nutritious barley;\nNever will her force be wanting,\nIf the givers give assistance,\nIf the givers grace the sowing,\nGrace the daughters of creation.\nRise, O earth, from out thy slumber,\nFrom the slumber-land of ages,\nLet the barley-grains be sprouting,\nLet the blades themselves be starting,\nLet the verdant stalks be rising,\nLet the ears themselves be growing,\nAnd a hundredfold producing,\nFrom my plowing and my sowing,\nFrom my skilled and honest labor.\nUkko, thou O God, up yonder,\nThou O Father of the heavens,\nThou that livest high in Ether,\nCurbest all the clouds of heaven,\nHoldest in the air thy counsel,\nHoldest in the clouds good counsel,\nFrom the East dispatch a cloudlet,\nFrom the North-east send a rain-cloud,\nFrom the West another send us,\nFrom the North-west, still another,\nQuickly from the South a warm-cloud,\nThat the rain may fall from heaven,\nThat the clouds may drop their honey,\nThat the ears may fill and ripen,\nThat the barley-fields may rustle.\u201d\n\nThereupon benignant Ukko,\nUkko, father of the heavens,\nHeld his counsel in the cloud-space,\nHeld good counsel in the Ether;\nFrom the East, he sent a cloudlet,\nFrom the North-east, sent a rain-cloud,\nFrom the West another sent he,\nFrom the North-west, still another,\nQuickly from the South a warm-cloud;\nJoined in seams the clouds together,\nSewed together all their edges,\nGrasped the cloud, and hurled it earthward.\nQuick the rain-cloud drops her honey,\nQuick the rain-drops fall from heaven,\nThat the ears may quickly ripen,\nThat the barley crop may rustle.\nStraightway grow the seeds of barley,\nFrom the germ the blade unfolding,\nRichly colored ears arising,\nFrom the rich soil of the fallow,\nFrom the work of Wainamoinen.\n\nHere a few days pass unnoted\nAnd as many nights fly over.\nWhen the seventh day had journeyed,\nOn the morning of the eighth day,\nWainamoinen, wise and ancient,\nWent to view his crop of barley,\nHow his plowing, how his sowing,\nHow his labors were resulting;\nFound his crop of barley growing,\nFound the blades were triple-knotted,\nAnd the ears he found six-sided.\n\nWainamoinen, old and trusty,\nTurned his face, and looked about him,\nLo! there comes a spring-time cuckoo,\nSpying out the slender birch-tree,\nRests upon it, sweetly singing:\n\u201cWherefore is the silver birch-tree\nLeft unharmed of all the forest?\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cTherefore I have left the birch-tree,\nLeft the birch-tree only growing,\nHome for thee for joyful singing.\nCall thou here, O sweet-voiced cuckoo,\nSing thou here from throat of velvet,\nSing thou here with voice of silver,\nSing the cuckoo\u2019s golden flute-notes;\nCall at morning, call at evening,\nCall within the hour of noontide,\nFor the better growth of forests,\nFor the ripening of the barley,\nFor the richness of, the Northland,\nFor the joy of Kalevala.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE III.\nWAINAMOINEN AND YOUKAHAINEN.\n\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nPassed his years in full contentment,\nOn the meadows of Wainola,\nOn the plains of Kalevala,\nSinging ever wondrous legends,\nSongs of ancient wit and wisdom,\nChanting one day, then a second,\nSinging in the dusk of evening,\nSinging till the dawn of morning,\nNow the tales of old-time heroes,\nTales of ages long forgotten,\nNow the legends of creation,\nOnce familiar to the children,\nBy our children sung no longer,\nSung in part by many heroes,\nIn these mournful days of evil,\nEvil days our race befallen.\nFar and wide the story travelled,\nFar away men spread the knowledge\nOf the chanting of the hero,\nOf the song of Wainamoinen;\nTo the South were heard the echoes,\nAll of Northland heard the story.\n\nFar away in dismal Northland,\nLived the singer, Youkahainen,\nLapland\u2019s young and reckless minstrel.\nOnce upon a time when feasting,\nDining with his friends and fellows,\nCame upon his ears the story,\nThat there lived a sweeter singer,\nOn the meadows of Wainola,\nOn the plains of Kalevala,\nBetter skilled in chanting legends,\nBetter skilled than Youkahainen,\nBetter than the one that taught him.\n\nStraightway then the bard grew angry,\nEnvy rose within his bosom,\nEnvy of this Wainamoinen,\nFamed to be a sweeter singer;\nHastes he angry to his mother,\nTo his mother, full of wisdom,\nVows that he will southward hasten,\nHie him southward and betake him\nTo the dwellings of Wainola,\nTo the cabins of the Northland,\nThere as bard to vie in battle,\nWith the famous Wainamoinen.\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d replies the anxious father,\n\u201cDo not go to Kalevala.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d replies the fearful mother,\n\u201cGo not hence to Wainamoinen,\nThere with him to offer battle;\nHe will charm thee with his singing\nWill bewitch thee in his anger,\nHe will drive thee back dishonored,\nSink thee in the fatal snow-drift,\nTurn to ice thy pliant fingers,\nTurn to ice thy feet and ankles.\u201d\nThese the words of Youkahainen:\n\u201cGood the judgement of a father,\nBetter still, a mother\u2019s counsel,\nBest of all one\u2019s own decision.\nI will go and face the minstrel,\nChallenge him to sing in contest,\nChallenge him as bard to battle,\nSing to him my sweet-toned measures,\nChant to him my oldest legends,\nChant to him my garnered wisdom,\nThat this best of boasted singers,\nThat this famous bard of Suomi,\nShall be worsted in the contest,\nShall become a hapless minstrel;\nBy my songs shall I transform him,\nThat his feet shall be as flint-stone,\nAnd as oak his nether raiment;\nAnd this famous, best of singers,\nThus bewitched, shall carry ever,\nIn his heart a stony burden,\nOn his shoulder bow of marble,\nOn his hand a flint-stone gauntlet,\nOn his brow a stony visor.\u201d\n\nThen the wizard, Youkahainen,\nHeeding not advice paternal,\nHeeding not his mother\u2019s counsel,\nLeads his courser from his stable,\nFire outstreaming from his nostrils,\nFrom his hoofs, the sparks outshooting,\nHitches to his sledge, the fleet-foot,\nTo his golden sledge, the courser,\nMounts impetuous his snow-sledge,\nLeaps upon the hindmost cross-bench,\nStrikes his courser with his birch-whip,\nWith his birch-whip, pearl-enamelled.\nInstantly the prancing racer\nSprings away upon his journey;\nOn he, restless, plunges northward,\nAll day long he onward gallops,\nAll the next day, onward, onward,\nSo the third from morn till evening,\nTill the third day twilight brings him\nTo the meadows of Wainola,\nTo the plains of Kalevala.\n\nAs it happened, Wainamoinen,\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nRode that sunset on the highway,\nSilently for pleasure driving\nDown Wainola\u2019s peaceful meadows,\nO\u2019er the plains of Kalevala.\n\nYoukahainen, young and fiery,\nUrging still his foaming courser,\nDashes down upon the singer,\nDoes not turn aside in meeting,\nMeeting thus in full collision;\nShafts are driven tight together,\nHames and collars wedged and tangled,\nTangled are the reins and traces.\nThus perforce they make a stand-still,\nThus remain and well consider;\nWater drips from hame and collar,\nVapors rise from both their horses.\nSpeaks the minstrel, Wainamoinen:\n\u201cWho art thou, and whence? Thou comest\nDriving like a stupid stripling,\nCareless, dashing down upon me.\nThou hast ruined shafts and traces;\nAnd the collar of my racer\nThou hast shattered into ruin,\nAnd my golden sleigh is broken,\nBox and runners dashed to pieces.\u201d\n\nYoukahainen then make answer,\nSpake at last the words that follow:\n\u201cI am youthful Youkahainen,\nBut make answer first, who thou art,\nWhence thou comest, where thou goest,\nFrom what lowly tribe descended?\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, wise and ancient,\nAnswered thus the youthful minstrel:\n\u201cIf thou art but Youkahainen,\nThou shouldst give me all the highway;\nI am many years thy senior.\u201d\n\nThen the boastful Youkahainen\nSpake again to Wainamoinen:\n\u201cYoung or ancient, little matter,\nLittle consequence the age is;\nHe that higher stands in wisdom,\nHe whose knowledge is the greater,\nHe that is the sweeter singer,\nHe alone shall keep the highway,\nAnd the other take the roadside.\nArt thou ancient Wainamoinen,\nFamous sorcerer and minstrel?\nLet us then begin our singing,\nLet us sing our ancient legends,\nLet us chant our garnered wisdom,\nThat the one may hear the other,\nThat the one may judge the other,\nIn a war of wizard sayings.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, wise and ancient,\nThus replied in modest accents:\n\u201cWhat I know is very little,\nHardly is it worth the singing,\nNeither is my singing wondrous:\nAll my days I have resided\nIn the cold and dreary Northland,\nIn a desert land enchanted,\nIn my cottage home for ages;\nAll the songs that I have gathered,\nAre the cuckoo\u2019s simple measures,\nSome of these I may remember;\nBut since thou perforce demandest,\nI accept thy boastful challenge.\nTell me now, my golden youngster,\nWhat thou knowest more than others,\nOpen now thy store of wisdom.\u201d\n\nThus made answer Youkahainen,\nLapland\u2019s young and fiery minstrel:\n\u201cKnow I many bits of learning,\nThis I know in perfect clearness:\nEvery roof must have a chimney,\nEvery fire-place have a hearth-stone;\nLives of seal are free and merry,\nMerry is the life of walrus,\nFeeding on incautious salmon,\nDaily eating perch and whiting;\nWhitings live in quiet shallows,\nSalmon love the level bottoms;\nSpawns the pike in coldest weather,\nAnd defies the storms of winter.\nSlowly perches swim in Autumn,\nWry-backed, hunting deeper water,\nSpawn in shallows in the summer,\nBounding on the shore of ocean.\nShould this wisdom seem too little,\nI can tell thee other matters,\nSing thee other wizard sayings:\nAll the Northmen plow with reindeer,\nMother-horses plow the Southland,\nInner Lapland plows with oxen;\nAll the trees on Pisa-mountain,\nKnow I well in all their grandeur;\nOn the Horna-rock are fir-trees,\nFir-trees growing tall and slender;\nSlender grow the trees on mountains.\nThree, the water-falls in number,\nThree in number, inland oceans,\nThree in number, lofty mountains,\nShooting to the vault of heaven.\nHallapyora\u2019s near to Yaemen,\nKatrakoski in Karyala;\nImatra, the falling water,\nTumbles, roaring, into Wuoksi.\u201d\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cWomen\u2019s tales and children\u2019s wisdom\nDo not please a bearded hero,\nHero, old enough for wedlock;\nTell the story of creation,\nTell me of the world\u2019s beginning,\nTell me of the creatures in it,\nAnd philosophize a little.\u201d\n\nThen the youthful Youkahainen\nThus replied to Wainamoinen:\n\u201cKnow I well the titmouse-fountains,\nPretty birdling is the titmouse;\nAnd the viper, green, a serpent;\nWhitings live in brackish waters;\nPerches swim in every river;\nIron rusts, and rusting weakens;\nBitter is the taste of umber;\nBoiling water is malicious;\nFire is ever full of danger;\nFirst physician, the Creator;\nRemedy the oldest, water;\nMagic is the child of sea-foam;\nGod the first and best adviser;\nWaters gush from every mountain;\nFire descended first from heaven;\nIron from the rust was fashioned;\nCopper from the rocks created;\nMarshes are of lands the oldest;\nFirst of all the trees, the willow;\nFir-trees were the first of houses;\nHollowed stones the first of kettles.\u201d\n\nNow the ancient Wainamoinen\nThus addresses Youkahainen:\n\u201cCanst thou give me now some wisdom,\nIs this nonsense all thou knowest?\u201d\nYoukahainen thus made answer:\n\u201cI can tell thee still a trifle,\nTell thee of the times primeval,\nWhen I plowed the salt-sea\u2019s bosom,\nWhen I raked the sea-girt islands,\nWhen I dug the salmon-grottoes,\nHollowed out the deepest caverns,\nWhen I all the lakes created,\nWhen I heaped the mountains round them,\nWhen I piled the rocks about them.\nI was present as a hero,\nSixth of wise and ancient heroes,\nSeventh of all primeval heroes,\nWhen the heavens were created,\nWhen were formed the ether-spaces,\nWhen the sky was crystal-pillared,\nWhen was arched the beauteous rainbow,\nWhen the Moon was placed in orbit,\nWhen the silver Sun was planted,\nWhen the Bear was firmly stationed,\nAnd with stars the heavens were sprinkled.\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cThou art surely prince of liars,\nLord of all the host of liars;\nNever wert thou in existence,\nSurely wert thou never present,\nWhen was plowed the salt-sea\u2019s bosom,\nWhen were raked the sea-girt islands,\nWhen were dug the salmon-grottoes,\nWhen were hollowed out the caverns,\nWhen the lakes were all created,\nWhen were heaped the mountains round them,\nWhen the rocks were piled about them.\nThou wert never seen or heard of\nWhen the earth was first created,\nWhen were made the ether-spaces,\nWhen the air was crystal-pillared,\nWhen the Moon was placed in orbit,\nWhen the silver Sun was planted,\nWhen the Bear was firmly stationed,\nWhen the skies with stars were sprinkled.\u201d\n\nThen in anger Youkahainen\nAnswered ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cThen, sir, since I fail in wisdom,\nWith the sword I offer battle;\nCome thou, famous bard and minstrel,\nThou the ancient wonder-singer,\nLet us try our strength with broadswords,\nLet our blades be fully tested.\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cNot thy sword and not thy wisdom,\nNot thy prudence, nor thy cunning,\nDo I fear a single moment.\nLet who may accept thy challenge,\nNot with thee, a puny braggart,\nNot with one so vain and paltry,\nWill I ever measure broadswords.\u201d\n\nThen the youthful Youkahainen,\nMouth awry and visage sneering,\nShook his golden locks and answered:\n\u201cWhoso fears his blade to measure,\nFears to test his strength at broadswords,\nInto wild-boar of the forest,\nSwine at heart and swine in visage,\nSinging I will thus transform him;\nI will hurl such hero-cowards,\nThis one hither, that one thither,\nStamp him in the mire and bedding,\nIn the rubbish of the stable.\u201d\n\nAngry then grew Wainamoinen,\nWrathful waxed, and fiercely frowning,\nSelf-composed he broke his silence,\nAnd began his wondrous singing.\nSang he not the tales of childhood,\nChildren\u2019s nonsense, wit of women,\nSang he rather bearded heroes,\nThat the children never heard of,\nThat the boys and maidens knew not,\nKnown but half by bride and bridegroom,\nKnown in part by many heroes,\nIn these mournful days of evil,\nEvil times our race befallen.\nGrandly sang wise Wainamoinen,\nTill the copper-bearing mountains,\nAnd the flinty rocks and ledges\nHeard his magic tones and trembled;\nMountain cliffs were torn to pieces,\nAll the ocean heaved and tumbled;\nAnd the distant hills re-echoed.\nLo! the boastful Youkahainen\nIs transfixed in silent wonder,\nAnd his sledge with golden trimmings\nFloats like brushwood on the billows;\nSings his braces into reed-grass,\nSings his reins to twigs of willow,\nAnd to shrubs his golden cross-bench.\nLo! his birch-whip, pearl-enameled,\nFloats a reed upon the border;\nLo! his steed with golden forehead,\nStands a statue on the waters;\nHames and traces are as fir-boughs,\nAnd his collar, straw and sea-grass.\nStill the minstrel sings enchantment,\nSings his sword with golden handle,\nSings it into gleam of lightning,\nHangs it in the sky above him;\nSings his cross-bow, gaily painted,\nTo a rainbow o\u2019er the ocean;\nSings his quick and feathered arrows\nInto hawks and screaming eagles;\nSings his dog with bended muzzle,\nInto block of stone beside him;\nSings his cap from off his forehead,\nSings it into wreaths of vapor;\nFrom his hands he sings his gauntlets\nInto rushes on the waters;\nSings his vesture, purple-colored,\nInto white clouds in the heavens;\nSings his girdle, set with jewels,\nInto twinkling stars around him;\nAnd alas! for Youkahainen,\nSings him into deeps of quick-sand;\nEver deeper, deeper, deeper,\nIn his torture, sinks the wizard,\nTo his belt in mud and water.\nNow it was that Youkahainen\nComprehended but too clearly\nWhat his folly, what the end was,\nOf the journey he had ventured,\nVainly he had undertaken\nFor the glory of a contest\nWith the grand, old Wainamoinen.\n\nWhen at last young Youkahainen,\nPohyola\u2019s old and sorry stripling,\nStrives his best to move his right foot,\nBut alas! the foot obeys not;\nWhen he strives to move his left foot,\nLo! he finds it turned to flint-stone.\n\nThereupon sad Youkahainen,\nIn the deeps of desperation,\nAnd in earnest supplication,\nThus addresses Wainamoinen:\n\u201cO thou wise and worthy minstrel,\nThou the only true magician,\nCease I pray thee thine enchantment,\nOnly turn away thy magic,\nLet me leave this slough of horror,\nLoose me from this stony prison,\nFree me from this killing torment,\nI will pay a golden ransom.\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cWhat the ransom thou wilt give me\nIf I cease from mine enchantment,\nIf I turn away my magic,\nLift thee from thy slough of horror,\nLoose thee from thy stony prison,\nFree thee from thy killing torment?\u201d\nAnswered youthful Youkahainen:\n\u201cHave at home two magic cross-bows,\nPair of bows of wondrous power,\nOne so light a child can bend it,\nOnly strength can bend the other,\nTake of these the one that pleases.\u201d\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cDo not wish thy magic cross-bows,\nHave a few of such already,\nThine to me are worse than useless;\nI have bows in great abundance,\nBows on every nail and rafter,\nBows that laugh at all the hunters,\nBows that go themselves a-hunting.\u201d\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nSang alas! poor Youkahainen\nDeeper into mud and water,\nDeeper in the slough of torment.\nYoukahainen thus made answer:\n\u201cHave at home two magic shallops,\nBeautiful the boats and wondrous;\nOne rides light upon the ocean,\nOne is made for heavy burdens;\nTake of these the one that pleases.\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cDo not wish thy magic shallops,\nHave enough of such already;\nAll my bays are full of shallops,\nAll my shores are lined with shallops,\nSome before the winds are sailors,\nSome were built to sail against them.\u201d\n\nStill the minstrel of Wainola\nSings again poor Youkahainen\nDeeper, deeper into torment,\nInto quicksand to his girdle,\nTill the Lapland bard in anguish\nSpeaks again to Wainamoinen:\n\u201cHave at home two magic stallions,\nOne a racer, fleet as lightning,\nOne was born for heavy burdens;\nTake of these the one that pleases.\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cNeither do I wish thy stallions,\nDo not need thy hawk-limbed stallions,\nHave enough of these already;\nMagic stallions swarm my stables,\nEating corn at every manger,\nBroad of back to hold the water,\nWater on each croup in lakelets.\u201d\n\nStill the bard of Kalevala\nSings the hapless Lapland minstrel\nDeeper, deeper into torment,\nTo his shoulders into water.\nSpake again young Youkahainen:\n\u201cO thou ancient Wainamoinen,\nThou the only true magician,\nCease I pray thee thine enchantment,\nOnly turn away thy magic,\nI will give thee gold abundant,\nCountless stores of shining silver;\nFrom the wars my father brought it,\nBrought it from the hard-fought battles.\u201d\nSpake the wise, old Wainamoinen:\n\u201cFor thy gold I have no longing,\nNeither do I wish thy silver,\nHave enough of each already;\nGold abundant fills my chambers,\nOn each nail hang bags of silver,\nGold that glitters in the sunshine,\nSilver shining in the moonlight.\u201d\n\nSank the braggart, Youkahainen,\nDeeper in his slough of torment,\nTo his chin in mud and water,\nEver praying, thus beseeching:\n\u201cO thou ancient Wainamoinen,\nGreatest of the old magicians,\nLift me from this pit of horror,\nFrom this prison-house of torture;\nI will give thee all my corn-fields,\nGive thee all my corn in garners,\nThus my hapless life to ransom,\nThus to gain eternal freedom.\u201d\nWainamoinen thus made answer:\n\u201cTake thy corn to other markets,\nGive thy garners to the needy;\nI have corn in great abundance,\nFields have I in every quarter,\nCorn in all my fields is growing;\nOne\u2019s own fields are always richer,\nOne\u2019s own grain is much the sweeter.\u201d\n\nLapland\u2019s young and reckless minstrel,\nSorrow-laden, thus enchanted,\nDeeper sinks in mud and water,\nFear-enchained and full of anguish,\nIn the mire, his beard bedrabbled,\nMouth once boastful filled with sea-weed,\nIn the grass his teeth entangled,\nYoukahainen thus beseeches:\n\u201cO thou ancient Wainamoinen,\nWisest of the wisdom-singers,\nCease at last thine incantations,\nOnly turn away thy magic,\nAnd my former life restore me,\nLift me from this stifling torment,\nFree mine eyes from sand and water,\nI will give thee sister, Aino,\nFairest daughter of my mother,\nBride of thine to be forever,\nBride of thine to do thy pleasure,\nSweep the rooms within thy cottage,\nKeep thy dwelling-place in order,\nRinse for thee the golden platters,\nSpread thy couch with finest linens,\nFor thy bed, weave golden covers,\nBake for thee the honey-biscuit.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nFinds at last the wished-for ransom,\nLapland\u2019s young and fairest daughter,\nSister dear of Youkahainen;\nHappy he, that he has won him,\nIn his age a beauteous maiden,\nBride of his to be forever,\nPride and joy of Kalevala.\nNow the happy Wainamoinen,\nSits upon the rock of gladness,\nJoyful on the rock of music,\nSings a little, sings and ceases,\nSings again, and sings a third time,\nThus to break the spell of magic,\nThus to lessen the enchantment,\nThus the potent charm to banish.\nAs the magic spell is broken,\nYoukahainen, sad, but wiser,\nDrags his feet from out the quicksand,\nLifts his beard from out the water,\nFrom the rocks leads forth his courser,\nBrings his sledge back from the rushes,\nCalls his whip back from the ocean,\nSets his golden sledge in order,\nThrows himself upon the cross-bench,\nSnaps his whip and hies him homeward,\nHastens homeward, heavy-hearted,\nSad indeed to meet his mother,\nAino\u2019s mother, gray and aged.\nCareless thus he hastens homeward,\nNears his home with noise and bustle,\nReckless drives against the pent-house,\nBreaks the shafts against the portals,\nBreaks his handsome sledge in pieces.\n\nThen his mother, quickly guessing,\nWould have chided him for rashness,\nBut the father interrupted:\n\u201cWherefore dost thou break thy snow-sledge,\nWherefore dash thy thills in fragments,\nWherefore comest home so strangely,\nWhy this rude and wild behavior?\u201d\n\nNow alas! poor Youkahainen,\nCap awry upon his forehead,\nFalls to weeping, broken-hearted,\nHead depressed and mind dejected,\nEyes and lips expressing sadness,\nAnswers not his anxious father.\n\nThen the mother quickly asked him,\nSought to find his cause for sorrow:\n\u201cTell me, first-born, why thou weepest,\nWhy thou weepest, heavy-hearted,\nWhy thy mind is so dejected,\nWhy thine eyes express such sadness.\u201d\nYoukahainen then made answer:\n\u201cGolden mother, ever faithful,\nCause there is to me sufficient,\nCause enough in what has happened,\nBitter cause for this my sorrow,\nCause for bitter tears and murmurs:\nAll my days will pass unhappy,\nSince, O mother of my being,\nI have promised beauteous Aino,\nAino, thy beloved daughter,\nAino, my devoted sister,\nTo decrepit Wainamoinen,\nBride to be to him forever,\nRoof above him, prop beneath him,\nFair companion at his fire-side.\u201d\n\nJoyful then arose the mother,\nClapped her hands in glee together,\nThus addressing Youkahainen:\n\u201cWeep no more, my son beloved,\nThou hast naught to cause thy weeping,\nHast no reason for thy sorrow,\nOften I this hope have cherished;\nMany years have I been praying\nThat this mighty bard and hero,\nWise and valiant Wainamoinen,\nSpouse should be to beauteous Aino,\nSon-in-law to me, her mother.\u201d\n\nBut the fair and lovely maiden,\nSister dear of Youkahainen,\nStraightway fell to bitter weeping,\nOn the threshold wept and lingered,\nWept all day and all the night long,\nWept a second, then a third day,\nWept because a bitter sorrow\nOn her youthful heart had fallen.\nThen the gray-haired mother asked her:\n\u201cWhy this weeping, lovely Aino?\nThou hast found a noble suitor,\nThou wilt rule his spacious dwelling,\nAt his window sit and rest thee,\nRinse betimes his golden platters,\nWalk a queen within his dwelling.\u201d\nThus replied the tearful Aino:\n\u201cMother dear, and all-forgiving,\nCause enough for this my sorrow,\nCause enough for bitter weeping:\nI must loose my sunny tresses,\nTresses beautiful and golden,\nCannot deck my hair with jewels,\nCannot bind my head with ribbons,\nAll to be hereafter hidden\nUnderneath the linen bonnet\nThat the wife must wear forever;\nWeep at morning, weep at evening,\nWeep alas! for waning beauty,\nChildhood vanished, youth departed,\nSilver sunshine, golden moonlight,\nHope and pleasure of my childhood,\nTaken from me now forever,\nAnd so soon to be forgotten\nAt the tool-bench of my brother,\nAt the window of my sister,\nIn the cottage of my father.\u201d\n\nSpake again the gray-haired mother\nTo her wailing daughter Aino:\n\u201cCease thy sorrow, foolish maiden,\nBy thy tears thou art ungrateful,\nReason none for thy repining,\nNot the slightest cause for weeping;\nEverywhere the silver sunshine\nFalls as bright on other households;\nNot alone the moonlight glimmers\nThrough thy father\u2019s open windows,\nOn the work-bench of thy brother;\nFlowers bloom in every meadow,\nBerries grow on every mountain;\nThou canst go thyself and find them,\nAll the day long go and find them;\nNot alone thy brother\u2019s meadows\nGrow the beauteous vines and flowers;\nNot alone thy father\u2019s mountains\nYield the ripe, nutritious berries;\nFlowers bloom in other meadows,\nBerries grow on other mountains,\nThere as here, my lovely Aino.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE IV.\nTHE FATE OF AINO.\n\n\nWhen the night had passed, the maiden,\nSister fair of Youkahainen,\nHastened early to the forest,\nBirchen shoots for brooms to gather,\nWent to gather birchen tassels;\nBound a bundle for her father,\nBound a birch-broom for her mother,\nSilken tassels for her sister.\nStraightway then she hastened homeward,\nBy a foot-path left the forest;\nAs she neared the woodland border,\nLo! the ancient Wainamoinen,\nQuickly spying out the maiden,\nAs she left the birchen woodland,\nTrimly dressed in costly raiment,\nAnd the minstrel thus addressed her:\n\u201cAino, beauty of the Northland,\nWear not, lovely maid, for others,\nOnly wear for me, sweet maiden,\nGolden cross upon thy bosom,\nShining pearls upon thy shoulders;\nBind for me thine auburn tresses,\nWear for me thy golden braidlets.\u201d\nThus the maiden quickly answered:\n\u201cNot for thee and not for others,\nHang I from my neck the crosslet,\nDeck my hair with silken ribbons;\nNeed no more the many trinkets\nBrought to me by ship or shallop;\nSooner wear the simplest raiment,\nFeed upon the barley bread-crust,\nDwell forever with my mother\nIn the cabin with my father.\u201d\n\nThen she threw the gold cross from her,\nTore the jewels from her fingers,\nQuickly loosed her shining necklace,\nQuick untied her silken ribbons,\nCast them all away indignant\nInto forest ferns and flowers.\nThereupon the maiden, Aino,\nHastened to her mother\u2019s cottage.\n\nAt the window sat her father\nWhittling on an oaken ax-helve:\n\u201cWherefore weepest, beauteous Aino,\nAino, my beloved daughter?\u201d\n\n\u201cCause enough for weeping, father,\nGood the reasons for my mourning,\nThis, the reason for my weeping,\nThis, the cause of all my sorrow:\nFrom my breast I tore the crosslet,\nFrom my belt, the clasp of copper,\nFrom my waist, the belt of silver,\nGolden was my pretty crosslet.\u201d\n\nNear the door-way sat her brother,\nCarving out a birchen ox-bow:\n\u201cWhy art weeping, lovely Aino,\nAino, my devoted sister?\u201d\n\n\u201cCause enough for weeping, brother,\nGood the reasons for my mourning:\nTherefore come I as thou seest,\nRings no longer on my fingers,\nOn my neck no pretty necklace;\nGolden were the rings thou gavest,\nAnd the necklace, pearls and silver!\u201d\n\nOn the threshold sat her sister,\nWeaving her a golden girdle:\n\u201cWhy art weeping, beauteous Aino,\nAino, my beloved sister?\u201d\n\n\u201cCause enough for weeping, sister,\nGood the reasons for my sorrow:\nTherefore come I as thou seest,\nOn my head no scarlet fillet,\nIn my hair no braids of silver,\nOn mine arms no purple ribbons,\nRound my neck no shining necklace,\nOn my breast no golden crosslet,\nIn mine ears no golden ear-rings.\u201d\n\nNear the door-way of the dairy,\nSkimming cream, sat Aino\u2019s mother.\n\u201cWhy art weeping, lovely Aino,\nAino, my devoted daughter?\u201d\nThus the sobbing maiden answered:\n\u201cLoving mother, all-forgiving,\nCause enough for this my weeping,\nGood the reasons for my sorrow,\nTherefore do I weep, dear mother:\nI have been within the forest,\nBrooms to bind and shoots to gather,\nThere to pluck some birchen tassels;\nBound a bundle for my father,\nBound a second for my mother,\nBound a third one for my brother,\nFor my sister silken tassels.\nStraightway then I hastened homeward,\nBy a foot-path left the forest;\nAs I reached the woodland border\nSpake Osmoinen from the cornfield,\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u2018Wear not, beauteous maid, for others,\nOnly wear for me, sweet maiden,\nOn thy breast a golden crosslet,\nShining pearls upon thy shoulders,\nBind for me thine auburn tresses,\nWeave for me thy silver braidlets.\u2019\nThen I threw the gold-cross from me,\nTore the jewels from my fingers,\nQuickly loosed my shining necklace,\nQuick untied my silken ribbons,\nCast them all away indignant,\nInto forest ferns and flowers.\nThen I thus addressed the singer:\n\u2018Not for thee and not for others,\nHang I from my neck the crosslet,\nDeck my hair with silken ribbons;\nNeed no more the many trinkets,\nBrought to me by ship and shallop;\nSooner wear the simplest raiment,\nFeed upon the barley bread-crust,\nDwell forever with my mother\nIn the cabin with my father.\u2019\u201d\n\nThus the gray-haired mother answered\nAino, her beloved daughter:\n\u201cWeep no more, my lovely maiden,\nWaste no more of thy sweet young-life;\nOne year eat thou my sweet butter,\nIt will make thee strong and ruddy;\nEat another year fresh bacon,\nIt will make thee tall and queenly;\nEat a third year only dainties,\nIt will make thee fair and lovely.\nNow make haste to yonder hill-top,\nTo the store-house on the mountain,\nOpen there the large compartment,\nThou will find it filled with boxes,\nChests and cases, trunks and boxes;\nOpen thou the box, the largest,\nLift away the gaudy cover,\nThou will find six golden girdles,\nSeven rainbow-tinted dresses,\nWoven by the Moon\u2019s fair daughters,\nFashioned by the Sun\u2019s sweet virgins.\nIn my young years once I wandered,\nAs a maiden on the mountains,\nIn the happy days of childhood,\nHunting berries in the coppice;\nThere by chance I heard the daughters\nOf the Moon as they were weaving;\nThere I also heard the daughters\nOf the Sun as they were spinning\nOn the red rims of the cloudlets,\nO\u2019er the blue edge of the forest,\nOn the border of the pine-wood,\nOn a high and distant mountain.\nI approached them, drawing nearer,\nStole myself within their hearing,\nThen began I to entreat them,\nThus besought them, gently pleading:\n\u2018Give thy silver, Moon\u2019s fair daughters,\nTo a poor, but worthy maiden;\nGive thy gold, O Sun\u2019s sweet virgins,\nTo this maiden, young and needy.\u2019\nThereupon the Moon\u2019s fair daughters\nGave me silver from their coffers;\nAnd the Sun\u2019s sweet shining virgins\nGave me gold from their abundance,\nGold to deck my throbbing temples,\nFor my hair the shining silver.\nThen I hastened joyful homeward,\nRichly laden with my treasures,\nHappy to my mother\u2019s cottage;\nWore them one day, than a second,\nThen a third day also wore them,\nTook the gold then from my temples,\nFrom my hair I took the silver,\nCareful laid them in their boxes,\nMany seasons have they lain there,\nHave not seen them since my childhood.\nDeck thy brow with silken ribbon,\nTrim with gold thy throbbing temples,\nAnd thy neck with pearly necklace,\nHang the gold-cross on thy bosom,\nRobe thyself in pure, white linen\nSpun from flax of finest fiber;\nWear withal the richest short-frock,\nFasten it with golden girdle;\nOn thy feet, put silken stockings,\nWith the shoes of finest leather;\nDeck thy hair with golden braidlets,\nBind it well with threads of silver;\nTrim with rings thy fairy fingers,\nAnd thy hands with dainty ruffles;\nCome bedecked then to thy chamber,\nThus return to this thy household,\nTo the greeting of thy kindred,\nTo the joy of all that know thee,\nFlushed thy cheeks as ruddy berries,\nComing as thy father\u2019s sunbeam,\nWalking beautiful and queenly,\nFar more beautiful than moonlight.\u201d\n\nThus she spake to weeping Aino,\nThus the mother to her daughter;\nBut the maiden, little hearing,\nDoes not heed her mother\u2019s wishes;\nStraightway hastens to the court-yard,\nThere to weep in bitter sorrow,\nAll alone to weep in anguish.\n\nWaiting long the wailing Aino\nThus at last soliloquizes:\n\u201cUnto what can I now liken\nHappy homes and joys of fortune?\nLike the waters in the river,\nLike the waves in yonder lakelet,\nLike the crystal waters flowing.\nUnto what, the biting sorrow\nOf the child of cold misfortune?\nLike the spirit of the sea-duck,\nLike the icicle in winter,\nWater in the well imprisoned.\nOften roamed my mind in childhood,\nWhen a maiden free and merry,\nHappily through fen and fallow,\nGamboled on the meads with lambkins,\nLingered with the ferns and flowers,\nKnowing neither pain nor trouble;\nNow my mind is filled with sorrow,\nWanders though the bog and stubble,\nWanders weary through the brambles,\nRoams throughout the dismal forest,\nTill my life is filled with darkness,\nAnd my spirit white with anguish.\nBetter had it been for Aino\nHad she never seen the sunlight,\nOr if born had died an infant,\nHad not lived to be a maiden\nIn these days of sin and sorrow,\nUnderneath a star so luckless.\nBetter had it been for Aino,\nHad she died upon the eighth day\nAfter seven nights had vanished;\nNeeded then but little linen,\nNeeded but a little coffin,\nAnd a grave of smallest measure;\nMother would have mourned a little,\nFather too perhaps a trifle,\nSister would have wept the day through,\nBrother might have shed a tear-drop,\nThus had ended all the mourning.\u201d\n\nThus poor Aino wept and murmured,\nWept one day, and then a second,\nWept a third from morn till even,\nWhen again her mother asked her:\n\u201cWhy this weeping, fairest daughter,\nDarling daughter, why this grieving?\u201d\nThus the tearful maiden answered:\n\u201cTherefore do I weep and sorrow,\nWretched maiden all my life long,\nSince poor Aino, thou hast given,\nSince thy daughter thou hast promised\nTo the aged Wainamoinen,\nComfort to his years declining,\nProp to stay him when he totters,\nIn the storm a roof above him,\nIn his home a cloak around him;\nBetter far if thou hadst sent me\nFar below the salt-sea surges,\nTo become the whiting\u2019s sister,\nAnd the friend of perch and salmon;\nBetter far to ride the billows,\nSwim the sea-foam as a mermaid,\nAnd the friend of nimble fishes,\nThan to be an old man\u2019s solace,\nProp to stay him when he totters,\nHand to aid him when he trembles,\nArm to guide him when he falters,\nStrength to give him when he weakens;\nBetter be the whiting\u2019s sister\nAnd the friend of perch and salmon,\nThan an old man\u2019s slave and darling.\u201d\n\nEnding thus she left her mother,\nStraightway hastened to the mountain,\nTo the store-house on the summit,\nOpened there the box the largest,\nFrom the box six lids she lifted,\nFound therein six golden girdles,\nSilken dresses seven in number.\nChoosing such as pleased her fancy,\nShe adorned herself as bidden,\nRobed herself to look her fairest,\nGold upon her throbbing temples,\nIn her hair the shining silver,\nOn her shoulders purple ribbons,\nBand of blue around her forehead,\nGolden cross, and rings, and jewels,\nFitting ornaments to beauty.\n\nNow she leaves her many treasures,\nLeaves the store-house on the mountain,\nFilled with gold and silver trinkets,\nWanders over field and meadow,\nOver stone-fields waste and barren,\nWanders on through fen and forest,\nThrough the forest vast and cheerless,\nWanders hither, wanders thither,\nSinging careless as she wanders,\nThis her mournful song and echo:\n\u201cWoe is me, my life hard-fated!\nWoe to Aino, broken-hearted!\nTorture racks my heart and temples,\nYet the sting would not be deeper,\nNor the pain and anguish greater,\nIf beneath this weight of sorrow,\nIn my saddened heart\u2019s dejection,\nI should yield my life forever,\nNow unhappy, I should perish!\nLo! the time has come for Aino\nFrom this cruel world to hasten,\nTo the kingdom of Tuoni,\nTo the realm of the departed,\nTo the isle of the hereafter.\nWeep no more for me, O Father,\nMother dear, withhold thy censure,\nLovely sister, dry thine eyelids,\nDo not mourn me, dearest brother,\nWhen I sink beneath the sea-foam,\nMake my home in salmon-grottoes,\nMake my bed in crystal waters,\nWater-ferns my couch and pillow.\u201d\n\nAll day long poor Aino wandered,\nAll the next day, sad and weary,\nSo the third from morn till evening,\nTill the cruel night enwrapped her,\nAs she reached the sandy margin,\nReached the cold and dismal sea-shore,\nSat upon the rock of sorrow,\nSat alone in cold and darkness,\nListened only to the music\nOf the winds and rolling billows,\nSinging all the dirge of Aino.\nAll that night the weary maiden\nWept and wandered on the border\nThrough the sand and sea-washed pebbles.\n\nAs the day dawns, looking round her,\nShe beholds three water-maidens,\nOn a headland jutting seaward,\nWater-maidens four in number,\nSitting on the wave-lashed ledges,\nSwimming now upon the billows,\nNow upon the rocks reposing.\nQuick the weeping maiden, Aino,\nHastens there to join the mermaids,\nFairy maidens of the waters.\nWeeping Aino, now disrobing,\nLays aside with care her garments,\nHangs her silk robes on the alders,\nDrops her gold-cross on the sea-shore,\nOn the aspen hangs her ribbons,\nOn the rocks her silken stockings,\nOn the grass her shoes of deer-skin,\nIn the sand her shining necklace,\nWith her rings and other jewels.\n\nOut at sea a goodly distance,\nStood a rock of rainbow colors,\nGlittering in silver sunlight.\nToward it springs the hapless maiden,\nThither swims the lovely Aino,\nUp the standing-stone has clambered,\nWishing there to rest a moment,\nRest upon the rock of beauty;\nWhen upon a sudden swaying\nTo and fro among the billows,\nWith a crash and roar of waters\nFalls the stone of many colors,\nFalls upon the very bottom\nOf the deep and boundless blue-sea.\nWith the stone of rainbow colors,\nFalls the weeping maiden, Aino,\nClinging to its craggy edges,\nSinking far below the surface,\nTo the bottom of the blue-sea.\nThus the weeping maiden vanished,\nThus poor Aino sank and perished,\nSinging as the stone descended,\nChanting thus as she departed:\n\u201cOnce to swim I sought the sea-side,\nThere to sport among the billows;\nWith the stone of many colors\nSank poor Aino to the bottom\nOf the deep and boundless blue-sea,\nLike a pretty son-bird perished.\nNever come a-fishing, father,\nTo the borders of these waters,\nNever during all thy life-time,\nAs thou lovest daughter Aino.\n\n\u201cMother dear, I sought the sea-side,\nThere to sport among the billows;\nWith the stone of many colors,\nSank poor Aino to the bottom\nOf the deep and boundless blue-sea,\nLike a pretty song-bird perished.\nNever mix thy bread, dear mother,\nWith the blue-sea\u2019s foam and waters,\nNever during all thy life-time,\nAs thou lovest daughter Aino.\n\n\u201cBrother dear, I sought the sea-side,\nThere to sport among the billows;\nWith the stone of many colors\nSank poor Aino to the bottom\nOf the deep and boundless blue-sea,\nLike a pretty song-bird perished.\nNever bring thy prancing war-horse,\nNever bring thy royal racer,\nNever bring thy steeds to water,\nTo the borders of the blue-sea,\nNever during all thy life-time,\nAs thou lovest sister Aino.\n\n\u201cSister dear, I sought the sea-side,\nThere to sport among the billows;\nWith the stone of many colors\nSank poor Aino to the bottom\nOf the deep and boundless blue-sea,\nLike a pretty song-bird perished.\nNever come to lave thine eyelids\nIn this rolling wave and sea-foam,\nNever during all thy life-time,\nAs thou lovest sister Aino.\nAll the waters in the blue-sea\nShall be blood of Aino\u2019s body;\nAll the fish that swim these waters\nShall be Aino\u2019s flesh forever;\nAll the willows on the sea-side\nShall be Aino\u2019s ribs hereafter;\nAll the sea-grass on the margin\nWill have grown from Aino\u2019s tresses.\u201d\n\nThus at last the maiden vanished,\nThus the lovely Aino perished.\nWho will tell the cruel story,\nWho will bear the evil tidings\nTo the cottage of her mother,\nOnce the home of lovely Aino?\nWill the bear repeat the story,\nTell the tidings to her mother?\nNay, the bear must not be herald,\nHe would slay the herds of cattle.\nWho then tell the cruel story,\nWho will bear the evil tidings\nTo the cottage of her father,\nOnce the home of lovely Aino?\nShall the wolf repeat the story,\nTell the sad news to her father?\nNay, the wolf must not be herald,\nHe would eat the gentle lambkins.\n\nWho then tell the cruel story,\nWho will bear the evil tidings.\nTo the cottage of her sister?\nWill the fox repeat the story\nTell the tidings to her sister?\nNay, the fox must not be herald,\nHe would eat the ducks and chickens.\n\nWho then tell the cruel story,\nWho will bear the evil tidings\nTo the cottage of her brother,\nOnce the home of lovely Aino?\nShall the hare repeat the story,\nBear the sad news to her brother?\nYea, the hare shall be the herald,\nTell to all the cruel story.\nThus the harmless hare makes answer:\n\u201cI will bear the evil tidings\nTo the former home of Aino,\nTell the story to her kindred.\u201d\n\nSwiftly flew the long-eared herald,\nLike the winds he hastened onward,\nGalloped swift as flight of eagles;\nNeck awry he bounded forward\nTill he gained the wished-for cottage,\nOnce the home of lovely Aino.\nSilent was the home, and vacant;\nSo he hastened to the bath-house,\nFound therein a group of maidens,\nWorking each upon a birch-broom.\nSat the hare upon the threshold,\nAnd the maidens thus addressed him:\n\u201cHie there, Long-legs, or we\u2019ll roast thee,\nHie there, Big-eye, or we\u2019ll stew thee,\nRoast thee for our lady\u2019s breakfast,\nStew thee for our master\u2019s dinner,\nMake of thee a meal for Aino,\nAnd her brother, Youkahainen!\nBetter therefore thou shouldst gallop\nTo thy burrow in the mountains,\nThan be roasted for our dinners.\u201d\n\nThen the haughty hare made answer,\nChanting thus the fate of Aino:\n\u201cThink ye not I journey hither,\nTo be roasted in the skillet,\nTo be stewed in yonder kettle;\nLet fell Lempo fill thy tables!\nI have come with evil tidings,\nCome to tell the cruel story\nOf the flight and death of Aino,\nSister dear of Youkahainen.\nWith the stone of many colors\nSank poor Aino to the bottom\nOf the deep and boundless waters,\nLike a pretty song-bird perished;\nHung her ribbons on the aspen,\nLeft her gold-cross on the sea-shore,\nSilken robes upon the alders,\nOn the rocks her silken stockings,\nOn the grass her shoes of deer-skin,\nIn the sand her shining necklace,\nIn the sand her rings and jewels;\nIn the waves, the lovely Aino,\nSleeping on the very bottom\nOf the deep and boundless blue-sea,\nIn the caverns of the salmon,\nThere to be the whiting\u2019s sister\nAnd the friend of nimble fishes.\u201d\n\nSadly weeps the ancient mother\nFrom her blue-eyes bitter tear-drops,\nAs in sad and wailing measures,\nBroken-hearted thus she answers:\n\u201cListen, all ye mothers, listen,\nLearn from me a tale of wisdom:\nNever urge unwilling daughters\nFrom the dwellings of their fathers,\nTo the bridegrooms that they love not,\nNot as I, inhuman mother,\nDrove away my lovely Aino,\nFairest daughter of the Northland.\u201d\n\nSadly weeps the gray-haired mother,\nAnd the tears that fall are bitter,\nFlowing down her wrinkled visage,\nTill they trickle on her bosom;\nThen across her heaving bosom,\nTill they reach her garment\u2019s border;\nThen adown her silken stockings,\nTill they touch her shoes of deer-skin;\nThen beneath her shoes of deer-skin,\nFlowing on and flowing ever,\nPart to earth as its possession,\nPart to water as its portion.\nAs the tear-drops fall and mingle,\nForm they streamlets three in number,\nAnd their source, the mother\u2019s eyelids,\nStreamlets formed from pearly tear-drops,\nFlowing on like little rivers,\nAnd each streamlet larger growing,\nSoon becomes a rushing torrent;\nIn each rushing, roaring torrent,\nThere a cataract is foaming,\nFoaming in the silver sunlight;\nFrom the cataract\u2019s commotion\nRise three pillared rocks in grandeur;\nFrom each rock, upon the summit,\nGrow three hillocks clothed in verdure;\nFrom each hillock, speckled birches,\nThree in number, struggle skyward;\nOn the summit of each birch-tree\nSits a golden cuckoo calling,\nAnd the three sing, all in concord:\n\u201cLove! O Love!\u201d the first one calleth;\nSings the second, \u201cSuitor! Suitor!\u201d\nAnd the third one calls and echoes,\n\u201cConsolation! Consolation!\u201d\nHe that \u201cLove! O Love!\u201d is calling,\nCalls three moons and calls unceasing,\nFor the love-rejecting maiden\nSleeping in the deep sea-castles.\nHe that \u201cSuitor! Suitor!\u201d singeth,\nSings six moons and sings unceasing\nFor the suitor that forever\nSings and sues without a hearing.\nHe that sadly sings and echoes,\n\u201cConsolation! Consolation!\u201d\nSings unceasing all his life long\nFor the broken-hearted mother\nThat must mourn and weep forever.\n\nWhen the lone and wretched mother\nHeard the sacred cuckoo singing,\nSpake she thus, and sorely weeping:\n\u201cWhen I hear the cuckoo calling,\nThen my heart is filled with sorrow;\nTears unlock my heavy eyelids,\nFlow adown my furrowed visage,\nTears as large as silver sea pearls;\nOlder grow my wearied elbows,\nWeaker ply my aged fingers,\nWearily, in all its members,\nDoes my body shake in palsy,\nWhen I hear the cuckoo singing,\nHear the sacred cuckoo calling.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE V.\nWAINAVOINEN\u2019S LAMENTATION.\n\n\nFar and wide the tidings travelled,\nFar away men heard the story\nOf the flight and death of Aino,\nSister dear of Youkahainen,\nFairest daughter of creation.\n\nWainamoinen, brave and truthful,\nStraightway fell to bitter weeping,\nWept at morning, wept at evening,\nSleepless, wept the dreary night long,\nThat his Aino had departed,\nThat the maiden thus had vanished,\nThus had sunk upon the bottom\nOf the blue-sea, deep and boundless.\n\nFilled with grief, the ancient singer,\nWainamoinen of the Northland,\nHeavy-hearted, sorely weeping,\nHastened to the restless waters,\nThis the suitor\u2019s prayer and question:\n\u201cTell, Untamo, tell me, dreamer,\nTell me, Indolence, thy visions,\nWhere the water-gods may linger,\nWhere may rest Wellamo\u2019s maidens?\u201d\n\nThen Untamo thus made answer,\nLazily he told his dreamings:\n\u201cOver there, the mermaid-dwellings,\nYonder live Wellamo\u2019s maidens,\nOn the headland robed in verdure,\nOn the forest-covered island,\nIn the deep, pellucid waters,\nOn the purple-colored sea-shore;\nYonder is the home of sea-maids,\nThere the maidens of Wellamo,\nLive there in their sea-side chambers,\nRest within their water-caverns,\nOn the rocks of rainbow colors,\nOn the juttings of the sea-cliffs.\u201d\n\nStraightway hastens Wainamoinen\nTo a boat-house on the sea-shore,\nLooks with care upon the fish-hooks,\nAnd the lines he well considers;\nLines, and hooks, and poles, and fish-nets,\nPlaces in a boat of copper,\nThen begins he swiftly rowing\nTo the forest-covered island,\nTo the point enrobed in verdure,\nTo the purple-colored headland,\nWhere the sea-nymphs live and linger.\nHardly does he reach the island\nEre the minstrel starts to angle;\nFar away he throws his fish-hook,\nTrolls it quickly through the waters,\nTurning on a copper swivel\nDangling from a silver fish-line,\nGolden is the hook he uses.\n\nNow he tries his silken fish-net,\nAngles long, and angles longer,\nAngles one day, then a second,\nIn the morning, in the evening,\nAngles at the hour of noontide,\nMany days and nights he angles,\nTill at last, one sunny morning,\nStrikes a fish of magic powers,\nPlays like salmon on his fish-line,\nLashing waves across the waters,\nTill at length the fish exhausted\nFalls a victim to the angler,\nSafely landed in the bottom\nOf the hero\u2019s boat of copper.\n\nWainamoinen, proudly viewing,\nSpeaks these words in wonder guessing:\n\u201cThis the fairest of all sea-fish,\nNever have I seen its equal,\nSmoother surely than the salmon,\nBrighter-spotted than the trout is,\nGrayer than the pike of Suomi,\nHas less fins than any female,\nNot the fins of any male fish,\nNot the stripes of sea-born maidens,\nNot the belt of any mermaid,\nNot the ears of any song-bird,\nSomewhat like our Northland salmon\nFrom the blue-sea\u2019s deepest caverns.\u201d\n\nIn his belt the ancient hero\nWore a knife insheathed with silver;\nFrom its case he drew the fish-knife,\nThus to carve the fish in pieces,\nDress the nameless fish for roasting,\nMake of it a dainty breakfast,\nMake of it a meal at noon-day,\nMake for him a toothsome supper,\nMake the later meal at evening.\n\nStraightway as the fish he touches,\nTouches with his knife of silver,\nQuick it leaps upon the waters,\nDives beneath the sea\u2019s smooth surface,\nFrom the boat with copper bottom,\nFrom the skiff of Wainamoinen.\n\nIn the waves at goodly distance,\nQuickly from the sea it rises\nOn the sixth and seventh billows,\nLifts its head above the waters,\nOut of reach of fishing-tackle,\nThen addresses Wainamoinen,\nChiding thus the ancient hero:\n\u201cWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nDo not think that I came hither\nTo be fished for as a salmon,\nOnly to be chopped in pieces,\nDressed and eaten like a whiting\nMake for thee a dainty breakfast,\nMake for thee a meal at midday,\nMake for thee a toothsome supper,\nMake the fourth meal of the Northland.\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cWherefore didst thou then come hither,\nIf it be not for my dinner?\u201d\nThus the nameless fish made answer:\n\u201cHither have I come, O minstrel,\nIn thine arms to rest and linger,\nAnd thyself to love and cherish,\nAt thy side a life-companion,\nAnd thy wife to be forever;\nDeck thy couch with snowy linen,\nSmooth thy head upon the pillow,\nSweep thy rooms and make them cheery,\nKeep thy dwelling-place in order,\nBuild a fire for thee when needed,\nBake for thee the honey-biscuit,\nFill thy cup with barley-water,\nDo for thee whatever pleases.\n\n\u201cI am not a scaly sea-fish,\nNot a trout of Northland rivers,\nNot a whiting from the waters,\nNot a salmon of the North-seas,\nI, a young and merry maiden,\nFriend and sister of the fishes,\nYoukahainen\u2019s youngest sister,\nI, the one that thou dost fish for,\nI am Aino whom thou lovest.\n\n\u201cOnce thou wert the wise-tongued hero,\nNow the foolish Wainamoinen,\nScant of insight, scant of judgment,\nDidst not know enough to keep me,\nCruel-hearted, bloody-handed,\nTried to kill me with thy fish-knife,\nSo to roast me for thy dinner;\nI, a mermaid of Wellamo,\nOnce the fair and lovely Aino,\nSister dear of Youkahainen.\u201d\n\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:,\nFilled with sorrow, much regretting:\n\u201cSince thou\u2019rt Youkahainen\u2019s sister,\nBeauteous Aino of Pohyola,\nCome to me again I pray thee!\u201d\n\nThus the mermaid wisely answered:\n\u201cNevermore will Aino\u2019s spirit\nFly to thee and be ill-treated.\u201d\n\nQuickly dived the water-maiden\nFrom the surface of the billow\nTo the many-colored pebbles,\nTo the rainbow-tinted grottoes\nWhere the mermaids live and linger.\n\nWainamoinen, not discouraged,\nThought afresh and well reflected,\nHow to live, and work, and win her;\nDrew with care his silken fish-net,\nTo and fro through foam and billow,\nThrough the bays and winding channels,\nDrew it through the placid waters,\nDrew it through the salmon-dwellings,\nThrough the homes of water-maidens,\nThrough the waters of Wainola,\nThrough the blue-back of the ocean,\nThrough the lakes of distant Lapland,\nThrough the rivers of Youkola,\nThrough the seas of Kalevala,\nHoping thus to find his Aino.\nMany were the fish he landed,\nEvery form of fish-like creatures,\nBut he did not catch the sea-maid,\nNot Wellamo\u2019s water-maiden,\nFairest daughter of the Northland.\n\nFinally the ancient minstrel,\nMind depressed, and heart discouraged,\nSpake these words, immersed in sorrow:\n\u201cFool am I, and great my folly,\nHaving neither wit nor judgment;\nSurely once I had some knowledge,\nHad some insight into wisdom,\nHad at least a bit of instinct;\nBut my virtues all have left me\nIn these mournful days of evil,\nVanished with my youth and vigor,\nInsight gone, and sense departed,\nAll my prudence gone to others!\nAino, whom I love and cherish,\nAll these years have sought to honor,\nAino, now Wellamo\u2019s maiden,\nPromised friend of mine when needed,\nPromised bride of mine forever,\nOnce I had within my power,\nCaught her in Wellamo\u2019s grottoes,\nLed her to my boat of copper,\nWith my fish-line made of silver;\nBut alas! I could not keep her,\nDid not know that I had caught her\nTill too late to woo and win her;\nLet her slip between my fingers\nTo the home of water-maidens,\nTo the kingdom of Wellamo.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen then departed,\nEmpty-handed, heavy-hearted,\nStraightway hastened to his country,\nTo his home in Kalevala,\nSpake these words upon his journey:\n\u201cWhat has happened to the cuckoo,\nOnce the cuckoo bringing gladness,\nIn the morning, in the evening,\nOften bringing joy at noontide?\nWhat has stilled the cuckoo\u2019s singing,\nWhat has changed the cuckoo\u2019s calling?\nSorrow must have stilled his singing,\nAnd compassion changed his calling,\nAs I hear him sing no longer,\nFor my pleasure in the morning,\nFor my happiness at evening.\nNever shall I learn the secret,\nHow to live and how to prosper,\nHow upon the earth to rest me,\nHow upon the seas to wander!\nOnly were my ancient mother\nLiving on the face of Northland,\nSurely she would well advise me,\nWhat my thought and what my action,\nThat this cup of grief might pass me,\nThat this sorrow might escape me,\nAnd this darkened cloud pass over.\u201d\n\nIn the deep awoke his mother,\nFrom her tomb she spake as follows:\n\u201cOnly sleeping was thy mother,\nNow awakes to give thee answer,\nWhat thy thought and what thine action,\nThat this cup of grief may pass thee,\nThat this sorrow may escape thee,\nAnd this darkened cloud pass over.\nHie thee straightway to the Northland,\nVisit thou the Suomi daughters;\nThou wilt find them wise and lovely,\nFar more beautiful than Aino,\nFar more worthy of a husband,\nNot such silly chatter-boxes,\nAs the fickle Lapland maidens.\nTake for thee a life-companion,\nFrom the honest homes of Suomi,\nOne of Northland\u2019s honest daughters;\nShe will charm thee with her sweetness,\nMake thee happy through her goodness,\nForm perfection, manners easy,\nEvery step and movement graceful,\nFull of wit and good behavior,\nHonor to thy home and kindred.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE VI.\nWAINAMOINEN\u2019S HAPLESS JOURNEY.\n\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nNow arranges for a journey\nTo the village of the Northland,\nTo the land of cruel winters,\nTo the land of little sunshine,\nTo the land of worthy women;\nTakes his light-foot, royal racer,\nThen adjusts the golden bridle,\nLays upon his back the saddle,\nSilver-buckled, copper-stirruped,\nSeats himself upon his courser,\nAnd begins his journey northward;\nPlunges onward, onward, onward,\nGalloping along the highway,\nIn his saddle, gaily fashioned,\nOn his dappled steed of magic,\nPlunging through Wainola\u2019s meadows,\nO\u2019er the plains of Kalevala.\nFast and far he galloped onward,\nGalloped far beyond Wainola,\nBounded o\u2019er the waste of waters,\nTill he reached the blue-sea\u2019s margin,\nWetting not the hoofs in running.\n\nBut the evil Youkahainen\nNursed a grudge within his bosom,\nIn his heart the worm of envy,\nEnvy of this Wainamoinen,\nOf this wonderful enchanter.\nHe prepares a cruel cross-bow,\nMade of steel and other metals,\nPaints the bow in many colors,\nMolds the top-piece out of copper,\nTrims his bow with snowy silver,\nGold he uses too in trimming.\nThen he hunts for strongest sinews,\nFinds them in the stag of Hisi,\nInterweaves the flax of Lempo.\nReady is the cruel cross-bow,\nString, and shaft, and ends are finished,\nBeautiful the bow and mighty,\nSurely cost it not a trifle;\nOn the back a painted courser,\nOn each end a colt of beauty,\nNear the curve a maiden sleeping,\nNear the notch a hare is bounding,\nWonderful the bow thus fashioned;\nCuts some arrows for his quiver,\nCovers them with finest feathers,\nFrom the oak the shafts he fashions,\nMakes the tips of keenest metal.\nAs the rods and points are finished,\nThen he feathers well his arrows\nFrom the plumage of the swallow,\nFrom the wing-quills of the sparrow;\nHardens well his feathered arrows,\nAnd imparts to each new virtues,\nSteeps them in the blood of serpents,\nIn the virus of the adder.\n\nReady now are all his arrows,\nReady strung, his cruel cross-bow,\nWaiting for wise Wainamoinen.\nYoukahainen, Lapland\u2019s minstrel,\nWaits a long time, is not weary,\nHopes to spy the ancient singer;\nSpies at day-dawn, spies at evening,\nSpies he ceaselessly at noontide,\nLies in wait for the magician,\nWaits, and watches, as in envy;\nSits he at the open window,\nStands behind the hedge, and watches;\nIn the foot-path waits, and listens,\nSpies along the balks of meadows;\nOn his back he hangs his quiver,\nIn his quiver, feathered arrows\nDipped in virus of the viper,\nOn his arm the mighty cross-bow,\nWaits, and watches, and unwearied,\nListens from the boat-house window,\nLingers at the end of Fog-point,\nBy the river flowing seaward,\nNear the holy stream and whirlpool,\nNear the sacred river\u2019s fire-fall.\n\nFinally the Lapland minstrel,\nYoukahainen of Pohyola,\nAt the breaking of the day-dawn,\nAt the early hour of morning,\nFixed his gaze upon the North-east,\nTurned his eyes upon the sunrise,\nSaw a black cloud on the ocean,\nSomething blue upon the waters,\nAnd soliloquized as follows:\n\u201cAre those clouds on the horizon,\nOr perchance the dawn of morning?\nNeither clouds on the horizon,\nNor the dawning of the morning;\nIt is ancient Wainamoinen,\nThe renowned and wise enchanter,\nRiding on his way to Northland;\nOn his steed, the royal racer,\nMagic courser of Wainola.\u201d\n\nQuickly now young Youkahainen,\nLapland\u2019s vain and evil minstrel,\nFilled with envy, grasps his cross-bow,\nMakes his bow and arrows ready\nFor the death of Wainamoinen.\n\nQuick his aged mother asked him,\nSpake these words to Youkahainen:\n\u201cFor whose slaughter is thy cross-bow,\nFor whose heart thy poisoned arrows?\u201d\nYoukahainen thus made answer:\n\u201cI have made this mighty cross-bow,\nFashioned bow and poisoned arrows\nFor the death of Wainamoinen,\nThus to slay the friend of waters;\nI must shoot the old magician,\nThe eternal bard and hero,\nThrough the heart, and through the liver,\nThrough the head, and through the shoulders,\nWith this bow and feathered arrows\nThus destroy my rival minstrel.\u201d\n\nThen the aged mother answered,\nThus reproving, thus forbidding:\n\u201cDo not slay good Wainamoinen,\nAncient hero of the Northland,\nFrom a noble tribe descended,\nHe, my sister\u2019s son, my nephew.\nIf thou slayest Wainamoinen,\nAncient son of Kalevala,\nThen alas! all joy will vanish,\nPerish all our wondrous singing;\nBetter on the earth the gladness,\nBetter here the magic music,\nThan within the nether regions,\nIn the kingdom of Tuoni,\nIn the realm of the departed,\nIn the land of the hereafter.\u201d\n\nThen the youthful Youkahainen\nThought awhile and well considered,\nEre he made a final answer.\n\nWith one hand he raised the cross-bow\nBut the other seemed to weaken,\nAs he drew the cruel bow-string.\nFinally these words he uttered\nAs his bosom swelled with envy:\n\u201cLet all joy forever vanish,\nLet earth\u2019s pleasures quickly perish,\nDisappear earth\u2019s sweetest music,\nHappiness depart forever;\nShoot I will this rival minstrel,\nLittle heeding what the end is.\u201d\n\nQuickly now he bends his fire-bow,\nOn his left knee rests the weapon,\nWith his right foot firmly planted,\nThus he strings his bow of envy;\nTakes three arrows from his quiver,\nChoosing well the best among them,\nCarefully adjusts the bow-string,\nSets with care the feathered arrow,\nTo the flaxen string he lays it,\nHolds the cross-bow to his shoulder,\nAiming well along the margin,\nAt the heart of Wainamoinen,\nWaiting till he gallops nearer;\nIn the shadow of a thicket,\nSpeaks these words while he is waiting\n\u201cBe thou, flaxen string, elastic;\nSwiftly fly, thou feathered ash-wood,\nSwiftly speed, thou deadly missile,\nQuick as light, thou poisoned arrow,\nTo the heart of Wainamoinen.\nIf my hand too low should hold thee,\nMay the gods direct thee higher;\nIf too high mine eye should aim thee,\nMay the gods direct thee lower.\u201d\n\nSteady now he pulls the trigger;\nLike the lightning flies the arrow\nO\u2019er the head of Wainamoinen;\nTo the upper sky it darteth,\nAnd the highest clouds it pierces,\nScatters all the flock of lamb-clouds,\nOn its rapid journey skyward.\n\nNot discouraged, quick selecting,\nQuick adjusting, Youkahainen,\nQuickly aiming, shoots a second.\nSpeeds the arrow swift as lightning;\nMuch too low he aimed the missile,\nInto earth the arrow plunges,\nPierces to the lower regions,\nSplits in two the old Sand Mountain.\n\nNothing daunted, Youkahainen,\nQuick adjusting shoots a third one.\nSwift as light it speeds its journey,\nStrikes the steed of Wainamoinen,\nStrikes the light-foot, ocean-swimmer,\nStrikes him near his golden girdle,\nThrough the shoulder of the racer.\n\nThereupon wise Wainamoinen\nHeadlong fell upon the waters,\nPlunged beneath the rolling billows,\nFrom the saddle of the courser,\nFrom his dappled steed of magic.\nThen arose a mighty storm-wind,\nRoaring wildly on the waters,\nBore away old Wainamoinen\nFar from land upon the billows,\nOn the high and rolling billows,\nOn the broad sea\u2019s great expanses.\n\nBoasted then young Youkahainen,\nThinking Waino dead and buried,\nThese the boastful words he uttered:\n\u201cNevermore, old Wainamoinen,\nNevermore in all thy life-time,\nWhile the golden moonlight glistens,\nNevermore wilt fix thy vision\nOn the meadows of Wainola,\nOn the plains of Kalevala;\nFull six years must swim the ocean,\nTread the waves for seven summers,\nEight years ride the foamy billows,\nIn the broad expanse of water;\nSix long autumns as a fir-tree,\nSeven winters as a pebble,\nEight long summers as an aspen.\u201d\n\nThereupon the Lapland minstrel\nHastened to his room delighting,\nWhen his mother thus addressed him\n\u201cHast thou slain good Wainamoinen,\nSlain the son of Kalevala?\u201d\nYoukahainen thus made answer:\n\u201cI have slain old Wainamoinen,\nSlain the son of Kalevala,\nThat he now may plow the ocean,\nThat he now may sweep the waters,\nOn the billows rock and slumber.\nIn the salt-sea plunged he headlong,\nIn the deep sank the magician,\nSidewise turned he to the sea-shore,\nOn his back to rock forever,\nThus the boundless sea to travel,\nThus to ride the rolling billows.\u201d\nThis the answer of the mother:\n\u201cWoe to earth for this thine action,\nGone forever, joy and singing,\nVanished is the wit of ages!\nThou hast slain good Wainamoinen,\nSlain the ancient wisdom-singer,\nSlain the pride of Suwantala,\nSlain the hero of Wainola,\nSlain the joy of Kalevala.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE VII.\nWAINAMOINEN\u2019S RESCUE.\n\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nSwam through all the deep-sea waters,\nFloating like a branch of aspen,\nLike a withered twig of willow;\nSwam six days in summer weather,\nSwam six nights in golden moonlight;\nStill before him rose the billows,\nAnd behind him sky and ocean.\nTwo days more he swam undaunted,\nTwo long nights he struggled onward.\nOn the evening of the eighth day,\nWainamoinen grew disheartened,\nFelt a very great discomfort,\nFor his feet had lost their toe-nails,\nAnd his fingers dead and dying.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nSad and weary, spake as follows:\n\u201cWoe is me, my old life fated!\nWoe is me, misfortune\u2019s offspring!\nFool was I when fortune favored,\nTo forsake my home and kindred,\nFor a maiden fair and lovely,\nHere beneath the starry heavens,\nIn this cruel waste of waters,\nDays and nights to swim and wander,\nHere to struggle with the storm-winds,\nTo be tossed by heaving billows,\nIn this broad sea\u2019s great expanses,\nIn this ocean vast and boundless.\n\n\u201cCold my life and sad and dreary,\nPainful too for me to linger\nEvermore within these waters,\nThus to struggle for existence!\nCannot know how I can prosper,\nHow to find me food and shelter,\nIn these cold and lifeless waters,\nIn these days of dire misfortune.\nBuild I in the winds my dwelling?\nIt will find no sure foundation.\nBuild my home upon the billows?\nSurely would the waves destroy it.\u201d\n\nComes a bird from far Pohyola,\nFrom the occident, an eagle,\nIs not classed among the largest,\nNor belongs he to the smallest;\nOne wing touches on the waters,\nWhile the other sweeps the heavens;\nO\u2019er the waves he wings his body,\nStrikes his beak upon the sea-cliffs,\nFlies about, then safely perches,\nLooks before him, looks behind him,\nThere beholds brave Wainamoinen,\nOn the blue-back of the ocean,\nAnd the eagle thus accosts him:\n\u201cWherefore art thou, ancient hero,\nSwimming in the deep-sea billows?\u201d\nThus the water-minstrel answered:\n\u201cI am ancient Wainamoinen,\nFriend and fellow of the waters,\nI, the famous wisdom-singer;\nWent to woo a Northland maiden,\nMaiden from the dismal Darkland,\nQuickly galloped on my journey,\nRiding on the plain of ocean.\nI arrived one morning early,\nAt the breaking of the day-dawn.\nAt the bay of Luotola,\nNear Youkola\u2019s foaming river,\nWhere the evil Youkahainen\nSlew my steed with bow and arrow,\nTried to slay me with his weapons.\nOn the waters fell I headlong,\nPlunged beneath the salt-sea\u2019s surface,\nFrom the saddle of the courser,\nFrom my dappled steed of magic.\n\n\u201cThen arose a mighty storm-wind,\nFrom the East and West a whirlwind,\nWashed me seaward on the surges,\nSeaward, seaward, further, further,\nWhere for many days I wandered,\nSwam and rocked upon the billows,\nWhere as many nights I struggled,\nIn the dashing waves and sea-foam,\nWith the angry winds and waters.\n\n\u201cWoe is me, my life hard-fated!\nCannot solve this heavy problem,\nHow to live nor how to perish\nIn this cruel salt-sea water.\nBuild I in the winds my dwelling?\nIt will find no sure foundation.\nBuild my home upon the waters?\nSurely will the waves destroy it.\nMust I swim the sea forever,\nMust I live, or must I perish?\nWhat will happen if I perish,\nIf I sink below the billows,\nPerish here from cold and hunger?\u201d\nThus the bird of Ether answered:\n\u201cBe not in the least disheartened,\nPlace thyself between my shoulders,\nOn my back be firmly seated,\nI will lift thee from the waters,\nBear thee with my pinions upward,\nBear thee wheresoe\u2019er thou willest.\nWell do I the day remember\nWhere thou didst the eagle service,\nWhen thou didst the birds a favor.\nThou didst leave the birch-tree standing,\nWhen were cleared the Osmo-forests,\nFrom the lands of Kalevala,\nAs a home for weary song-birds,\nAs a resting-place for eagles.\u201d\n\nThen arises Wainamoinen,\nLifts his head above the waters,\nBoldly rises from the sea-waves,\nLifts his body from the billows,\nSeats himself upon the eagle,\nOn the eagle\u2019s feathered shoulders.\nQuick aloft the huge bird bears him,\nBears the ancient Wainamoinen,\nBears him on the path of zephyrs,\nFloating on the vernal breezes,\nTo the distant shore of Northland,\nTo the dismal Sariola,\nWhere the eagle leaves his burden,\nFlies away to join his fellows.\n\nWainamoinen, lone and weary,\nStraightway fell to bitter weeping,\nWept and moaned in heavy accents,\nOn the border of the blue-sea,\nOn a cheerless promontory,\nWith a hundred wounds tormented,\nMade by cruel winds and waters,\nWith his hair and beard dishevelled\nBy the surging of the billows.\nThree long days he wept disheartened\nWept as many nights in anguish,\nDid not know what way to journey,\nCould not find a woodland foot-print,\nThat would point him to the highway,\nTo his home in Kalevala,\nTo his much-loved home and kindred.\n\nNorthland\u2019s young and slender maiden,\nWith complexion fair and lovely,\nWith the Sun had laid a wager,\nWith the Sun and Moon a wager,\nWhich should rise before the other,\nOn the morning of the morrow.\nAnd the maiden rose in beauty,\nLong before the Sun had risen,\nLong before the Moon had wakened,\nFrom their beds beneath the ocean.\nEre the cock had crowed the day-break,\nEre the Sun had broken slumber;\nShe had sheared six gentle lambkins,\nGathered from them six white fleeces,\nHence to make the rolls for spinning,\nHence to form the threads for weaving,\nHence to make the softest raiment,\nEre the morning dawn had broken,\nEre the sleeping Sun had risen.\n\nWhen this task the maid had ended,\nThen she scrubbed the birchen tables,\nSweeps the ground-floor of the stable,\nWith a broom of leaves and branches\nFrom the birches of the Northland,\nScrapes the sweepings well together\nOn a shovel made of copper,\nCarries them beyond the stable,\nFrom the doorway to the meadow,\nTo the meadow\u2019s distant border,\nNear the surges of the great-sea,\nListens there and looks about her,\nHears a wailing from the waters,\nHears a weeping from the sea-shore,\nHears a hero-voice lamenting.\n\nThereupon she hastens homeward,\nHastens to her mother\u2019s dwelling,\nThese the words the maiden utters:\n\u201cI have heard a wail from ocean,\nHeard a weeping from the sea-coast,\nOn the shore some one lamenting.\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nAncient, toothless dame of Northland,\nHastens from her door and court-yard,\nThrough the meadow to the sea-shore,\nListens well for sounds of weeping,\nFor the wail of one in sorrow;\nHears the voice of one in trouble,\nHears a hero-cry of anguish.\nThus the ancient Louhi answers:\n\u201cThis is not the wail of children,\nThese are not the tears of women,\nIn this way weep bearded heroes;\nThis the hero-cry of anguish.\u201d\n\nQuick she pushed her boat to water,\nTo the floods her goodly vessel,\nStraightway rows with lightning swiftness,\nTo the weeping Wainamoinen;\nGives the hero consolation,\nComfort gives she to the minstrel\nWailing in a grove of willows,\nIn his piteous condition,\nMid the alder-trees and aspens,\nOn the border of the salt-sea,\nVisage trembling, locks dishevelled,\nEars, and eyes, and lips of sadness.\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nThus addresses Wainamoinen:\n\u201cTell me what has been thy folly,\nThat thou art in this condition.\u201d\n\nOld and truthful Wainamoinen\nLifts aloft his head and answers:\n\u201cWell I know that it is folly\nThat has brought me all this trouble,\nBrought me to this land of strangers,\nTo these regions unbefitting;\nHappy was I with my kindred,\nIn my distant home and country,\nThere my name was named in honor.\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nThus replied to Wainamoinen:\n\u201cI would gain the information,\nShould I be allowed to ask thee,\nWho thou art of ancient heroes,\nWho of all the host of heroes?\u201d\nThis is Wainamoinen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cFormerly my name was mentioned,\nOften was I heard and honored,\nAs a minstrel and magician,\nIn the long and dreary winters,\nCalled the Singer of the Northland,\nIn the valleys of Wainola,\nOn the plains of Kalevala;\nNo one thought that such misfortune\nCould befall wise Wainamoinen.\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nThus replied in cheering accents:\n\u201cRise, O hero, from discomfort,\nFrom thy bed among the willows;\nEnter now upon the new-way,\nCome with me to yonder dwelling,\nThere relate thy strange adventures,\nTell the tale of thy misfortunes.\u201d\n\nNow she takes the hapless hero,\nLifts him from his bed of sorrow,\nIn her boat she safely seats him,\nAnd begins at once her rowing,\nRows with steady hand and mighty\nTo her home upon the sea-shore,\nTo the dwellings of Pohyola.\nThere she feeds the starving hero,\nRests the ancient Wainamoinen,\nGives him warmth, and food, and shelter,\nAnd the hero soon recovers.\n\nThen the hostess of Pohyola\nQuestioned thus the ancient singer:\n\u201cWherefore didst thou, Wainamoinen,\nFriend and fellow of the waters,\nWeep in sad and bitter accents,\nOn the border of the ocean,\nMid the aspens and the willows?\u201d\n\nThis is Wainamoinen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cHad good reason for my weeping,\nCause enough for all my sorrow;\nLong indeed had I been swimming,\nHad been buffeting the billows,\nIn the far outstretching waters.\nThis the reason for my weeping;\nI have lived in toil and torture,\nSince I left my home and country,\nLeft my native land and kindred,\nCame to this the land of strangers,\nTo these unfamiliar portals.\nAll thy trees have thorns to wound me,\nAll thy branches, spines to pierce me,\nEven birches give me trouble,\nAnd the alders bring discomfort,\nMy companions, winds and waters,\nOnly does the Sun seem friendly,\nIn this cold and cruel country,\nNear these unfamiliar portals.\u201d\n\nLouhi thereupon made answer:\n\u201cWeep no longer, Wainamoinen,\nGrieve no more, thou friend of waters,\nGood for thee, that thou shouldst linger\nAt our friendly homes and firesides;\nThou shalt live with us and welcome,\nThou shalt sit at all our tables,\nEat the salmon from our platters,\nEat the sweetest of our bacon,\nEat the whiting from our waters.\u201d\n\nAnswers thus old Wainamoinen,\nGrateful for the invitation:\n\u201cNever do I court strange tables,\nThough the food be rare and toothsome;\nOne\u2019s own country is the dearest,\nOne\u2019s own table is the sweetest,\nOne\u2019s own home, the most attractive.\nGrant, kind Ukko, God above me,\nThou Creator, full of mercy,\nGrant that I again may visit\nMy beloved home and country.\nBetter dwell in one\u2019s own country,\nThere to drink its healthful waters\nFrom the simple cups of birch-wood,\nThan in foreign lands to wander,\nThere to drink the rarest liquors\nFrom the golden bowls of strangers.\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nThus replied to the magician:\n\u201cWhat reward wilt thou award me,\nShould I take thee where thou willest,\nTo thy native land and kindred,\nTo thy much-loved home and fireside,\nTo the meadows of Wainola,\nTo the plains of Kalevala?\u201d\n\nThese the words of Wainamoinen:\n\u201cWhat would be reward sufficient,\nShouldst thou take me to my people,\nTo my home and distant country,\nTo the borders of the Northland,\nThere to hear the cuckoo singing,\nHear the sacred cuckoo calling?\nShall I give thee golden treasures,\nFill thy cups with finest silver?\u201d\n\nThis is Louhi\u2019s simple answer:\n\u201cO thou ancient Wainamoinen,\nOnly true and wise magician,\nNever will I ask for riches,\nNever ask for gold nor silver;\nGold is for the children\u2019s flowers,\nSilver for the stallion\u2019s jewels.\nCanst thou forge for me the Sampo,\nHammer me the lid in colors,\nFrom the tips of white-swan feathers\nFrom the milk of greatest virtue,\nFrom a single grain of barley,\nFrom the finest wool of lambkins?\n\n\u201cI will give thee too my daughter,\nWill reward thee through the maiden,\nTake thee to thy much-loved home-land,\nTo the borders of Wainola,\nThere to hear the cuckoo singing,\nHear the sacred cuckoo calling.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, much regretting,\nGave this answer to her question:\n\u201cCannot forge for thee the Sampo,\nCannot make the lid in colors.\nTake me to my distant country,\nI will send thee Ilmarinen,\nHe will forge for thee the Sampo,\nHammer thee the lid in colors,\nHe may win thy lovely maiden;\nWorthy smith is Ilmarinen,\nIn this art is first and master;\nHe, the one that forged the heavens.\nForged the air a hollow cover;\nNowhere see we hammer-traces,\nNowhere find a single tongs-mark.\u201d\n\nThus replied the hostess, Louhi:\n\u201cHim alone I\u2019ll give my daughter,\nPromise him my child in marriage,\nWho for me will forge the Sampo,\nHammer me the lid in colors,\nFrom the tips of white-swan feathers,\nFrom the milk of greatest virtue,\nFrom a single grain of barley,\nFrom the finest wool of lambkins.\u201d\n\nThereupon the hostess Louhi,\nHarnessed quick a dappled courser,\nHitched him to her sledge of birch-wood,\nPlaced within it Wainamoinen,\nPlaced the hero on the cross-bench,\nMade him ready for his journey;\nThen addressed the ancient minstrel,\nThese the words that Louhi uttered:\n\u201cDo not raise thine eyes to heaven,\nLook not upward on thy journey,\nWhile thy steed is fresh and frisky,\nWhile the day-star lights thy pathway,\nEre the evening star has risen;\nIf thine eyes be lifted upward,\nWhile the day-star lights thy pathway,\nDire misfortune will befall thee,\nSome sad fate will overtake thee.\u201d\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nFleetly drove upon his journey,\nMerrily he hastened homeward,\nHastened homeward, happy-hearted\nFrom the ever-darksome Northland\nFrom the dismal Sariola.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE VIII.\nMAIDEN OF THE RAINBOW.\n\n\nPohyola\u2019s fair and winsome daughter,\nGlory of the land and water,\nSat upon the bow of heaven,\nOn its highest arch resplendent,\nIn a gown of richest fabric,\nIn a gold and silver air-gown,\nWeaving webs of golden texture,\nInterlacing threads of silver;\nWeaving with a golden shuttle,\nWith a weaving-comb of silver;\nMerrily flies the golden shuttle,\nFrom the maiden\u2019s nimble fingers,\nBriskly swings the lathe in weaving,\nSwiftly flies the comb of silver,\nFrom the sky-born maiden\u2019s fingers,\nWeaving webs of wondrous beauty.\n\nCame the ancient Wainamoinen,\nDriving down the highway homeward,\nFrom the ever sunless Northland,\nFrom the dismal Sariola;\nFew the furlongs he had driven,\nDriven but a little distance,\nWhen he heard the sky-loom buzzing,\nAs the maiden plied the shuttle.\nQuick the thoughtless Wainamoinen\nLifts his eyes aloft in wonder,\nLooks upon the vault of heaven,\nThere beholds the bow of beauty,\nOn the bow the maiden sitting,\nBeauteous Maiden of the Rainbow,\nGlory of the earth and ocean,\nWeaving there a golden fabric,\nWorking with the rustling silver.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nQuickly checks his fleet-foot racer,\nLooks upon the charming maiden,\nThen addresses her as follows:\n\u201cCome, fair maiden, to my snow-sledge,\nBy my side I wish thee seated.\u201d\n\nThus the Maid of Beauty answers:\n\u201cTell me what thou wishest of me,\nShould I join thee in the snow-sledge.\u201d\nSpeaks the ancient Wainamoinen,\nAnswers thus the Maid of Beauty:\n\u201cThis the reason for thy coming:\nThou shalt bake me honey-biscuit,\nShalt prepare me barley-water,\nThou shalt fill my foaming beer-cups,\nThou shalt sing beside my table,\nShalt rejoice within my portals,\nWalk a queen within my dwelling,\nIn the Wainola halls and chambers,\nIn the courts of Kalevala.\u201d\n\nThus the Maid of Beauty answered\nFrom her throne amid the heavens:\n\u201cYesterday at hour of twilight,\nWent I to the flowery meadows,\nThere to rock upon the common,\nWhere the Sun retires to slumber;\nThere I heard a song-bird singing,\nHeard the thrush in simple measures,\nSinging sweetly thoughts of maidens,\nAnd the minds of anxious mothers.\n\n\u201cThen I asked the pretty songster,\nAsked the thrush this simple question:\n\u2018Sing to me, thou pretty song-bird,\nSing that I may understand thee,\nSing to me in truthful accents,\nHow to live in greatest pleasure,\nAnd in happiness the sweetest,\nAs a maiden with her father,\nOr as wife beside her husband.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus the song-bird gave me answer,\nSang the thrush this information:\n\u2018Bright and warm are days of summer,\nWarmer still is maiden-freedom;\nCold is iron in the winter,\nThus the lives of married women;\nMaidens living with their mothers\nAre like ripe and ruddy berries;\nMarried women, far too many,\nAre like dogs enchained in kennel,\nRarely do they ask for favors,\nNot to wives are favors given.\u2019\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nAnswers thus the Maid of Beauty:\n\u201cFoolish is the thrush thus singing,\nNonsense is the song-bird\u2019s twitter;\nLike to babes are maidens treated,\nWives are queens and highly honored.\nCome, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge,\nI am not despised as hero,\nNot the meanest of magicians;\nCome with me and I will make thee\nWife and queen in Kalevala.\u201d\nThus the Maid of Beauty answered:\n\u201cWould consider thee a hero,\nMighty hero, I would call thee,\nWhen a golden hair thou splittest,\nUsing knives that have no edges;\nWhen thou snarest me a bird\u2019s egg\nWith a snare that I can see not.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, skilled and ancient,\nSplit a golden hair exactly,\nUsing knives that had no edges;\nAnd he snared an egg as nicely\nWith a snare the maiden saw not.\n\n\u201cCome, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge,\nI have done what thou desirest.\u201d\nThus the maiden wisely answered:\n\u201cNever enter I thy snow-sledge,\nTill thou peelest me the sandstone,\nTill thou cuttest me a whip-stick\nFrom the ice, and make no splinters,\nLosing not the smallest fragment.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, true magician,\nNothing daunted, not discouraged,\nDeftly peeled the rounded sandstone,\nDeftly cut from ice a whip-stick,\nCutting not the finest splinter,\nLosing not the smallest fragment.\nThen again he called the maiden,\nTo a seat within his snow-sledge.\n\nBut the Maid or Beauty answered,\nAnswered thus the great magician:\n\u201cI will go with that one only\nThat will make me ship or shallop,\nFrom the splinters of my spindle,\nFrom the fragments of my distaff,\nIn the waters launch the vessel,\nSet the little ship a-floating,\nUsing not the knee to push it,\nUsing not the arm to move it,\nUsing not the hand to touch it,\nUsing not the foot to turn it,\nUsing nothing to propel it.\u201d\n\nSpake the skilful Wainamoinen,\nThese the words the hero uttered:\n\u201cThere is no one in the Northland,\nNo one under vault of heaven,\nWho like me can build a vessel,\nFrom the fragments of the distaff,\nFrom the splinters of the spindle.\u201d\n\nThen he took the distaff-fragments,\nTook the splinters of the spindle,\nHastened off the boat to fashion,\nHastened to an iron mountain,\nThere to join the many fragments.\nFull of zeal he plies the hammer,\nSwings the hammer and the hatchet;\nNothing daunted, builds the vessel,\nWorks one day and then a second,\nWorks with steady hand the third day;\nOn the evening of the third day,\nEvil Hisi grasps the hatchet,\nLempo takes the crooked handle,\nTurns aside the axe in falling,\nStrikes the rocks and breaks to pieces;\nFrom the rocks rebound the fragments,\nPierce the flesh of the magician,\nCut the knee of Wainamoinen.\nLempo guides the sharpened hatchet,\nAnd the veins fell Hisi severs.\nQuickly gushes forth a blood-stream,\nAnd the stream is crimson-colored.\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nThe renowned and wise enchanter,\nThus outspeaks in measured accents:\n\u201cO thou keen and cruel hatchet,\nO thou axe of sharpened metal,\nThou shouldst cut the trees to fragments,\nCut the pine-tree and the willow,\nCut the alder and the birch-tree,\nCut the juniper and aspen,\nShouldst not cut my knee to pieces,\nShouldst not tear my veins asunder.\u201d\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nThus begins his incantations,\nThus begins his magic singing,\nOf the origin of evil;\nEvery word in perfect order,\nMakes no effort to remember,\nSings the origin of iron,\nThat a bolt he well may fashion,\nThus prepare a lock for surety,\nFor the wounds the axe has given,\nThat the hatchet has torn open.\nBut the stream flows like a brooklet,\nRushing like a maddened torrent,\nStains the herbs upon the meadows,\nScarcely is a bit of verdure\nThat the blood-stream does not cover\nAs it flows and rushes onward\nFrom the knee of the magician,\nFrom the veins of Wainamoinen.\n\nNow the wise and ancient minstrel\nGathers lichens from the sandstone,\nPicks them from the trunks of birches,\nGathers moss within the marshes,\nPulls the grasses from the meadows,\nThus to stop the crimson streamlet,\nThus to close the wounds laid open;\nBut his work is unsuccessful,\nAnd the crimson stream flows onward.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nFeeling pain and fearing languor,\nFalls to weeping, heavy-hearted;\nQuickly now his steed he hitches,\nHitches to the sledge of birch-wood,\nClimbs with pain upon the cross-bench,\nStrikes his steed in quick succession,\nSnaps his whip above the racer,\nAnd the steed flies onward swiftly;\nLike the winds he sweeps the highway,\nTill he nears a Northland village,\nWhere the way is triple-parted.\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nTakes the lowest of the highways,\nQuickly nears a spacious cottage,\nQuickly asks before the doorway:\n\u201cIs there any one here dwelling,\nThat can know the pain I suffer,\nThat can heal this wound of hatchet.\nThat can check this crimson streamlet?\u201d\n\nSat a boy within a corner,\nOn a bench beside a baby,\nAnd he answered thus the hero:\n\u201cThere is no one in this dwelling\nThat can know the pain thou feelest,\nThat can heal the wounds of hatchet,\nThat can check the crimson streamlet;\nSome one lives in yonder cottage,\nThat perchance can do thee service.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nWhips his courser to a gallop,\nDashes on along the highway;\nOnly drives a little distance,\nOn the middle of the highways,\nTo a cabin on the road-side,\nAsks one standing on the threshold,\nQuestions all through open windows,\nThese the words the hero uses:\n\u201cIs there no one in this cabin,\nThat can know the pain I suffer,\nThat can heal this wound of hatchet,\nThat can check this crimson streamlet?\u201d\n\nOn the floor a witch was lying,\nNear the fire-place lay the beldame,\nThus she spake to Wainamoinen,\nThrough her rattling teeth she answered:\n\u201cThere is no one in this cabin\nThat can know the pain thou feelest,\nThat can heal the wounds of hatchets,\nThat can check the crimson streamlet;\nSome one lives in yonder cottage,\nThat perchance can do thee service.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, nothing daunted,\nWhips his racer to a gallop,\nDashes on along the highway;\nOnly drives a little distance,\nOn the upper of the highways,\nGallops to a humble cottage,\nAsks one standing near the penthouse,\nSitting on the penthouse-doorsill:\n\u201cIs there no one in this cottage,\nThat can know the pain I suffer,\nThat can heal this wound of hatchet,\nThat can check this crimson streamlet?\u201d\n\nNear the fireplace sat an old man,\nOn the hearthstone sat the gray-beard,\nThus he answered Wainamoinen:\n\u201cGreater things have been accomplished,\nMuch more wondrous things effected,\nThrough but three words of the master;\nThrough the telling of the causes,\nStreams and oceans have been tempered,\nRiver cataracts been lessened,\nBays been made of promontories,\nIslands raised from deep sea-bottoms.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE IX.\nORIGIN OF IRON.\n\n\nWainamoinen, thus encouraged,\nQuickly rises in his snow-sledge,\nAsking no one for assistance,\nStraightway hastens to the cottage,\nTakes a seat within the dwelling.\nCome two maids with silver pitchers,\nBringing also golden goblets;\nDip they up a very little,\nBut the very smallest measure\nOf the blood of the magician,\nFrom the wounds of Wainamoinen.\n\nFrom the fire-place calls the old man,\nThus the gray-beard asks the minstrel:\n\u201cTell me who thou art of heroes,\nWho of all the great magicians?\nLo! thy blood fills seven sea-boats,\nEight of largest birchen vessels,\nFlowing from some hero\u2019s veinlets,\nFrom the wounds of some magician.\nOther matters I would ask thee;\nSing the cause of this thy trouble,\nSing to me the source of metals,\nSing the origin of iron,\nHow at first it was created.\u201d\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nMade this answer to the gray-beard:\n\u201cKnow I well the source of metals,\nKnow the origin of iron;\nI can tell bow steel is fashioned.\nOf the mothers air is oldest,\nWater is the oldest brother,\nAnd the fire is second brother,\nAnd the youngest brother, iron;\nUkko is the first creator.\nUkko, maker of the heavens,\nCut apart the air and water,\nEre was born the metal, iron.\nUkko, maker of the heavens,\nFirmly rubbed his hands together,\nFirmly pressed them on his knee-cap,\nThen arose three lovely maidens,\nThree most beautiful of daughters;\nThese were mothers of the iron,\nAnd of steel of bright-blue color.\nTremblingly they walked the heavens,\nWalked the clouds with silver linings,\nWith their bosoms overflowing\nWith the milk of future iron,\nFlowing on and flowing ever,\nFrom the bright rims of the cloudlets\nTo the earth, the valleys filling,\nTo the slumber-calling waters.\n\n\u201cUkko\u2019s eldest daughter sprinkled\nBlack milk over river channels\nAnd the second daughter sprinkled\nWhite milk over hills and mountains,\nWhile the youngest daughter sprinkled\nRed milk over seas and oceans.\nWhere the black milk had been sprinked,\nGrew the dark and ductile iron;\nWhere the white milk had been sprinkled,\nGrew the iron, lighter-colored;\nWhere the red milk had been sprinkled,\nGrew the red and brittle iron.\n\n\u201cAfter Time had gone a distance,\nIron hastened Fire to visit,\nHis beloved elder brother,\nThus to know his brother better.\nStraightway Fire began his roarings,\nLabored to consume his brother,\nHis beloved younger brother.\nStraightway Iron sees his danger,\nSaves himself by fleetly fleeing,\nFrom the fiery flame\u2019s advances,\nFleeing hither, fleeing thither,\nFleeing still and taking shelter\nIn the swamps and in the valleys,\nIn the springs that loudly bubble,\nBy the rivers winding seaward,\nOn the broad backs of the marshes,\nWhere the swans their nests have builded,\nWhere the wild geese hatch their goslings.\n\n\u201cThus is iron in the swamp-lands,\nStretching by the water-courses,\nHidden well for many ages,\nHidden in the birchen forests,\nBut he could not hide forever\nFrom the searchings of his brother;\nHere and there the fire has caught him,\nCaught and brought him to his furnace,\nThat the spears, and swords, and axes,\nMight be forged and duly hammered.\nIn the swamps ran blackened waters,\nFrom the heath the bears came ambling,\nAnd the wolves ran through the marshes.\nIron then made his appearance,\nWhere the feet of wolves had trodden,\nWhere the paws of bears had trampled.\n\n\u201cThen the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nCame to earth to work the metal;\nHe was born upon the Coal-mount,\nSkilled and nurtured in the coal-fields;\nIn one hand, a copper hammer,\nIn the other, tongs of iron;\nIn the night was born the blacksmith,\nIn the morn he built his smithy,\nSought with care a favored hillock,\nWhere the winds might fill his bellows;\nFound a hillock in the swamp-lands,\nWhere the iron hid abundant;\nThere he built his smelting furnace,\nThere he laid his leathern bellows,\nHastened where the wolves had travelled,\nFollowed where the bears had trampled,\nFound the iron\u2019s young formations,\nIn the wolf-tracks of the marshes,\nIn the foot-prints of the gray-bear.\n\n\u201cThen the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nThus addressed the sleeping iron:\n\u2018Thou most useful of the metals,\nThou art sleeping in the marshes,\nThou art hid in low conditions,\nWhere the wolf treads in the swamp-lands,\nWhere the bear sleeps in the thickets.\nHast thou thought and well considered,\nWhat would be thy future station,\nShould I place thee in the furnace,\nThus to make thee free and useful?\u2019\n\n\u201cThen was Iron sorely frightened,\nMuch distressed and filled with horror,\nWhen of Fire he heard the mention,\nMention of his fell destroyer.\n\n\u201cThen again speaks Ilmarinen,\nThus the smith addresses Iron:\n\u2018Be not frightened, useful metal,\nSurely Fire will not consume thee,\nWill not burn his youngest brother,\nWill not harm his nearest kindred.\nCome thou to my room and furnace,\nWhere the fire is freely burning,\nThou wilt live, and grow, and prosper,\nWilt become the swords of heroes,\nBuckles for the belts of women.\u2019\n\n\u201cEre arose the star of evening,\nIron ore had left the marshes,\nFrom the water-beds had risen,\nHad been carried to the furnace,\nIn the fire the smith had laid it,\nLaid it in his smelting furnace.\nIlmarinen starts the bellows,\nGives three motions of the handle,\nAnd the iron flows in streamlets\nFrom the forge of the magician,\nSoon becomes like baker\u2019s leaven,\nSoft as dough for bread of barley.\nThen out-screamed the metal, Iron:\n\u2018Wondrous blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nTake, O take me from thy furnace,\nFrom this fire and cruel torture.\u2019\n\n\u201cIlmarinen thus made answer:\n\u2018I will take thee from my furnace,\nThou art but a little frightened,\nThou shalt be a mighty power,\nThou shalt slay the best of heroes,\nThou shalt wound thy dearest brother.\u2019\n\n\u201cStraightway Iron made this promise,\nVowed and swore in strongest accents,\nBy the furnace, by the anvil,\nBy the tongs, and by the hammer,\nThese the words he vowed and uttered:\n\u2018Many trees that I shall injure,\nShall devour the hearts of mountains,\nShall not slay my nearest kindred,\nShall not kill the best of heroes,\nShall not wound my dearest brother;\nBetter live in civil freedom,\nHappier would be my life-time,\nShould I serve my fellow-beings,\nServe as tools for their convenience,\nThan as implements of warfare,\nSlay my friends and nearest kindred,\nWound the children of my mother.\u2019\n\n\u201cNow the master, Ilmarinen,\nThe renowned and skilful blacksmith,\nFrom the fire removes the iron,\nPlaces it upon the anvil,\nHammers well until it softens,\nHammers many fine utensils,\nHammers spears, and swords, and axes,\nHammers knives, and forks, and hatchets,\nHammers tools of all descriptions.\n\n\u201cMany things the blacksmith needed,\nMany things he could not fashion,\nCould not make the tongue of iron,\nCould not hammer steel from iron,\nCould not make the iron harden.\nWell considered Ilmarinen,\nDeeply thought and long reflected.\nThen he gathered birchen ashes,\nSteeped the ashes in the water,\nMade a lye to harden iron,\nThus to form the steel most needful.\nWith his tongue he tests the mixture,\nWeighs it long and well considers,\nAnd the blacksmith speaks as follows:\n\u2018All this labor is for nothing,\nWill not fashion steel from iron,\nWill not make the soft ore harden.\u2019\n\n\u201cNow a bee flies from the meadow,\nBlue-wing coming from the flowers,\nFlies about, then safely settles\nNear the furnace of the smithy.\n\n\u201cThus the smith the bee addresses,\nThese the words of Ilmarinen:\n\u2018Little bee, thou tiny birdling,\nBring me honey on thy winglets,\nOn thy tongue, I pray thee, bring me\nSweetness from the fragrant meadows,\nFrom the little cups of flowers,\nFrom the tips of seven petals,\nThat we thus may aid the water\nTo produce the steel from iron.\u2019\n\n\u201cEvil Hisi\u2019s bird, the hornet,\nHeard these words of Ilmarinen,\nLooking from the cottage gable,\nFlying to the bark of birch-trees,\nWhile the iron bars were heating,\nWhile the steel was being tempered;\nSwiftly flew the stinging hornet,\nScattered all the Hisi horrors,\nBrought the blessing of the serpent,\nBrought the venom of the adder,\nBrought the poison of the spider,\nBrought the stings of all the insects,\nMixed them with the ore and water,\nWhile the steel was being tempered.\n\n\u201cIlmarinen, skilful blacksmith,\nFirst of all the iron-workers,\nThought the bee had surely brought him\nHoney from the fragrant meadows,\nFrom the little cups of flowers,\nFrom the tips of seven petals,\nAnd he spake the words that follow:\n\u2018Welcome, welcome, is thy coming,\nHoneyed sweetness from the flowers\nThou hast brought to aid the water,\nThus to form the steel from iron!\u2019\n\n\u201cIlmarinen, ancient blacksmith,\nDipped the iron into water,\nWater mixed with many poisons,\nThought it but the wild bee\u2019s honey;\nThus he formed the steel from iron.\nWhen he plunged it into water,\nWater mixed with many poisons,\nWhen he placed it in the furnace,\nAngry grew the hardened iron,\nBroke the vow that he had taken,\nAte his words like dogs and devils,\nMercilessly cut his brother,\nMadly raged against his kindred,\nCaused the blood to flow in streamlets\nFrom the wounds of man and hero.\nThis, the origin of iron,\nAnd of steel of light blue color.\u201d\n\nFrom the hearth arose the gray-beard,\nShook his heavy locks and answered:\n\u201cNow I know the source of iron,\nWhence the steel and whence its evils;\nCurses on thee, cruel iron,\nCurses on the steel thou givest,\nCurses on thee, tongue of evil,\nCursed be thy life forever!\nOnce thou wert of little value,\nHaving neither form nor beauty,\nNeither strength nor great importance,\nWhen in form of milk thou rested,\nWhen for ages thou wert hidden\nIn the breasts of God\u2019s three daughters,\nHidden in their heaving bosoms,\nOn the borders of the cloudlets,\nIn the blue vault of the heavens.\n\n\u201cThou wert once of little value,\nHaving neither form nor beauty,\nNeither strength nor great importance,\nWhen like water thou wert resting\nOn the broad back of the marshes,\nOn the steep declines of mountains,\nWhen thou wert but formless matter,\nOnly dust of rusty color.\n\n\u201cSurely thou wert void of greatness,\nHaving neither strength nor beauty,\nWhen the moose was trampling on thee,\nWhen the roebuck trod upon thee,\nWhen the tracks of wolves were in thee,\nAnd the bear-paws scratched thy body.\nSurely thou hadst little value\nWhen the skilful Ilmarinen,\nFirst of all the iron-workers,\nBrought thee from the blackened swamp-lands,\nTook thee to his ancient smithy,\nPlaced thee in his fiery furnace.\nTruly thou hadst little vigor,\nLittle strength, and little danger,\nWhen thou in the fire wert hissing,\nRolling forth like seething water,\nFrom the furnace of the smithy,\nWhen thou gavest oath the strongest,\nBy the furnace, by the anvil,\nBy the tongs, and by the hammer,\nBy the dwelling of the blacksmith,\nBy the fire within the furnace.\n\n\u201cNow forsooth thou hast grown mighty,\nThou canst rage in wildest fury;\nThou hast broken all thy pledges,\nAll thy solemn vows hast broken,\nLike the dogs thou shamest honor,\nShamest both thyself and kindred,\nTainted all with breath of evil.\nTell who drove thee to this mischief,\nTell who taught thee all thy malice,\nTell who gavest thee thine evil!\nDid thy father, or thy mother,\nDid the eldest of thy brothers,\nDid the youngest of thy sisters,\nDid the worst of all thy kindred\nGive to thee thine evil nature?\nNot thy father, nor thy mother,\nNot the eldest of thy brothers,\nNot the youngest of thy sisters,\nNot the worst of all thy kindred,\nBut thyself hast done this mischief,\nThou the cause of all our trouble.\nCome and view thine evil doings,\nAnd amend this flood of damage,\nEre I tell thy gray-haired mother,\nEre I tell thine aged father.\nGreat indeed a mother\u2019s anguish,\nGreat indeed a father\u2019s sorrow,\nWhen a son does something evil,\nWhen a child runs wild and lawless.\n\n\u201cCrimson streamlet, cease thy flowing\nFrom the wounds of Wainamoinen;\nBlood of ages, stop thy coursing\nFrom the veins of the magician;\nStand like heaven\u2019s crystal pillars,\nStand like columns in the ocean,\nStand like birch-trees in the forest,\nLike the tall reeds in the marshes,\nLike the high-rocks on the sea-coast,\nStand by power of mighty magic!\n\n\u201cShould perforce thy will impel thee,\nFlow thou on thine endless circuit,\nThrough the veins of Wainamoinen,\nThrough the bones, and through the muscles,\nThrough the lungs, and heart, and liver,\nOf the mighty sage and singer;\nBetter be the food of heroes,\nThan to waste thy strength and virtue,\nOn the meadows and the woodlands,\nAnd be lost in dust and ashes.\nFlow forever in thy circle;\nThou must cease this crimson out-flow;\nStain no more the grass and flowers,\nStain no more these golden hill-tops,\nPride and beauty of our heroes.\nIn the veins of the magician,\nIn the heart of Wainamoinen,\nIs thy rightful home and storehouse.\nThither now withdraw thy forces,\nThither hasten, swiftly flowing;\nFlow no more as crimson currents,\nFill no longer crimson lakelets,\nMust not rush like brooks in spring-tide,\nNor meander like the rivers.\n\n\u201cCease thy flow, by word of magic,\nCease as did the falls of Tyrya,\nAs the rivers of Tuoni,\nWhen the sky withheld her rain-drops,\nWhen the sea gave up her waters,\nIn the famine of the seasons,\nIn the years of fire and torture.\nIf thou heedest not this order,\nI shall offer other measures,\nKnow I well of other forces;\nI shall call the Hisi irons,\nIn them I shall boil and roast thee,\nThus to check thy crimson flowing,\nThus to save the wounded hero.\n\n\u201cIf these means be inefficient,\nShould these measures prove unworthy,\nI shall call omniscient Ukko,\nMightiest of the creators,\nStronger than all ancient heroes,\nWiser than the world-magicians;\nHe will check the crimson out-flow,\nHe will heal this wound of hatchet.\n\n\u201cUkko, God of love and mercy,\nGod and Master of the heavens,\nCome thou hither, thou art needed,\nCome thou quickly I beseech thee,\nLend thy hand to aid thy children,\nTouch this wound with healing fingers,\nStop this hero\u2019s streaming life-blood,\nBind this wound with tender leaflets,\nMingle with them healing flowers,\nThus to check this crimson current,\nThus to save this great magician,\nSave the life of Wainamoinen.\u201d\n\nThus at last the blood-stream ended,\nAs the magic words were spoken.\nThen the gray-beard, much rejoicing,\nSent his young son to the smithy,\nThere to make a healing balsam,\nFrom the herbs of tender fibre,\nFrom the healing plants and flowers,\nFrom the stalks secreting honey,\nFrom the roots, and leaves, and blossoms.\n\nOn the way he meets an oak-tree,\nAnd the oak the son addresses:\n\u201cHast thou honey in thy branches,\nDoes thy sap run full of sweetness?\u201d\nThus the oak-tree wisely answers:\n\u201cYea, but last night dripped the honey\nDown upon my spreading branches,\nAnd the clouds their fragrance sifted,\nSifted honey on my leaflets,\nFrom their home within the heavens.\u201d\n\nThen the son takes oak-wood splinters,\nTakes the youngest oak-tree branches,\nGathers many healing grasses,\nGathers many herbs and flowers,\nRarest herbs that grow in Northland,\nPlaces them within the furnace\nIn a kettle made of copper;\nLets them steep and boil together,\nBits of bark chipped from the oak-tree,\nMany herbs of healing virtues;\nSteeps them one day, then a second,\nThree long days of summer weather,\nDays and nights in quick succession;\nThen he tries his magic balsam,\nLooks to see if it is ready,\nIf his remedy is finished;\nBut the balsam is unworthy.\n\nThen he added other grasses,\nHerbs of every healing virtue,\nThat were brought from distant nations,\nMany hundred leagues from Northland,\nGathered by the wisest minstrels,\nThither brought by nine enchanters.\nThree days more he steeped the balsam,\nThree nights more the fire he tended,\nNine the days and nights he watched it,\nThen again he tried the ointment,\nViewed it carefully and tested,\nFound at last that it was ready,\nFound the magic balm was finished.\n\nNear by stood a branching birch-tree,\nOn the border of the meadow,\nWickedly it had been broken,\nBroken down by evil Hisi;\nQuick he takes his balm of healing,\nAnd anoints the broken branches,\nRubs the balsam in the fractures,\nThus addresses then the birch-tree:\n\u201cWith this balsam I anoint thee,\nWith this salve thy wounds I cover,\nCover well thine injured places;\nNow the birch-tree shall recover,\nGrow more beautiful than ever.\u201d\n\nTrue, the birch-tree soon recovered,\nGrew more beautiful than ever,\nGrew more uniform its branches,\nAnd its bole more strong and stately.\nThus it was he tried the balsam,\nThus the magic salve he tested,\nTouched with it the splintered sandstone,\nTouched the broken blocks of granite,\nTouched the fissures in the mountains,\nAnd the broken parts united,\nAll the fragments grew together.\n\nThen the young boy quick returning\nWith the balsam he had finished,\nTo the gray-beard gave the ointment,\nAnd the boy these measures uttered:\n\u201cHere I bring the balm of healing,\nWonderful the salve I bring thee;\nIt will join the broken granite,\nMake the fragments grow together,\nHeat the fissures in the mountains,\nAnd restore the injured birch-tree.\u201d\n\nWith his tongue the old man tested,\nTested thus the magic balsam,\nFound the remedy effective,\nFound the balm had magic virtues;\nThen anointed he the minstrel,\nTouched the wounds of Wainamoinen,\nTouched them with his magic balsam,\nWith the balm of many virtues;\nSpeaking words of ancient wisdom,\nThese the words the gray-beard uttered:\n\u201cDo not walk in thine own virtue,\nDo not work in thine own power,\nWalk in strength of thy Creator;\nDo not speak in thine own wisdom,\nSpeak with tongue of mighty Ukko.\nIn my mouth, if there be sweetness,\nIt has come from my Creator;\nIf my hands are filled with beauty,\nAll the beauty comes from Ukko.\u201d\n\nWhen the wounds had been anointed,\nWhen the magic salve had touched them,\nStraightway ancient Wainamoinen\nSuffered fearful pain and anguish,\nSank upon the floor in torment,\nTurning one way, then another,\nSought for rest and found it nowhere,\nTill his pain the gray-beard banished,\nBanished by the aid of magic,\nDrove away his killing torment\nTo the court of all our trouble,\nTo the highest hill of torture,\nTo the distant rocks and ledges,\nTo the evil-bearing mountains,\nTo the realm of wicked Hisi.\nThen he took some silken fabric,\nQuick he tore the silk asunder,\nMaking equal strips for wrapping,\nTied the ends with silken ribbons,\nMaking thus a healing bandage;\nThen he wrapped with skilful fingers\nWainamoinen\u2019s knee and ankle,\nWrapped the wounds of the magician,\nAnd this prayer the gray-beard uttered\n\u201cUkko\u2019s fabric is the bandage,\nUkko\u2019s science is the surgeon,\nThese have served the wounded hero,\nWrapped the wounds of the magician.\nLook upon us, God of mercy,\nCome and guard us, kind Creator,\nAnd protect us from all evil!\nGuide our feet lest they may stumble,\nGuard our lives from every danger,\nFrom the wicked wilds of Hisi.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nFelt the mighty aid of magic,\nFelt the help of gracious Ukko,\nStraightway stronger grew in body,\nStraightway were the wounds united,\nQuick the fearful pain departed.\nStrong and hardy grew the hero,\nStraightway walked in perfect freedom,\nTurned his knee in all directions,\nKnowing neither pain nor trouble.\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nRaised his eyes to high Jumala,\nLooked with gratitude to heaven,\nLooked on high, in joy and gladness,\nThen addressed omniscient Ukko,\nThis the prayer the minstrel uttered:\n\u201cO be praised, thou God of mercy,\nLet me praise thee, my Creator,\nSince thou gavest me assistance,\nAnd vouchsafed me thy protection,\nHealed my wounds and stilled mine anguish,\nBanished all my pain and trouble,\nCaused by Iron and by Hisi.\nO, ye people of Wainola,\nPeople of this generation,\nAnd the folk of future ages,\nFashion not in emulation,\nRiver boat, nor ocean shallop,\nBoasting of its fine appearance;\nGod alone can work completion,\nGive to cause its perfect ending,\nNever hand of man can find it,\nNever can the hero give it,\nUkko is the only Master.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE X.\nILMARINEN FORGES THE SAMPO.\n\n\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nTakes his steed of copper color,\nHitches quick his fleet-foot courser,\nPuts his racer to the snow-sledge,\nStraightway springs upon the cross-seat,\nSnaps his whip adorned with jewels.\nLike the winds the steed flies onward,\nLike a lightning flash, the racer\nMakes the snow-sledge creak and rattle,\nMakes the highway quickly vanish,\nDashes on through fen and forest,\nOver hills and through the valleys,\nOver marshes, over mountains,\nOver fertile plains and meadows;\nJourneys one day, then a second,\nSo a third from morn till evening,\nTill the third day evening brings him\nTo the endless bridge of Osmo,\nTo the Osmo-fields and pastures,\nTo the plains of Kalevala;\nWhen the hero spake as follows:\n\u201cMay the wolves devour the dreamer,\nEat the Laplander for dinner,\nMay disease destroy the braggart,\nHim who said that I should never\nSee again my much-loved home-land,\nNevermore behold my kindred,\nNever during all my life-time,\nNever while the sunshine brightens,\nNever while the moonlight glimmers\nOn the meadows of Wainola,\nOn the plains of Kalevala.\u201d\n\nThen began old Wainamoinen,\nAncient bard and famous singer,\nTo renew his incantations;\nSang aloft a wondrous pine-tree,\nTill it pierced the clouds in growing\nWith its golden top and branches,\nTill it touched the very heavens,\nSpread its branches in the ether,\nIn the ever-shining sunlight.\n\nNow he sings again enchanting,\nSings the Moon to shine forever\nIn the fir-tree\u2019s emerald branches;\nIn its top he sings the Great Bear.\nThen he quickly journeys homeward,\nHastens to his golden portals,\nHead awry and visage wrinkled,\nCrooked cap upon his forehead,\nSince as ransom he had promised\nIlmarinen, magic artist,\nThus to save his life from torture\nOn the distant fields of Northland,\nIn the dismal Sariola.\n\nWhen his stallion he had halted\nOn the Osmo-field and meadow,\nQuickly rising in his snow-sledge,\nThe magician heard one knocking,\nBreaking coal within the smithy,\nBeating with a heavy hammer.\nWainamoinen, famous minstrel,\nEntering the smithy straightway,\nFound the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nKnocking with his copper hammer.\nIlmarinen spake as follows:\n\u201cWelcome, brother Wainamoinen,\nOld and worthy Wainamoinen!\nWhy so long hast thou been absent,\nWhere hast thou so long been hiding?\u201d\n\nWainamoinen then made answer,\nThese the words of the magician:\n\u201cLong indeed have I been living,\nMany dreary days have wandered,\nMany cheerless nights have lingered,\nFloating on the cruel ocean,\nWeeping in the fens and woodlands\nOf the never-pleasant Northland,\nIn the dismal Sariola;\nWith the Laplanders I\u2019ve wandered,\nWith the people filled with witchcraft.\u201d\n\nPromptly answers Ilmarinen,\nThese the words the blacksmith uses:\n\u201cO thou ancient Wainamoinen,\nFamous and eternal singer,\nTell me of thy journey northward,\nOf thy wanderings in Lapland,\nOf thy dismal journey homeward.\u201d\nSpake the minstrel, Wainamoinen:\n\u201cI have much to tell thee, brother,\nListen to my wondrous story:\nIn the Northland lives a virgin,\nIn a village there, a maiden,\nThat will not accept a lover,\nThat a hero\u2019s hand refuses,\nThat a wizard\u2019s heart disdaineth;\nAll of Northland sings her praises,\nSings her worth and magic beauty,\nFairest maiden of Pohyola,\nDaughter of the earth and ocean.\nFrom her temples beams the moonlight,\nFrom her breast, the gleam of sunshine,\nFrom her forehead shines the rainbow,\nOn her neck, the seven starlets,\nAnd the Great Bear from her shoulder.\n\n\u201cIlmarinen, worthy brother,\nThou the only skilful blacksmith,\nGo and see her wondrous beauty,\nSee her gold and silver garments,\nSee her robed in finest raiment,\nSee her sitting on the rainbow,\nWalking on the clouds of purple.\nForge for her the magic Sampo,\nForge the lid in many colors,\nThy reward shall be the virgin,\nThou shalt win this bride of beauty;\nGo and bring the lovely maiden\nTo thy home in Kalevala.\u201d\nSpake the brother, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cO thou cunning Wainamoinen,\nThou hast promised me already\nTo the ever-darksome Northland,\nThy devoted head to ransom,\nThus to rescue thee from trouble.\nI shall never visit Northland,\nShall not go to see thy maiden,\nDo not love the Bride of Beauty;\nNever while the moonlight glimmers,\nShall I go to dreary Pohya,\nTo the plains of Sariola,\nWhere the people eat each other,\nSink their heroes in the ocean,\nNot for all the maids of Lapland.\u201d\nSpake the brother, Wainamoinen:\n\u201cI can tell thee greater wonders,\nListen to my wondrous story:\nI have seen the fir-tree blossom,\nSeen its flowers with emerald branches,\nOn the Osmo-fields and woodlands;\nIn its top, there shines the moonlight,\nAnd the Bear lives in its branches.\u201d\nIlmarinen thus made answer:\n\u201cI cannot believe thy story,\nCannot trust thy tale of wonder,\nTill I see the blooming fir-tree,\nWith its many emerald branches,\nWith its Bear and golden moonlight.\u201d\nThis is Wainamoinen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cWilt thou not believe my story?\nCome with me and I will show thee\nIf my lips speak fact or fiction.\u201d\n\nQuick they journey to discover,\nHaste to view the wondrous fir-tree;\nWainamoinen leads the journey,\nIlmarinen closely follows.\nAs they near the Osmo-borders,\nIlmarinen hastens forward\nThat he may behold the wonder,\nSpies the Bear within the fir-top,\nSitting on its emerald branches,\nSpies the gleam of golden moonlight.\n\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:,\nThese the words the singer uttered:\n\u201cClimb this tree, dear Ilmarinen,\nAnd bring down the golden moonbeams,\nBring the Moon and Bear down with thee\nFrom the fir-tree\u2019s lofty branches.\u201d\n\nIlmarinen, full consenting,\nStraightway climbed the golden fir-tree,\nHigh upon the bow of heaven,\nThence to bring the golden moonbeams,\nThence to bring the Bear of heaven,\nFrom the fir-tree\u2019s topmost branches.\n\nThereupon the blooming fir-tree\nSpake these words to Ilmarinen:\n\u201cO thou senseless, thoughtless hero,\nThou hast neither wit nor instinct;\nThou dost climb my golden branches,\nLike a thing of little judgment,\nThus to get my pictured moonbeams,\nTake away my silver starlight,\nSteal my Bear and blooming branches.\u201d\n\nQuick as thought old Wainamoinen\nSang again in magic accents,\nSang a storm-wind in the heavens,\nSang the wild winds into fury,\nAnd the singer spake as follows:\n\u201cTake, O storm-wind, take the forgeman,\nCarry him within thy vessel,\nQuickly hence, and land the hero\nOn the ever-darksome Northland,\nOn the dismal Sariola.\u201d\n\nNow the storm-wind quickly darkens,\nQuickly piles the air together,\nMakes of air a sailing vessel,\nTakes the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nFleetly from the fir-tree branches,\nToward the never-pleasant Northland,\nToward the dismal Sariola.\nThrough the air sailed Ilmarinen,\nFast and far the hero travelled,\nSweeping onward, sailing northward,\nRiding in the track of storm-winds,\nO\u2019er the Moon, beneath the sunshine,\nOn the broad back of the Great Bear,\nTill he neared Pohyola\u2019s woodlands,\nNeared the homes of Sariola,\nAnd alighted undiscovered,\nWas not noticed by the hunters,\nWas not scented by the watch-dogs.\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nAncient, toothless dame of Northland,\nStanding in the open court-yard,\nThus addresses Ilmarinen,\nAs she spies the hero-stranger:\n\u201cWho art thou of ancient heroes,\nWho of all the host of heroes,\nComing here upon the storm-wind,\nO\u2019er the sledge-path of the ether,\nScented not by Pohya\u2019s watch-dogs?\u201d\nThis is Ilmarinen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cI have surely not come hither\nTo be barked at by the watch-dogs,\nAt these unfamiliar portals,\nAt the gates of Sariola.\u201d\n\nThereupon the Northland hostess\nAsks again the hero-stranger:\n\u201cHast thou ever been acquainted\nWith the blacksmith of Wainola,\nWith the hero, Ilmarinen,\nWith the skilful smith and artist?\nLong I\u2019ve waited for his coming,\nLong this one has been expected,\nOn the borders of the Northland,\nHere to forge for me the Sampo.\u201d\nSpake the hero, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cWell indeed am I acquainted\nWith the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nI myself am Ilmarinen,\nI, the skilful smith and artist.\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of the Northland,\nToothless dame of Sariola,\nStraightway rushes to her dwelling,\nThese the words that Louhi utters:\n\u201cCome, thou youngest of my daughters,\nCome, thou fairest of my maidens,\nDress thyself in finest raiment,\nDeck thy hair with rarest jewels,\nPearls upon thy swelling bosom,\nOn thy neck, a golden necklace,\nBind thy head with silken ribbons,\nMake thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy,\nAnd thy visage fair and winsome,\nSince the artist, Ilmarinen,\nHither comes from Kalevala,\nHere to forge for us the Sampo,\nHammer us the lid in colors.\u201d\n\nNow the daughter of the Northland,\nHonored by the land and water,\nStraightway takes her choicest raiment,\nTakes her dresses rich in beauty,\nFinest of her silken wardrobe,\nNow adjusts her silken fillet,\nOn her brow a band of copper,\nRound her waist a golden girdle,\nRound her neck a pearly necklace,\nShining gold upon her bosom,\nIn her hair the threads of silver.\nFrom her dressing-room she hastens,\nTo the hall she hastes and listens,\nFull of beauty, full of joyance,\nEars erect and eyes bright-beaming,\nRuddy cheeks and charming visage,\nWaiting for the hero-stranger.\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nLeads the hero, Ilmarinen,\nTo her dwelling-rooms in Northland,\nTo her home in Sariola,\nSeats him at her well-filled table,\nGives to him the finest viands,\nGives him every needed comfort,\nThen addresses him as follows:\n\u201cO thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nMaster of the forge and smithy,\nCanst thou forge for me the Sampo,\nHammer me the lid in colors,\nFrom the tips of white-swan feathers,\nFrom the milk of greatest virtue,\nFrom a single grain of barley,\nFrom the finest wool of lambkins?\nThou shalt have my fairest daughter,\nRecompense for this thy service.\u201d\nThese the words of Ilmarinen:\n\u201cI will forge for thee the Sampo,\nHammer thee the lid in colors,\nFrom the tips of white-swan feathers,\nFrom the milk of greatest virtue,\nFrom a single grain of barley,\nFrom the finest wool of lambkins,\nSince I forged the arch of heaven,\nForged the air a concave cover,\nEre the earth had a beginning.\u201d\n\nThereupon the magic blacksmith\nWent to forge the wondrous Sampo,\nWent to find a blacksmith\u2019s workshop,\nWent to find the tools to work with;\nBut he found no place for forging,\nFound no smithy, found no bellows,\nFound no chimney, found no anvil,\nFound no tongs, and found no hammer.\n\nThen the artist, Ilmarinen.\nSpake these words, soliloquizing:\n\u201cOnly women grow discouraged,\nOnly knaves leave work unfinished,\nNot the devils, nor the heroes,\nNor the Gods of greater knowledge.\u201d\n\nThen the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nSought a place to build a smithy,\nSought a place to plant a bellows,\nOn the borders of the Northland,\nOn the Pohya-hills and meadows;\nSearched one day, and then a second;\nEre the evening of the third day,\nCame a rock within his vision,\nCame a stone with rainbow-colors.\nThere the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nSet at work to build his smithy,\nBuilt a fire and raised a chimney;\nOn the next day laid his bellows,\nOn the third day built his furnace,\nAnd began to forge the Sampo.\n\nThe eternal magic artist,\nAncient blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nFirst of all the iron-workers,\nMixed together certain metals,\nPut the mixture in the caldron,\nLaid it deep within the furnace,\nCalled the hirelings to the forging.\nSkilfully they work the bellows,\nTend the fire and add the fuel,\nThree most lovely days of summer,\nThree short nights of bright midsummer,\nTill the rocks begin to blossom,\nIn the foot-prints of the workmen,\nFrom the magic heat and furnace.\n\nOn the first day, Ilmarinen\nDownward bent and well examined,\nOn the bottom of his furnace,\nThus to see what might be forming\nFrom the magic fire and metals.\nFrom the fire arose a cross-bow,\nWith the brightness of the moonbeams,\nGolden bow with tips of silver;\nOn the shaft was shining copper,\nAnd the bow was strong and wondrous,\nBut alas! it was ill-natured,\nAsking for a hero daily,\nTwo the heads it asked on feast-days.\n\nIlmarinen, skilful artist,\nWas not pleased with this creation,\nBroke the bow in many pieces,\nThrew them back within the furnace,\nKept the workmen at the bellows,\nTried to forge the magic Sampo.\n\nOn the second day, the blacksmith\nDownward bent and well examined,\nOn the bottom of the furnace;\nFrom the fire, a skiff of metals,\nCame a boat of purple color,\nAll the ribs were colored golden,\nAnd the oars were forged from copper;\nThus the skiff was full of beauty,\nBut alas! a thing of evil;\nForth it rushes into trouble,\nHastens into every quarrel,\nHastes without a provocation\nInto every evil combat.\n\nIlmarinen, metal artist,\nIs not pleased with this creation,\nBreaks the skiff in many fragments,\nThrows them back within the furnace,\nKeeps the workmen at the bellows,\nThus to forge the magic Sampo.\n\nOn the third day, Ilmarinen,\nFirst of all the metal-workers,\nDownward bent and well examined,\nOn the bottom of the furnace;\nThere he saw a heifer rising,\nGolden were the horns of Kimmo,\nOn her head the Bear of heaven,\nOn her brow a disc of sunshine,\nBeautiful the cow of magic;\nBut alas! she is ill-tempered,\nRushes headlong through the forest,\nRushes through the swamps and meadows,\nWasting all her milk in running.\n\nIlmarinen, the magician,\nIs not pleased with this creation,\nCuts the magic cow in pieces,\nThrows them in the fiery furnace,\nSets the workmen at the bellows,\nThus to forge the magic Sampo.\n\nOn the fourth day, Ilmarinen\nDownward bent and well examined,\nTo the bottom of the furnace;\nThere beheld a plow in beauty\nRising from the fire of metals,\nGolden was the point and plowshare,\nAnd the beam was forged from copper,\nAnd the handles, molten silver,\nBeautiful the plow and wondrous;\nBut alas! it is ill-mannered,\nPlows up fields of corn and barley,\nFurrows through the richest meadows.\n\nIlmarinen, metal artist,\nIs not pleased with this creation,\nQuickly breaks the plow in pieces,\nThrows them back within the furnace,\nLets the winds attend the bellows,\nLets the storm-winds fire the metals.\nFiercely vie the winds of heaven,\nEast-wind rushing, West-wind roaring,\nSouth-wind crying, North-wind howling,\nBlow one day and then a second,\nBlow the third from morn till even,\nWhen the fire leaps through the windows,\nThrough the door the sparks fly upward,\nClouds of smoke arise to heaven;\nWith the clouds the black smoke mingles,\nAs the storm-winds ply the bellows.\n\nOn the third night Ilmarinen,\nBending low to view his metals,\nOn the bottom of the furnace,\nSees the magic Sampo rising,\nSees the lid in many colors.\nQuick the artist of Wainola\nForges with the tongs and anvil,\nKnocking with a heavy hammer,\nForges skilfully the Sampo;\nOn one side the flour is grinding,\nOn another salt is making,\nOn a third is money forging,\nAnd the lid is many-colored.\nWell the Sampo grinds when finished,\nTo and fro the lid in rocking,\nGrinds one measure at the day-break,\nGrinds a measure fit for eating,\nGrinds a second for the market,\nGrinds a third one for the store-house.\n\nJoyfully the dame of Northland,\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nTakes away the magic Sampo,\nTo the hills of Sariola,\nTo the copper-bearing mountains,\nPuts nine locks upon the wonder,\nMakes three strong roots creep around it;\nIn the earth they grow nine fathoms,\nOne large root beneath the mountain,\nOne beneath the sandy sea-bed,\nOne beneath the mountain-dwelling.\n\nModestly pleads Ilmarinen\nFor the maiden\u2019s willing answer,\nThese the words of the magician:\n\u201cWilt thou come with me, fair maiden,\nBe my wife and queen forever?\nI have forged for thee the Sampo,\nForged the lid in many colors.\u201d\n\nNorthland\u2019s fair and lovely daughter\nAnswers thus the metal-worker:\n\u201cWho will in the coming spring-time,\nWho will in the second summer,\nGuide the cuckoo\u2019s song and echo?\nWho will listen to his calling,\nWho will sing with him in autumn,\nShould I go to distant regions,\nShould this cheery maiden vanish\nFrom the fields of Sariola,\nFrom Pohyola\u2019s fens and forests,\nWhere the cuckoo sings and echoes?\nShould I leave my father\u2019s dwelling,\nShould my mother\u2019s berry vanish,\nShould these mountains lose their cherry,\nThen the cuckoo too would vanish,\nAll the birds would leave the forest,\nLeave the summit of the mountain,\nLeave my native fields and woodlands,\nNever shall I, in my life-time,\nSay farewell to maiden freedom,\nNor to summer cares and labors,\nLest the harvest be ungarnered,\nLest the berries be ungathered,\nLest the song-birds leave the forest,\nLest the mermaids leave the waters,\nLest I sing with them no longer.\u201d\n\nIlmarinen, the magician,\nThe eternal metal-forger,\nCap awry and head dejected,\nDisappointed, heavy-hearted,\nEmpty-handed, well considers,\nHow to reach his distant country,\nReach his much-loved home and kinded,\nGain the meadows of Wainola,\nFrom the never-pleasant Northland,\nFrom the darksome Sariola.\nLouhi thus addressed the suitor:\n\u201cO thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nWhy art thou so heavy-hearted,\nWhy thy visage so dejected?\nHast thou in thy mind to journey\nFrom the vales and hills of Pohya,\nTo the meadows of Wainola,\nTo thy home in Kalevala?\u201d\nThis is Ilmarinen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cThitherward my mind is tending,\nTo my home-land let me journey,\nWith my kindred let me linger,\nBe at rest in mine own country.\u201d\n\nStraightway Louhi, dame of Northland,\nGave the hero every comfort,\nGave him food and rarest viands,\nPlaced him in a boat of copper,\nIn a copper-banded vessel,\nCalled the winds to his assistance,\nMade the North-wind guide him homeward.\nThus the skilful Ilmarinen\nTravels toward his native country,\nOn the blue back of the waters,\nTravels one day, then a second,\nTill the third day evening brings him\nTo Wainola\u2019s peaceful meadows,\nTo his home in Kalevala.\n\nStraightway ancient Wainamoinen\nThus addresses Ilmarinen:\n\u201cO my brother, metal-artist,\nThou eternal wonder-worker,\nDidst thou forge the magic Sampo,\nForge the lid in many colors?\u201d\n\nSpake the brother, Ilmarinen,\nThese the words the master uttered:\n\u201cYea, I forged the magic Sampo,\nForged the lid in many colors;\nTo and fro the lid in rocking\nGrinds one measure at the day-dawn,\nGrinds a measure fit for eating,\nGrinds a second for the market,\nGrinds a third one for the store-house.\nLouhi has the wondrous Sampo,\nI have not the Bride of Beauty.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XI.\nLEMMINKAINEN\u2019S LAMENT.\n\n\nThis the time to sing of Ahti,\nSon of Lempo, Kaukomieli,\nAlso known as Lemminkainen.\nAhti was the king of islands,\nGrew amid the island-dwellings,\nAt the site of his dear mother,\nOn the borders of the ocean,\nOn the points of promontories.\nAhti fed upon the salmon,\nFed upon the ocean whiting,\nThus became a mighty hero,\nIn his veins the blood of ages,\nHead erect and form commanding,\nGrowth of mind and body perfect;\nBut alas! he had his failings,\nBad indeed his heart and morals,\nRoaming in unworthy places,\nStaying days and nights in sequence\nAt the homes of merry maidens,\nAt the dances of the virgins,\nWith the maids of braided tresses.\n\nUp in Sahri lived a maiden,\nLived the fair and winsome Kulli,\nLovely as a summer-flower,\nFrom a kingly house descended,\nGrew to perfect form and beauty,\nLiving in her father\u2019s cottage,\nHome of many ancient heroes;\nBeautiful was she and queenly,\nPraised throughout the whole of Ehstland;\nFrom afar men came to woo her,\nTo the birthplace of the virgin,\nTo the household of her mother.\n\nFor his son the Day-star wooes her,\nBut she will not go to Sun-land,\nWill not shine beside the Day-star,\nIn his haste to bring the summer.\nFor her son, the bright Moon wooes her,\nBut she will not go to Moon-land,\nBy the bright Moon will not glimmer,\nWill not run through boundless ether.\n\nFor his son the Night-star wooes her,\nBut she will not go to Star-land,\nWill not twinkle in the starlight,\nThrough the dreary nights in winter.\n\nLovers come from distant Ehstland,\nOthers come from far-off Ingern,\nBut they cannot win the maiden,\nThis the answer that she gives them\n\u201cVainly are your praises lavished\nVainly is your silver offered,\nWealth and praise are no temptation;\nNever shall I go to Ehstland,\nNever shall I go a-rowing\nOn the waters of the Ingern,\nShall not cross the Sahri-waters,\nNever eat the fish of Ehstland,\nNever taste the Ehstland viands.\nIngerland shall never see me,\nWill not row upon her rivers,\nWill not step within her borders;\nHunger there, and fell starvation,\nWood is absent, fuel wanting,\nNeither water, wheat, nor barley,\nEven rye is not abundant.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen of the islands,\nWarlike hero, Kaukomieli,\nUndertakes to win the maiden,\nWoo and win the Sahri-flower,\nWin a bride so highly honored,\nWin the maid with golden tresses,\nWin the Sahri maid of beauty;\nBut his mother gives him warning:\n\u201cNay,\u201d replies his gray-haired mother,\n\u201cDo not woo, my son beloved,\nMaiden of a higher station;\nShe will never make thee happy\nWith her lineage of Sahri.\u201d\n\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen,\nThese the words of Kaukomieli:\n\u201cShould I come from lowly station,\nThough my tribe is not the highest,\nI shall woo to please my fancy,\nWoo the maiden fair and lovely,\nChoose a wife for worth and beauty.\u201d\nThis the anxious mother\u2019s answer:\n\u201cLemminkainen, son beloved,\nListen to advice maternal:\nDo not go to distant Sahri,\nTo her tribe of many branches;\nAll the maidens there will taunt thee,\nAll the women will deride thee.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen, little hearing,\nAnswers thus his mother\u2019s pleading:\n\u201cI will still the sneers of women,\nSilence all the taunts of maidens,\nI will crush their haughty bosoms,\nSmite the hands and cheeks of infants;\nSurely this will check their insults,\nFitting ending to derision!\u201d\nThis the answer of the mother:\n\u201cWoe is me, my son beloved!\nWoe is me, my life hard-fated!\nShouldst thou taunt the Sahri daughters,\nOr insult the maids of virtue,\nShouldst thou laugh them to derision,\nThere will rise a great contention,\nFierce the battle that will follow.\nAll the hosts of Sahri-suitors,\nArmed in thousands will attack thee,\nAnd will slay thee for thy folly.\u201d\n\nNothing listing, Lemminkainen,\nHeeding not his mother\u2019s warning,\nLed his war-horse from the stables,\nQuickly hitched the fiery charger,\nFleetly drove upon his journey,\nTo the distant Sahri-village,\nThere to woo the Sahri-flower,\nThere to win the Bride of Beauty.\n\nAll the aged Sahri-women,\nAll the young and lovely maidens\nLaughed to scorn the coming stranger\nDriving careless through the alleys,\nWildly driving through the court-yard,\nNow upsetting in the gate-way,\nBreaking shaft, and hame, and runner.\n\nThen the fearless Lemminkainen,\nMouth awry and visage wrinkled,\nShook his sable locks and answered:\n\u201cNever in my recollection\nHave I heard or seen such treatment,\nNever have I been derided,\nNever suffered sneers of women,\nNever suffered scorn of virgins,\nNot in my immortal life-time.\nIs there any place befitting\nOn the Sahri-plains and pastures,\nWhere to join in songs and dances?\nIs there here a hall for pleasure,\nWhere the Sahri-maidens linger,\nMerry maids with braided tresses?\u201d\n\nThereupon the Sahri-maidens\nAnswered from their promontory:\n\u201cRoom enough is there in Sahri,\nRoom upon the Sahri-pastures,\nRoom for pleasure-halls and dances;\nSing and dance upon our meadows,\nBe a shepherd on the mountains,\nShepherd-boys have room for dancing;\nIndolent the Sahri-children,\nBut the colts are fat and frisky.\u201d\n\nLittle caring, Lemminkainen\nEntered service there as shepherd,\nIn the daytime on the pastures,\nIn the evening, making merry\nAt the games of lively maidens,\nAt the dances with the virgins,\nWith the maids with braided tresses.\nThus it was that Lemminkainen,\nThus the shepherd, Kaukomieli,\nQuickly hushed the women\u2019s laughter,\nQuickly quenched the taunts of maidens,\nQuickly silenced their derision.\nAll the dames and Sahri-daughters\nSoon were feasting Lemminkainen,\nAt his side they danced and lingered.\nOnly was there one among them,\nOne among the Sahri-virgins,\nHarbored neither love nor wooers,\nFavored neither gods nor heroes,\nThis the lovely maid Kyllikki,\nThis the Sahri\u2019s fairest flower.\nLemminkainen, full of pleasure,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli,\nRowed a hundred boats in pieces,\nPulled a thousand oars to fragments,\nWhile he wooed the Maid of Beauty,\nTried to win the fair Kyllikki.\n\nFinally the lovely maiden,\nFairest daughter of the Northland,\nThus addresses Lemminkainen:\n\u201cWhy dost linger here, thou weak one,\nWhy dost murmur on these borders,\nWhy come wooing at my fireside,\nWooing me in belt of copper?\nHave no time to waste upon thee,\nRather give this stone its polish,\nRather would I turn the pestle\nIn the heavy sandstone mortar;\nRather sit beside my mother\nIn the dwellings of my father.\nNever shall I heed thy wooing,\nNeither wights nor whisks I care for,\nSooner have a slender husband\nSince I have a slender body;\nWish to have him fine of figure,\nSince perchance I am well-shapen;\nWish to have him tall and stately,\nSince my form perchance is queenly;\nNever waste thy time in wooing\nSahri\u2019s maid and favored flower.\u201d\n\nTime had gone but little distance,\nScarcely had a month passed over,\nWhen upon a merry evening,\nWhere the maidens meet for dancing,\nIn the glen beyond the meadow,\nOn a level patch of verdure,\nCame too soon the maid Kyllikki,\nSahri\u2019s pride, the Maid of Beauty;\nQuickly followed Lemminkainen,\nWith his stallion proudly prancing,\nFleetest racer of the Northland,\nFleetly drives beyond the meadow,\nWhere the maidens meet for dancing,\nSnatches quick the maid Kyllikki,\nOn the settle seats the maiden,\nQuickly draws the leathern cover,\nAnd adjusts the brichen cross-bar,\nWhips his courser to a gallop.\nWith a rush, and roar, and rattle,\nSpeeds he homeward like the storm-wind,\nSpeaks these words to those that listen:\n\u201cNever, never, anxious maidens,\nMust ye give the information,\nThat I carried off Kyllikki\nTo my distant home and kindred.\nIf ye do not heed this order,\nYe shall badly fare as maidens;\nI shall sing to war your suitors,\nSing them under spear and broadsword,\nThat for months, and years, and ages,\nNever ye will see their faces,\nNever hear their merry voices,\nNever will they tread these uplands,\nNever will they join these dances,\nNever will they drive these highways.\u201d\n\nSad the wailing of Kyllikki,\nSad the weeping flower of Sahri!\nListen to her tearful pleading:\n\u201cGive, O give me back my freedom,\nFree me from the throes of thralldom,\nLet this maiden wander homeward,\nBy some foot-path let me wander\nTo my father who is grieving,\nTo my mother who is weeping;\nLet me go or I will curse thee!\nIf thou wilt not give me freedom,\nWilt not let me wander homeward,\nWhere my loved ones wait my coming,\nI have seven stalwart brothers,\nSeven sons of father\u2019s brother,\nSeven sons of mother\u2019s sister,\nWho pursue the tracks of red-deer,\nHunt the hare upon the heather;\nThey will follow thee and slay thee,\nThus I\u2019ll gain my wished-for freedom.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen, little heeding,\nWould not grant the maiden\u2019s wishes,\nWould not heed her plea for mercy.\n\nSpake again the waiting virgin,\nPride and beauty of the Northland:\n\u201cJoyful was I with my kindred,\nJoyful born and softly nurtured;\nMerrily I spent my childhood,\nHappy I, in virgin-freedom,\nIn the dwelling of my father,\nBy the bedside of my mother,\nWith my lineage in Sahri;\nBut alas! all joy has vanished,\nAll my happiness departed,\nAll my maiden beauty waneth\nSince I met thine evil spirit,\nShameless hero of dishonor,\nCruel fighter of the islands,\nMerciless in civil combat.\u201d\n\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen,\nThese the words of Kaukomieli:\n\u201cDearest maiden, fair Kyllikki,\nMy sweet strawberry of Pohya,\nStill thine anguish, cease thy weeping,\nBe thou free from care and sorrow,\nNever shall I do thee evil,\nNever will my hands maltreat thee,\nNever will mine arms abuse thee,\nNever will my tongue revile thee,\nNever will my heart deceive thee.\n\n\u201cTell me why thou hast this anguish,\nWhy thou hast this bitter sorrow,\nWhy this sighing and lamenting,\nTell me why this wail of sadness?\nBanish all thy cares and sorrows,\nDry thy tears and still thine anguish,\nI have cattle, food, and shelter,\nI have home, and friends, and kindred,\nKine upon the plains and uplands,\nIn the marshes berries plenty,\nStrawberries upon the mountains;\nI have kine that need no milking,\nHandsome kine that need no feeding,\nBeautiful if not well-tended;\nNeed not tie them up at evening,\nNeed not free them in the morning,\nNeed not hunt them, need not feed them,\nNeed not give them salt nor water.\n\n\u201cThinkest thou my race is lowly,\nDost thou think me born ignoble,\nDoes my lineage agrieve thee?\nWas not born in lofty station,\nFrom a tribe of noble heroes,\nFrom a worthy race descended;\nBut I have a sword of fervor,\nAnd a spear yet filled with courage,\nSurely these are well descended,\nThese were born from hero-races,\nSharpened by the mighty Hisi,\nBy the gods were forged and burnished;\nTherefore will I give thee greatness,\nGreatness of my race and nation,\nWith my broadsword filled with fervor,\nWith my spear still filled with courage.\u201d\n\nAnxiously the sighing maiden\nThus addresses Lemminkainen:\n\u201cO thou Ahti, son of Lempo,\nWilt thou take this trusting virgin,\nAs thy faithful life-companion,\nTake me under thy protection,\nBe to me a faithful husband,\nSwear to me an oath of honor,\nThat thou wilt not go to battle,\nWhen for gold thou hast a longing,\nWhen thou wishest gold and silver?\u201d\nThis is Lemminkainen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cI will swear an oath of honor,\nThat I\u2019ll never go to battle,\nWhen for gold I feel a longing,\nWhen I wish for gold and silver.\nSwear thou also on thine honor,\nThou wilt go not to the village,\nWhen desire for dance impels thee,\nWilt not visit village-dances.\u201d\n\nThus the two made oath together,\nRegistered their vows in heaven,\nVowed before omniscient Ukko,\nNe\u2019er to go to war vowed Ahti,\nNever to the dance, Kyllikki.\n\nLemminkainen, full of joyance,\nSnapped his whip above his courser,\nWhipped his racer to a gallop,\nAnd these words the hero uttered:\n\u201cFare ye well, ye Sahri-meadows,\nRoots of firs, and stumps of birch-trees.\nThat I wandered through in summer,\nThat I travelled o\u2019er in winter,\nWhere ofttimes in rainy seasons,\nAt the evening hour I lingered,\nWhen I sought to win the virgin,\nSought to win the Maid of Beauty,\nFairest of the Sahri-flowers.\nFare ye well, ye Sahri-woodlands,\nSeas and oceans, lakes and rivers,\nVales and mountains, isles and inlets,\nOnce the home of fair Kyllikki!\u201d\n\nQuick the racer galloped homeward,\nGalloped on along the highway,\nToward the meadows of Wainola,\nTo the plains of Kalevala.\n\nAs they neared the Ahti-dwellings,\nThus Kyllikki spake in sorrow:\n\u201cCold and drear is thy cottage,\nSeeming like a place deserted;\nWho may own this dismal cabin,\nWho the one so little honored?\u201d\n\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen,\nThese the words that Ahti uttered:\n\u201cDo not grieve about my cottage,\nHave no care about my chambers;\nI shall build thee other dwellings,\nI shall fashion them much better,\nBeams, and posts, and sills, and rafters,\nFashioned from the sacred birch-wood.\u201d\n\nNow they reach the home of Ahti,\nLemminkainen\u2019s home and birthplace,\nEnter they his mother\u2019s cottage;\nThere they meet his aged mother,\nThese the words the mother uses:\n\u201cLong indeed hast thou been absent,\nLong in foreign lands hast wandered,\nLong in Sahri thou hast lingered!\u201d\nThis is Lemminkainen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cAll the host of Sahri-women,\nAll the chaste and lovely maidens,\nAll the maids with braided tresses,\nWell have paid for their derision,\nFor their scorn and for their laughter,\nThat they basely heaped upon me.\nI have brought the best among them\nIn my sledge to this thy cottage;\nWell I wrapped her in my fur-robes,\nKept her warm enwrapped in bear-skin,\nBrought her to my mother\u2019s dwelling,\nAs my faithful life-companion;\nThus I paid the scornful maidens,\nPaid them well for their derision.\n\n\u201cCherished mother of my being,\nI have found the long-sought jewel,\nI have won the Maid of Beauty.\nSpread our couch with finest linen,\nFor our heads the softest pillows,\nOn our table rarest viands,\nSo that I may dwell in pleasure\nWith my spouse, the bride of honor,\nWith the pride of distant Sahri.\u201d\nThis the answer of the mother:\n\u201cBe thou praised, O gracious Ukko,\nLoudly praised, O thou Creator,\nSince thou givest me a daughter,\nAhti\u2019s bride, my second daughter,\nWho can stir the fire at evening,\nWho can weave me finest fabrics,\nWho can twirl the useful spindle,\nWho can rinse my silken ribbons,\nWho can full the richest garments.\n\n\u201cSon beloved, praise thy Maker,\nFor the winning of this virgin,\nPride and joy of distant Sahri!\nKind indeed is thy Creator,\nWise the ever-knowing Ukko!\nPure the snow upon the mountains,\nPurer still thy Bride of Beauty;\nWhite the foam upon the ocean,\nWhiter still her virgin-spirit;\nGraceful on the lakes, the white-swan,\nStill more graceful, thy companion;\nBeautiful the stars in heaven,\nStill more beautiful, Kyllikki.\nLarger make our humble cottage,\nWider build the doors and windows,\nFashion thou the ceilings higher,\nDecorate the walls in beauty,\nNow that thou a bride hast taken\nFrom a tribe of higher station,\nPurest maiden of creation,\nFrom the meadow-lands of Sahri,\nFrom the upper shores of Northland.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XII.\nKYLLIKKI\u2019S BROKEN VOW.\n\n\nLemminkainen, artful husband,\nReckless hero, Kaukomieli,\nConstantly beside his young wife,\nPassed his life in sweet contentment,\nAnd the years rolled swiftly onward;\nAhti thought not of the battles,\nNor Kyllikki of the dances.\n\nOnce upon a time it happened\nThat the hero, Lemminkainen,\nWent upon the lake a-fishing,\nWas not home at early evening,\nAs the cruel night descended;\nTo the village went Kyllikki,\nTo the dance of merry maidens.\n\nWho will tell the evil story,\nWho will bear the information\nTo the husband, Lemminkainen?\nAhti\u2019s sister tells the story,\nAnd the sister\u2019s name, Ainikki.\n\nSoon she spreads the cruel tidings,\nStraightway gives the information,\nOf Kyllikki\u2019s perjured honor,\nThese the words Ainikki utters:\n\u201cAhti, my beloved brother,\nTo the village went Kyllikki,\nTo the hall of many strangers,\nTo the plays and village dances,\nWith the young men and the maidens,\nWith the maids of braided tresses,\nTo the halls of joy and pleasure.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen, much dejected,\nBroken-hearted, flushed with anger,\nSpake these words in measured accents:\n\u201cMother dear, my gray-haired mother,\nWilt thou straightway wash my linen\nIn the blood of poison-serpents,\nIn the black blood of the adder?\nI must hasten to the combat,\nTo the camp-fires of the Northland,\nTo the battle-fields of Lapland;\nTo the village went Kyllikki,\nTo the play of merry maidens,\nTo the games and village dances,\nWith the maids of braided tresses.\u201d\nStraightway speaks the wife, Kyllikki:\n\u201cMy beloved husband, Ahti,\nDo not go to war, I pray thee.\nIn the evening I lay sleeping,\nSlumbering I saw in dream-land\nFire upshooting from the chimney,\nFlames arising, mounting skyward,\nFrom the windows of this dwelling,\nFrom the summits of these rafters,\nPiercing through our upper chambers,\nRoaring like the fall of waters,\nLeaping from the floor and ceiling,\nDarting from the halls and doorways.\u201d\n\nBut the doubting Lemminkainen\nMakes this answer to Kyllikki:\n\u201cI discredit dreams of women,\nHave no faith in vows of maidens!\nFaithful mother of my being,\nHither bring my mail of copper;\nStrong desire is stirring in me\nFor the cup of deadly combat,\nFor the mead of martial conquest.\u201d\nThis the pleading mother\u2019s answer:\n\u201cLemminkainen, son beloved,\nDo not go to war I pray thee;\nWe have foaming beer abundant,\nIn our vessels beer of barley,\nHeld in casks by oaken spigots;\nDrink this beer of peace and pleasure,\nLet us drink of it together.\u201d\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cI shall taste no more the viands,\nIn the home of false Kyllikki;\nRather would I drink the water\nFrom the painted tips of birch-oars;\nSweeter far to me the water,\nThan the beverage of dishonor,\nAt my mother\u2019s home and fireside!\n\n\u201cHither bring my martial doublet,\nBring me now the sword of battle,\nBring my father\u2019s sword of honor;\nI must go to upper Northland,\nTo the battle-fields of Lapland,\nThere to win me gold and silver.\u201d\nThis the anxious mother\u2019s answer:\n\u201cMy beloved Kaukomieli,\nWe have gold in great abundance,\nGold and silver in the store-room;\nRecently upon the uplands,\nIn the early hours of morning,\nToiled the workmen in the corn-fields,\nPlowed the meadows filled with serpents,\nWhen the plowshare raised the cover\nFrom a chest of gold and silver,\nCountless was the gold uncovered,\nHid beneath the grassy meadow;\nThis the treasure I have brought thee,\nTake the countless gold in welcome.\u201d\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cDo not wish thy household silver,\nFrom the wars I\u2019ll earn my silver;\nGold and silver from the combat\nAre to me of greater value\nThan the wealth thou hast discovered.\nBring me now my heavy armor,\nBring me too my spear and broadsword;\nTo the Northland I must hasten,\nTo the bloody wars of Lapland,\nThither does my pride impel me,\nThitherward my heart is turning.\n\n\u201cI have heard a tale of Lapland,\nSome believe the wondrous story,\nThat a maid in Pimentola\nLives that does not care for suitors,\nDoes not care for bearded heroes.\u201d\nThis the aged mother\u2019s answer:\n\u201cWarlike Athi, son beloved,\nIn thy home thou hast Kyllikki,\nFairest wife of all the islands;\nStrange to see two wives abiding\nIn the home of but one husband.\u201d\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cTo the village runs Kyllikki;\nLet her run to village dances,\nLet her sleep in other dwellings,\nWith the village youth find pleasure,\nWith the maids of braided tresses.\u201d\n\nSeeks the mother to detain him,\nThus the anxious mother answers:\n\u201cDo not go, my son beloved,\nIgnorant of Pohya-witchcraft,\nTo the distant homes of Northland\nTill thou hast the art of magic,\nTill thou hast some little wisdom;\nDo not go to fields of battle,\nTo the fires of Northland\u2019s children,\nTo the slaughter-fields of Lapland,\nTill of magic thou art master.\nThere the Lapland maids will charm thee,\nTuryalanders will bewitch thee,\nSing thy visage into charcoal,\nHead and shoulders to the furnace,\nInto ashes sing thy fore-arm,\nInto fire direct thy footsteps.\u201d\nSpake the warlike Lemminkainen:\n\u201cWizards often have bewitched me,\nAnd the fascinating serpents;\nLapland wizards, three in number,\nOn an eve in time of summer,\nSitting on a rock at twilight,\nNot a garment to protect them,\nOnce bewitched me with their magic;\nThis much they have taken from me,\nThis the sum of all my losses:\nWhat the hatchet gains from flint-stone,\nWhat the auger bores from granite,\nWhat the heel chips from the iceberg,\nAnd what death purloins from tomb-stones.\n\n\u201cHorribly the wizards threatened,\nTried to sink me with their magic,\nIn the water of the marshes,\nIn the mud and treacherous quicksand,\nTo my chin in mire and water;\nBut I too was born a hero,\nBorn a hero and magician,\nWas not troubled by their magic.\n\n\u201cStraightway I began my singing,\nSang the archers with their arrows,\nSang the spearmen with their weapons,\nSang the swordsmen with their poniards,\nSang the singers with their singing,\nThe enchanters with their magic,\nTo the rapids of the rivers,\nTo the highest fall of waters,\nTo the all-devouring whirlpool,\nTo the deepest depths of ocean,\nWhere the wizards still are sleeping,\nSleeping till the grass shoots upward\nThrough the beards and wrinkled faces,\nThrough the locks of the enchanters,\nAs they sleep beneath the billows.\u201d\n\nStill entreats the anxious mother,\nStill beseeches Lemminkainen,\nTrying to restrain the hero,\nWhile Kyllikki begs forgiveness;\nThis the language of the mother:\n\u201cDo not go, my son beloved,\nTo the villages of Northland,\nNor to Lapland\u2019s frigid borders;\nDire misfortune will befall thee,\nStar of evil settle o\u2019er thee,\nLemminkainen\u2019s end, destruction.\n\n\u201cCouldst thou speak in tongues a hundred,\nI could not believe thee able,\nThrough the magic of thy singing,\nTo enchant the sons of Lapland\nTo the bottom of the ocean;\nDost not know the Tury-language,\nCanst but speak the tongue of Suomi,\nCanst not win by witless magic.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen, reckless hero,\nAlso known as Kaukomieli,\nStood beside his mother, combing\nOut his sable locks and musing,\nBrushing down his beard, debating,\nSteadfast still in his decision,\nQuickly hurls his brush in anger,\nHurls it to the wall opposing,\nGives his mother final answer,\nThese the words that Ahti uses:\n\u201cDire misfortune will befall me,\nSome sad fate will overtake me,\nEvil come to Lemminkainen,\nWhen the blood flows from that hair-brush,\nWhen blood oozes from those bristles.\u201d\nThus the warlike Lemminkainen\nGoes to never-pleasant Lapland,\nHeeding not his mother\u2019s warning,\nHeeding not her prohibition.\n\nThus the hero, Kaukomieli,\nQuick equips himself for warfare,\nOn his head a copper helmet,\nOn his shoulders caps of copper,\nOn his body iron armor,\nSteel, the belt around his body;\nAs he girds himself for battle,\nAhti thus soliloquizing:\n\u201cStrong the hero in his armor,\nStrong indeed in copper helmet,\nPowerful in mail of iron,\nStronger far than any hero\nOn the dismal shores of Lapland,\nNeed not fear their wise enchanters,\nNeed not fear their strongest foemen,\nNeed not fear a war with wizards.\u201d\n\nGrasped he then the sword of battle,\nFirmly grasped the heavy broadsword\nThat Tuoni had been grinding,\nThat the gods had brightly burnished,\nThrust it in the leathern scabbard,\nTied the scabbard to his armor.\n\nHow do heroes guard from danger,\nWhere protect themselves from evil?\nHeroes guard their homes and firesides,\nGuard their doors, and roofs, and windows,\nGuard the posts that hold the torch-lights,\nGuard the highways to the court-yard,\nGuard the ends of all the gate-ways.\nHeroes guard themselves from women,\nCarefully from merry maidens;\nIf in this their strength be wanting,\nEasy fall the heroes, victims\nTo the snares of the enchanters.\nFurthermore are heroes watchful\nOf the tribes of warlike giants,\nWhere the highway doubly branches,\nOn the borders of the blue-rock,\nOn the marshes filled with evil,\nNear the mighty fall of waters,\nNear the circling of the whirlpool,\nNear the fiery springs and rapids.\nSpake the stout-heart, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cRise ye heroes of the broadsword,\nYe, the earth\u2019s eternal heroes,\nFrom the deeps, ye sickle-bearers,\nFrom the brooks, ye crossbow-shooters,\nCome, thou forest, with thine archers,\nCome, ye thickets, with your armies,\nMountain spirits, with your powers,\nCome, fell Hisi, with thy horrors,\nWater-mother, with thy dangers,\nCome, Wellamo, with thy mermaids,\nCome, ye maidens from the valleys,\nCome, ye nymphs from winding rivers,\nBe protection to this hero,\nBe his day-and-night companions,\nBody-guard to Lemminkainen,\nThus to blunt the spears of wizards,\nThus to dull their pointed arrows,\nThat the spears of the enchanters,\nThat the arrows of the archers,\nThat the weapons of the foemen,\nMay not harm this bearded hero.\n\n\u201cShould this force be insufficient,\nI can call on other powers,\nI can call the gods above me,\nCall the great god of the heavens,\nHim who gives the clouds their courses,\nHim who rules through boundless ether,\nWho directs the march of storm-winds.\n\n\u201cUkko, thou O God above me,\nThou the father of creation,\nThou that speakest through the thunder,\nThou whose weapon is the lightning,\nThou whose voice is borne by ether,\nGrant me now thy mighty fire-sword,\nGive me here thy burning arrows,\nLightning arrows for my quiver,\nThus protect me from all danger,\nGuard me from the wiles of witches,\nGuide my feet from every evil,\nHelp me conquer the enchanters,\nHelp me drive them from the Northland;\nThose that stand in front of battle,\nThose that fill the ranks behind me,\nThose around me, those above me,\nThose beneath me, help me banish,\nWith their knives, and swords, and cross-bows,\nWith their spears of keenest temper,\nWith their tongues of evil magic;\nHelp me drive these Lapland wizards\nTo the deepest depths of ocean,\nThere to wrestle with Wellamo.\u201d\n\nThen the reckless Lemminkainen\nWhistled loudly for his stallion,\nCalled the racer from the hurdles,\nCalled his brown steed from the pasture,\nThrew the harness on the courser,\nHitched the fleet-foot to the snow-sledge,\nLeaped upon the highest cross-bench,\nCracked his whip above the racer,\nAnd the steed flies onward swiftly,\nBounds the sleigh upon its journey,\nAnd the golden plain re-echoes;\nTravels one day, then a second,\nTravels all the next day northward,\nTill the third day evening brings him\nTo a sorry Northland village,\nOn the dismal shores of Lapland.\n\nHere the hero, Lemminkainen,\nDrove along the lowest highway,\nThrough the streets along the border,\nTo a court-yard in the hamlet,\nAsked one standing in the doorway:\n\u201cIs there one within this dwelling,\nThat can loose my stallion\u2019s breastplate,\nThat can lift his heavy collar,\nThat these shafts can rightly lower?\u201d\n\nOn the floor a babe was playing,\nAnd the young child gave this answer:\n\u201cThere is no one in this dwelling\nThat can loose thy stallion\u2019s breastplate,\nThat can lift his heavy collar,\nThat the shafts can rightly lower.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen, not discouraged,\nWhips his racer to a gallop,\nRushes forward through the village,\nOn the middle of the highways,\nTo the court-yard in the centre,\nAsks one standing in the threshold,\nLeaning on the penthouse door-posts:\n\u201cIs there any one here dwelling\nThat can slip my stallion\u2019s bridle,\nThat can loose his leathern breast-straps,\nThat can tend my royal racer?\u201d\n\nFrom the fire-place spake a wizard,\nFrom her bench the witch made answer:\n\u201cThou canst find one in this dwelling,\nThat can slip thy courser\u2019s bridle,\nThat can loose his heavy breastplate,\nThat can tend thy royal racer.\nThere are here a thousand heroes\nThat can make thee hasten homeward,\nThat can give thee fleet-foot stallions,\nThat can chase thee to thy country,\nReckless rascal and magician,\nTo thy home and fellow minstrels,\nTo the uplands of thy father,\nTo the cabins of thy mother,\nTo the work-bench of thy brother,\nTo the dairy of thy sister,\nEre the evening star has risen,\nEre the sun retires to slumber.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen, little fearing,\nGives this answer to the wizard:\n\u201cI should slay thee for thy pertness,\nThat thy clatter might be silenced.\u201d\n\nThen he whipped his fiery charger,\nAnd the steed flew onward swiftly,\nOn the upper of the highways,\nTo the court-yard on the summit.\n\nWhen the reckless Lemminkainen\nHad approached the upper court-yard,\nUttered he the words that follow:\n\u201cO thou Hisi, stuff this watch-dog,\nLempo, stuff his throat and nostrils,\nClose the mouth of this wild barker,\nBridle well the vicious canine,\nThat the watcher may be silent\nWhile the hero passes by him.\u201d\n\nThen he stepped within the court-room,\nWith his whip he struck the flooring,\nFrom the floor arose a vapor,\nIn the fog appeared a pigmy,\nWho unhitched the royal racer,\nFrom his back removed the harness,\nGave the weary steed attention.\nThen the hero, Lemminkainen,\nCarefully advanced and listened.\nNo one saw the strange magician,\nNo one heard his cautious footsteps;\nHeard he songs within the dwelling,\nThrough the moss-stuffed chinks heard voices,\nThrough the walls he heard them singing,\nThrough the doors the peals of laughter.\n\nThen he spied within the court-rooms,\nLurking slyly in the hall-ways,\nFound the court-rooms filled with singers,\nBy the walls were players seated,\nNear the doors the wise men hovered,\nSkilful ones upon the benches,\nNear the fires the wicked wizards;\nAll were singing songs of Lapland,\nSinging songs of evil Hisi.\n\nNow the minstrel, Lemminkainen,\nChanges both his form and stature,\nPasses through the inner door-ways,\nEnters he the spacious court-hall,\nAnd these words the hero utters:\n\u201cFine the singing quickly ending,\nGood the song that quickly ceases;\nBetter far to keep thy wisdom\nThan to sing it on the house-tops.\u201d\n\nComes the hostess of Pohyola,\nFleetly rushing through the door-way,\nTo the centre of the court-room,\nAnd addresses thus the stranger:\n\u201cFormerly a dog lay watching,\nWas a cur of iron-color,\nFond of flesh, a bone-devourer,\nLoved to lick the blood of strangers.\nWho then art thou of the heroes,\nWho of all the host of heroes,\nThat thou art within my court-rooms,\nThat thou comest to my dwelling,\nWas not seen without my portals,\nWas not scented by my watch-dogs?\u201d\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cDo not think that I come hither\nHaving neither wit nor wisdom,\nHaving neither art nor power,\nWanting in ancestral knowledge,\nLacking prudence of the fathers,\nThat thy watch-dogs may devour me.\n\n\u201cMy devoted mother washed me,\nWhen a frail and tender baby,\nThree times in the nights of summer,\nNine times in the nights of autumn,\nThat upon my journeys northward\nI might sing the ancient wisdom,\nThus protect myself from danger;\nWhen at home I sing as wisely\nAs the minstrels of thy hamlet.\u201d\n\nThen the singer, Lemminkainen,\nAncient hero, Kaukomieli,\nQuick began his incantations,\nStraightway sang the songs of witchcraft,\nFrom his fur-robe darts the lightning,\nFlames outshooting from his eye-balls,\nFrom the magic of his singing,\nFrom his wonderful enchantment.\nSang the very best of singers\nTo the very worst of minstrels,\nFilled their mouths with dust and ashes,\nPiled the rocks upon their shoulders,\nStilled the best of Lapland witches,\nStilled the sorcerers and wizards.\nThen he banished all their heroes,\nBanished all their proudest minstrels,\nThis one hither, that one thither,\nTo the lowlands poor in verdure,\nTo the unproductive uplands,\nTo the oceans wanting whiting,\nTo the waterfalls of Rutya,\nTo the whirlpool hot and flaming,\nTo the waters decked with sea-foam,\nInto fires and boiling waters,\nInto everlasting torment.\n\nThen the hero, Lemminkainen,\nSang the foemen with their broadswords,\nSang the heroes with their weapons,\nSang the eldest, sang the youngest,\nSang the middle-aged, enchanted;\nOnly one he left his senses,\nHe a poor, defenseless shepherd,\nOld and sightless, halt and wretched,\nAnd the old man\u2019s name was Nasshut.\nSpake the miserable shepherd:\n\u201cThou hast old and young enchanted,\nThou hast banished all our heroes,\nWhy hast spared this wretched shepherd?\u201d\nThis is Lemminkainen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cTherefore have I not bewitched thee:\nThou art old, and blind, and wretched\nFeeble-minded thou, and harmless,\nLoathsome now without my magic.\nThou didst, in thy better life-time,\nWhen a shepherd filled with malice,\nRuin all thy mother\u2019s berries,\nMake thy sister, too unworthy,\nRuin all thy brother\u2019s cattle,\nDrive to death thy father\u2019s stallions,\nThrough the marshes, o\u2019er the meadows,\nThrough the lowlands, o\u2019er the mountains,\nHeeding not thy mother\u2019s counsel.\u201d\n\nThereupon the wretched Nasshut,\nAngry grew and swore for vengeance,\nStraightway limping through the door-way,\nHobbled on beyond the court-yard,\nO\u2019er the meadow-lands and pastures,\nTo the river of the death-land,\nTo the holy stream and whirlpool,\nTo the kingdom of Tuoni,\nTo the islands of Manala;\nWaited there for Kaukomieli,\nListened long for Lemminkainen,\nThinking he must pass this river\nOn his journey to his country,\nOn the highway to the islands,\nFrom the upper shores of Pohya,\nFrom the dreary Sariola.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XIII.\nLEMMINIKAINEN\u2019S SECOND WOOING.\n\n\nSpake the ancient Lemminkainen\nTo the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cGive to me thy lovely daughter,\nBring me now thy winsome maiden,\nBring the best of Lapland virgins,\nFairest virgin of the Northland.\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nAnswered thus the wild magician:\n\u201cI shall never give my daughter,\nNever give my fairest maiden,\nNot the best one, nor the worst one,\nNot the largest, nor the smallest;\nThou hast now one wife-companion,\nThou has taken hence one hostess,\nCarried off the fair Kyllikki.\u201d\n\nThis is Lemminkainen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cTo my home I took Kyllikki,\nTo my cottage on the island,\nTo my entry-gates and kindred;\nNow I wish a better hostess,\nStraightway bring thy fairest daughter,\nWorthiest of all thy virgins,\nFairest maid with sable tresses.\u201d\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cNever will I give my daughter\nTo a hero false and worthless,\nTo a minstrel vain and evil;\nTherefore, pray thou for my maiden,\nTherefore, woo the sweet-faced flower,\nWhen thou bringest me the wild-moose\nFrom the Hisi fields and forests.\u201d\n\nThen the artful Lemminkainen\nDeftly whittled out his javelins,\nQuickly made his leathern bow-string,\nAnd prepared his bow and arrows,\nAnd soliloquized as follows:\n\u201cNow my javelins are made ready,\nAll my arrows too are ready,\nAnd my oaken cross-bow bended,\nBut my snow-shoes are not builded,\nWho will make me worthy snow-shoes?\u201d\n\nLemminkainen, grave and thoughtful,\nLong reflected, well considered,\nWhere the snow-shoes could be fashioned,\nWho the artist that could make them;\nHastened to the Kauppi-smithy,\nTo the smithy of Lylikki,\nThus addressed the snow-shoe artist:\n\u201cO thou skilful Woyalander,\nKauppi, ablest smith of Lapland,\nMake me quick two worthy snow-shoes,\nSmooth them well and make them hardy,\nThat in Tapio the wild-moose,\nRoaming through the Hisi-forests,\nI may catch and bring to Louhi,\nAs a dowry for her daughter.\u201d\n\nThen Lylikki thus made answer,\nKauppi gave this prompt decision:\n\u201cLemminkainen, reckless minstrel,\nThou wilt hunt in vain the wild-moose,\nThou wilt catch but pain and torture,\nIn the Hisi fens and forests.\u201d\n\nLittle heeding, Lemminkainen\nSpake these measures to Lylikki:\n\u201cMake for me the worthy snow-shoes,\nQuickly work and make them ready;\nGo I will and catch the blue-moose\nWhere in Tapio it browses,\nIn the Hisi woods and snow-fields.\u201d\n\nThen Lylikki, snow-shoe-maker,\nAncient Kauppi, master artist,\nWhittled in the fall his show-shoes,\nSmoothed them in the winter evenings,\nOne day working on the runners,\nAll the next day making stick-rings,\nTill at last the shoes were finished,\nAnd the workmanship was perfect.\nThen he fastened well the shoe-straps,\nSmooth as adder\u2019s skin the woodwork,\nSoft as fox-fur were the stick-rings;\nOiled he well his wondrous snow-shoes\nWith the tallow of the reindeer;\nWhen he thus soliloquizes,\nThese the accents of Lylikki:\n\u201cIs there any youth in Lapland,\nAny in this generation,\nThat can travel in these snow-shoes,\nThat can move the lower sections?\u201d\n\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen,\nFull of hope, and life, and vigor:\n\u201cSurely there is one in Lapland.\nIn this rising generation,\nThat can travel in these snow-shoes,\nThat the right and left can manage.\u201d\n\nTo his back he tied the quiver,\nPlaced the bow upon his shoulder,\nWith both hands he grasped his snow-cane,\nSpeaking meanwhile words as follow:\n\u201cThere is nothing in the woodlands,\nNothing in the world of Ukko,\nNothing underneath the heavens,\nIn the uplands, in the lowlands,\nNothing in the snow-fields running,\nNot a fleet deer of the forest,\nThat could not be overtaken\nWith the snow-shoes of Lylikki,\nWith the strides of Lemminkainen.\u201d\n\nWicked Hisi heard these measures,\nJuutas listened to their echoes;\nStraightway Hisi called the wild-moose,\nJuutas fashioned soon a reindeer,\nAnd the head was made of punk-wood,\nHorns of naked willow branches,\nFeet were furnished by the rushes,\nAnd the legs, by reeds aquatic,\nVeins were made of withered grasses,\nEyes, from daisies of the meadows,\nEars were formed of water-flowers,\nAnd the skin of tawny fir-bark,\nOut of sappy wood, the muscles,\nFair and fleet, the magic reindeer.\n\nJuutas thus instructs the wild-moose,\nThese the words of wicked Hisi:\n\u201cFlee away, thou moose of Juutas,\nFlee away, thou Hisi-reindeer,\nLike the winds, thou rapid courser,\nTo the snow-homes of the ranger,\nTo the ridges of the mountains,\nTo the snow-capped hills of Lapland,\nThat thy hunter may be worn out,\nThy pursuer be tormented,\nLemminkainen be exhausted.\u201d\n\nThereupon the Hisi-reindeer,\nJuutas-moose with branching antlers,\nFleetly ran through fen and forest,\nOver Lapland\u2019s hills and valleys,\nThrough the open fields and court-yards,\nThrough the penthouse doors and gate-ways,\nTurning over tubs of water,\nThrew the kettles from the fire-pole,\nAnd upset the dishes cooking.\nThen arose a fearful uproar,\nIn the court-yards of Pohyola,\nLapland-dogs began their barking,\nLapland-children cried in terror,\nLapland-women roared with laughter,\nAnd the Lapland-heroes shouted.\n\nFleetly followed Lemminkainen,\nFollowed fast, and followed faster,\nHastened on behind the wild-moose,\nOver swamps and through the woodlands,\nOver snow-fields vast and pathless,\nOver high uprising mountains,\nFire out-shooting from his runners,\nSmoke arising from his snow-cane:\nCould not hear the wild-moose bounding,\nCould not sight the flying fleet-foot;\nGlided on through field and forest,\nGlided over lakes and rivers,\nOver lands beyond the smooth-sea,\nThrough the desert plains of Hisi,\nGlided o\u2019er the plains of Kalma,\nThrough the kingdom of Tuoni,\nTo the end of Kalma\u2019s empire,\nWhere the jaws of Death stand open,\nWhere the head of Kalma lowers,\nReady to devour the stranger,\nTo devour wild Lemminkainen;\nBut Tuoni cannot reach him,\nKalma cannot overtake him.\n\nDistant woods are yet untraveled,\nFar away a woodland corner\nStands unsearched by Kaukomieli,\nIn the North\u2019s extensive borders,\nIn the realm of dreary Lapland.\nNow the hero, on his snow-shoes,\nHastens to the distant woodlands,\nThere to hunt the moose of Piru.\nAs he nears the woodland corner,\nThere he hears a frightful uproar,\nFrom the Northland\u2019s distant borders,\nFrom the dreary fields of Lapland,\nHears the dogs as they are barking,\nHears the children loudly screaming,\nHears the laughter of the women,\nHears the shouting of the heroes.\nThereupon wild Lemminkainen\nHastens forward on his snow-shoes,\nTo the place where dogs are barking,\nTo the distant woods of Lapland.\n\nWhen the reckless Kaukomieli\nHad approached this Hisi corner,\nStraightway he began to question:\n\u201cWhy this laughter of the women,\nWhy the screaming of the children,\nWhy the shouting of the heroes,\nWhy this barking of the watch-dogs?\u201d\nThis reply was promptly given:\n\u201cThis the reason for this uproar,\nWomen laughing, children screaming,\nHeroes shouting, watch-dogs barking:\nHisi\u2019s moose came running hither,\nHither came the Piru-Reindeer,\nHither came with hoofs of silver,\nThrough the open fields and court-yards,\nThrough the penthouse doors and gate-ways,\nTurning over tubs of water,\nThrew the kettles from the fire-pole,\nAnd upset the dishes cooking.\u201d\n\nThen the hero, Lemminkainen,\nStraightway summoned all his courage,\nPushed ahead his mighty snow-shoes,\nSwift as adders in the stubble,\nLevelled bushes in the marshes,\nLike the swift and fiery serpents,\nSpake these words of magic import,\nKeeping balance with his snow-staff:\n\u201cCome thou might of Lapland heroes,\nBring to me the moose of Juutas;\nCome thou strength of Lapland-women,\nAnd prepare the boiling caldron;\nCome, thou might of Lapland children,\nBring together fire and fuel;\nCome, thou strength of Lapland-kettles,\nHelp to boil the Hisi wild-moose.\u201d\n\nThen with mighty force and courage,\nLemminkainen hastened onward,\nStriking backward, shooting forward;\nWith a long sweep of his snow-shoe,\nDisappeared from view the hero;\nWith the second, shooting further,\nWas the hunter out of hearing;\nWith the third the hero glided\nOn the shoulders of the wild-moose;\nTook a pole of stoutest oak-wood,\nTook some bark-strings from the willow,\nWherewithal to bind the moose-deer,\nBind him to his oaken hurdle.\nTo the moose he spake as follows:\n\u201cHere remain, thou moose of Juutas\nSkip about, my bounding courser,\nIn my hurdle jump and frolic,\nCaptive from the fields of Piru,\nFrom the Hisi glens and mountains.\u201d\n\nThen he stroked the captured wild-moose,\nPatted him upon his forehead,\nSpake again in measured accents:\n\u201cI would like awhile to linger,\nI would love to rest a moment\nIn the cottage of my maiden,\nWith my virgin, young and lovely.\u201d\n\nThen the Hisi-moose grew angry,\nStamped his feet and shook his antlers,\nSpake these words to Lemminkainen:\n\u201cSurely Lempo soon will got thee,\nShouldst thou sit beside the maiden,\nShouldst thou linger by the virgin.\u201d\n\nNow the wild-moose stamps and rushes,\nTears in two the bands of willow,\nBreaks the oak-wood pole in pieces,\nAnd upturns the hunter\u2019s hurdle,\nQuickly leaping from his captor,\nBounds away with strength of freedom,\nOver hills and over lowlands,\nOver swamps and over snow-fields,\nOver mountains clothed in heather,\nThat the eye may not behold him,\nNor the hero\u2019s ear detect him.\n\nThereupon the mighty hunter\nAngry grows, and much disheartened,\nStarts again the moose to capture,\nGliding off behind the courser.\nWith his might he plunges forward;\nAt the instep breaks his snow-shoe,\nBreaks the runners into fragments,\nOn the mountings breaks his javelins,\nIn the centre breaks his snow-staff,\nAnd the moose bounds on before him,\nThrough the Hisi-woods and snow-fields,\nOut of reach of Lemminkainen.\n\nThen the reckless Kaukomieli\nLooked with bended head, ill-humored,\nOne by one upon the fragments,\nSpeaking words of ancient wisdom:\n\u201cNorthland hunters, never, never,\nGo defiant to thy forests,\nIn the Hisi vales and mountains,\nThere to hunt the moose of Juutas,\nLike this senseless, reckless hero;\nI have wrecked my magic snow-shoes,\nRuined too my useful snow-staff,\nAnd my javelins I have broken,\nWhile the wild-moose runs in safety\nThrough the Hisi fields and forests.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XIV.\nDEATH OF LEMMINKAINEN.\n\n\nLemminkainen, much disheartened,\nDeeply thought and long considered,\nWhat to do, what course to follow,\nWhether best to leave the wild-moose\nIn the fastnesses of Hisi,\nAnd return to Kalevala,\nOr a third time hunt the ranger,\nHoping thus to bring him captive,\nThus return at last a victor\nTo the forest home of Louhi,\nTo the joy of all her daughters,\nTo the wood-nymph\u2019s happy fireside.\n\nTaking courage Lemminkainen\nSpake these words in supplication:\n\u201cUkko, thou O God above me,\nThou Creator of the heavens,\nPut my snow-shoes well in order,\nAnd endow them both with swiftness,\nThat I rapidly may journey\nOver marshes, over snow-fields,\nOver lowlands, over highlands,\nThrough the realms of wicked Hisi,\nThrough the distant plains of Lapland,\nThrough the paths of Lempo\u2019s wild-moose,\nTo the forest hills of Juutas.\nTo the snow-fields shall I journey,\nLeave the heroes to the woodlands,\nOn the way to Tapiola,\nInto Tapio\u2019s wild dwellings.\n\n\u201cGreeting bring I to the mountains,\nGreeting to the vales and uplands,\nGreet ye, heights with forests covered,\nGreet ye, ever-verdant fir-trees,\nGreet ye, groves of whitened aspen,\nGreetings bring to those that greet you,\nFields, and streams, and woods of Lapland.\nBring me favor, mountain-woodlands,\nLapland-deserts, show me kindness,\nMighty Tapio, be gracious,\nLet me wander through thy forests,\nLet me glide along thy rivers,\nLet this hunter search thy snow-fields,\nWhere the wild-moose herds in numbers\nWhere the bounding reindeer lingers.\n\n\u201cO Nyrikki, mountain hero,\nSon of Tapio of forests,\nHero with the scarlet head-gear,\nNotches make along the pathway,\nLandmarks upward to the mountains,\nThat this hunter may not wander,\nMay not fall, and falling perish\nIn the snow-fields of thy kingdom,\nHunting for the moose of Hisi,\nDowry for the pride of Northland.\n\n\u201cMistress of the woods, Mielikki,\nForest-mother, formed in beauty,\nLet thy gold flow out abundant,\nLet thy silver onward wander,\nFor the hero that is seeking\nFor the wild-moose of thy kingdom;\nBring me here thy keys of silver,\nFrom the golden girdle round thee;\nOpen Tapio\u2019s rich chambers,\nAnd unlock the forest fortress,\nWhile I here await the booty,\nWhile I hunt the moose of Lempo.\n\n\u201cShould this service be too menial\nGive the order to thy servants,\nSend at once thy servant-maidens,\nAnd command it to thy people.\nThou wilt never seem a hostess,\nIf thou hast not in thy service,\nMaidens ready by the hundreds,\nThousands that await thy bidding,\nWho thy herds may watch and nurture,\nTend the game of thy dominions.\n\n\u201cTall and slender forest-virgin,\nTapio\u2019s beloved daughter,\nBlow thou now thy honey flute-notes,\nPlay upon thy forest-whistle,\nFor the hearing of thy mistress,\nFor thy charming woodland-mistress,\nMake her hear thy sweet-toned playing,\nThat she may arise from slumber.\nShould thy mistress not awaken\nAt the calling of thy flute-notes,\nPlay again, and play unceasing,\nMake the golden tongue re-echo.\u201d\n\nWild and daring Lemminkainen\nSteadfast prays upon his journey,\nCalling on the gods for succor,\nHastens off through fields and moorlands,\nPasses on through cruel brush-wood,\nTo the colliery of Hisi,\nTo the burning fields of Lempo;\nGlided one day, then a second,\nGlided all the next day onward,\nTill he came to Big-stone mountain,\nClimbed upon its rocky summit,\nTurned his glances to the north-west,\nToward the Northland moors and marshes;\nThere appeared the Tapio-mansion.\nAll the doors were golden-colored,\nShining in the gleam of sunlight\nThrough the thickets on the mountains,\nThrough the distant fields of Northland.\n\nLemminkainen, much encouraged,\nHastens onward from his station\nThrough the lowlands, o\u2019er the uplands,\nOver snow-fields vast and vacant,\nUnder snow-robed firs and aspens,\nHastens forward, happy-hearted,\nQuickly reaches Tapio\u2019s court-yards,\nHalts without at Tapio\u2019s windows,\nSlyly looks into her mansion,\nSpies within some kindly women,\nForest-dames outstretched before him,\nAll are clad in scanty raiment,\nDressed in soiled and ragged linens.\nSpake the stranger Lemminkainen:\n\u201cWherefore sit ye, forest-mothers,\nIn your old and simple garments,\nIn your soiled and ragged linen?\nYe, forsooth! are too untidy,\nToo unsightly your appearance\nIn your tattered gowns appareled.\nWhen I lived within the forest,\nThere were then three mountain castles,\nOne of horn and one of ivory,\nAnd the third of wood constructed;\nIn their walls were golden windows,\nSix the windows in each castle,\nThrough these windows I discovered\nAll the host of Tapio\u2019s mansion,\nSaw its fair and stately hostess;\nSaw great Tapio\u2019s lovely daughter,\nSaw Tellervo in her beauty,\nWith her train of charming maidens;\nAll were dressed in golden raiment,\nRustled all in gold and silver.\nThen the forest\u2019s queenly hostess,\nStill the hostess of these woodlands,\nOn her arms wore golden bracelets,\nGolden rings upon her fingers,\nIn her hair were sparkling jewels,\nOn her head were golden fillets,\nIn her ears were golden ear-rings,\nOn her neck a pearly necklace,\nAnd her braidlets, silver-tinselled.\n\n\u201cLovely hostess of the forest,\nMetsola\u2019s enchanting mistress,\nFling aside thine ugly straw-shoes,\nCast away the shoes of birch-bark,\nDoff thy soiled and ragged linen,\nDoff thy gown of shabby fabric,\nDon the bright and festive raiment,\nDon the gown of merry-making,\nWhile I stay within thy borders,\nWhile I seek my forest-booty,\nHunt the moose of evil Hisi.\nHere my visit will be irksome,\nHere thy guest will be ill-humored,\nWaiting in thy fields and woodlands,\nHunting here the moose of Lempo,\nFinding not the Hisi-ranger,\nShouldst thou give me no enjoyment,\nShould I find no joy, nor respite.\nLong the eve that gives no pleasure,\nLong the day that brings no guerdon!\n\n\u201cSable-bearded god of forests,\nIn thy hat and coat of ermine,\nRobe thy trees in finest fibers,\nDeck thy groves in richest fabrics,\nGive the fir-trees shining silver,\nDeck with gold the slender balsams,\nGive the spruces copper belting,\nAnd the pine-trees silver girdles,\nGive the birches golden flowers,\nDeck their stems with silver fret-work,\nThis their garb in former ages,\nWhen the days and nights were brighter,\nWhen the fir-trees shone like sunlight,\nAnd the birches like the moonbeams;\nHoney breathed throughout the forest,\nSettled in the glens and highlands\nSpices in the meadow-borders,\nOil out-pouring from the lowlands.\n\n\u201cForest daughter, lovely virgin,\nGolden maiden, fair Tulikki,\nSecond of the Tapio-daughters,\nDrive the game within these borders,\nTo these far-extending snow-fields.\nShould the reindeer be too sluggish,\nShould the moose-deer move too slowly\nCut a birch-rod from the thicket,\nWhip them hither in their beauty,\nDrive the wild-moose to my hurdle,\nHither drive the long-sought booty\nTo the hunter who is watching,\nWaiting in the Hisi-forests.\n\n\u201cWhen the game has started hither,\nKeep them in the proper highway,\nHold thy magic hands before them,\nGuard them well on either road-side,\nThat the elk may not escape thee,\nMay not dart adown some by-path.\nShould, perchance, the moose-deer wander\nThrough some by-way of the forest,\nTake him by the ears and antlers,\nHither lead the pride of Lempo.\n\n\u201cIf the path be filled with brush-wood\nCast the brush-wood to the road-side;\nIf the branches cross his pathway,\nBreak the branches into fragments;\nShould a fence of fir or alder\nCross the way that leads him hither,\nMake an opening within it,\nOpen nine obstructing fences;\nIf the way be crossed by streamlets,\nIf the path be stopped by rivers,\nMake a bridge of silken fabric,\nWeaving webs of scarlet color,\nDrive the deer-herd gently over,\nLead them gently o\u2019er the waters,\nO\u2019er the rivers of thy forests,\nO\u2019er the streams of thy dominions.\n\n\u201cThou, the host of Tapio\u2019s mansion,\nGracious host of Tapiola,\nSable-bearded god of woodlands,\nGolden lord of Northland forests,\nThou, O Tapio\u2019s worthy hostess,\nQueen of snowy woods, Mimerkki,\nAncient dame in sky-blue vesture,\nFenland-queen in scarlet ribbons,\nCome I to exchange my silver,\nTo exchange my gold and silver;\nGold I have, as old as moonlight,\nSilver of the age of sunshine,\nIn the first of years was gathered,\nIn the heat and pain of battle;\nIt will rust within my pouches,\nSoon will wear away and perish,\nIf it be not used in trading.\u201d\n\nLong the hunter, Lemminkainen,\nGlided through the fen and forest,\nSang his songs throughout the woodlands,\nThrough three mountain glens he sang them,\nSang the forest hostess friendly,\nSang he, also, Tapio friendly,\nFriendly, all the forest virgins,\nAll of Metsola\u2019s fair daughters.\n\nNow they start the herds of Lempo,\nStart the wild-moose from his shelter,\nIn the realms of evil Hisi,\nTapio\u2019s highest mountain-region;\nNow they drive the ranger homeward,\nTo the open courts of Piru,\nTo the hero that is waiting,\nHunting for the moose of Juutas.\n\nWhen the herd had reached the castle,\nLemminkainen threw his lasso\nO\u2019er the antlers of the blue-moose,\nSettled on the neck and shoulders\nOf the mighty moose of Hisi.\nThen the hunter, Kaukomieli,\nStroked his captive\u2019s neck in safety,\nFor the moose was well-imprisoned.\n\nThereupon gay Lemminkainen\nFilled with joyance spake as follows:\n\u201cPride of forests, queen of woodlands,\nMetsola\u2019s enchanted hostess,\nLovely forest dame, Mielikki,\nMother-donor of the mountains,\nTake the gold that I have promised,\nCome and take away the silver;\nSpread thy kerchief well before me,\nSpread out here thy silken neck-wrap,\nUnderneath the golden treasure,\nUnderneath the shining silver,\nThat to earth it may not settle,\nScattered on the snows of winter.\u201d\n\nThen the hero went a victor\nTo the dwellings of Pohyola,\nAnd addressed these words to Louhi:\n\u201cI have caught the moose of Hisi,\nIn the Metsola-dominions,\nGive, O hostess, give thy daughter,\nGive to me thy fairest virgin,\nBride of mine to be hereafter.\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of the Northland,\nGave this answer to the suitor:\n\u201cI will give to thee my daughter,\nFor thy wife my fairest maiden,\nWhen for me thou\u2019lt put a bridle\nOn the flaming horse of Hisi,\nRapid messenger of Lempo,\nOn the Hisi-plains and pastures.\u201d\n\nNothing daunted, Lemminkainen\nHastened forward to accomplish\nLouhi\u2019s second test of heroes,\nOn the cultivated lowlands,\nOn the sacred fields and forests.\nEverywhere he sought the racer,\nSought the fire-expiring stallion,\nFire out-shooting from his nostrils.\nLemminkainen, fearless hunter,\nBearing in his belt his bridle,\nOn his shoulders, reins and halter,\nSought one day, and then a second,\nFinally, upon the third day,\nWent he to the Hisi-mountain,\nClimbed, and struggled to the summit;\nTo the east he turned his glances,\nCast his eyes upon the sunrise,\nThere beheld the flaming courser,\nOn the heath among the far-trees.\nLempo\u2019s fire-expiring stallion\nFire and mingled smoke out-shooting\nFrom his mouth, and eyes, and nostrils.\n\nSpake the daring Lemminkainen,\nThis the hero\u2019s supplication:\n\u201cUkko, thou O God above me,\nThou that rulest all the storm-clouds,\nOpen thou the vault of heaven,\nOpen windows through the ether,\nLet the icy rain come falling,\nLot the heavy hailstones shower\nOn the flaming horse of Hisi,\nOn the fire-expiring stallion.\u201d\n\nUkko, the benign Creator,\nHeard the prayer of Lemminkainen,\nBroke apart the dome of heaven,\nRent the heights of heaven asunder,\nSent the iron-hail in showers,\nSmaller than the heads of horses,\nLarger than the heads of heroes,\nOn the flaming steed of Lempo,\nOn the fire-expiring stallion,\nOn the terror of the Northland.\n\nLemminkainen, drawing nearer,\nLooked with care upon the courser,\nThen he spake the words that follow:\n\u201cWonder-steed of mighty Hisi,\nFlaming horse of Lempo\u2019s mountain,\nBring thy mouth of gold, assenting,\nGently place thy head of silver\nIn this bright and golden halter,\nIn this silver-mounted bridle.\nI shall never harshly treat thee,\nNever make thee fly too fleetly,\nOn the way to Sariola,\nOn the tracks of long duration,\nTo the hostess of Pohyola,\nTo her magic courts and stables,\nWill not lash thee on thy journey;\nI shall lead thee gently forward,\nDrive thee with the reins of kindness,\nCover thee with silken blankets.\u201d\n\nThen the fire-haired steed of Juutas,\nFlaming horse of mighty Hisi,\nPut his head of shining silver,\nIn the bright and golden head-stall,\nIn the silver-mounted bridle.\nThus the hero, Lemminkainen,\nEasy bridles Lempo\u2019s stallion,\nFlaming horse of evil Piru;\nLays the bits within his fire-mouth,\nOn his silver head, the halter,\nMounts the fire-expiring courser,\nBrandishes his whip of willow,\nHastens forward on his journey,\nBounding o\u2019er the hills and mountains,\nDashing through the valleys northward,\nO\u2019er the snow-capped hills of Lapland,\nTo the courts of Sariola.\n\nThen the hero, quick dismounting,\nStepped within the court of Louhi,\nThus addressed the Northland hostess:\n\u201cI have bridled Lempo\u2019s fire-horse,\nI have caught the Hisi-racer,\nCaught the fire-expiring stallion,\nIn the Piru plains and pastures,\nRidden him within thy borders;\nI have caught the moose of Lempo,\nI have done what thou demandest;\nGive, I pray thee, now thy daughter,\nGive to me thy fairest maiden,\nBride of mine to be forever.\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nMade this answer to the suitor:\n\u201cI will only give my daughter,\nGive to thee my fairest virgin,\nBride of thine to be forever,\nWhen for me the swan thou killest\nIn the river of Tuoni,\nSwimming in the black death-river,\nIn the sacred stream and whirlpool;\nThou canst try one cross-bow only,\nBut one arrow from thy quiver.\u201d\n\nThen the reckless Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli,\nBraved the third test of the hero,\nStarted out to hunt the wild-swan,\nHunt the long-necked, graceful swimmer,\nIn Tuoni\u2019s coal-black river,\nIn Manala\u2019s lower regions.\nQuick the daring hunter journeyed,\nHastened off with fearless footsteps,\nTo the river of Tuoni,\nTo the sacred stream and whirlpool,\nWith his bow upon his shoulder,\nWith his quiver and one arrow.\n\nNasshut, blind and crippled shepherd,\nWretched shepherd of Pohyola,\nStood beside the death-land river,\nNear the sacred stream and whirlpool,\nGuarding Tuonela\u2019s waters,\nWaiting there for Lemminkainen,\nListening there for Kaukomieli,\nWaiting long the hero\u2019s coming.\nFinally he hears the footsteps\nOf the hero on his journey,\nHears the tread of Lemminkainen,\nAs he journeys nearer, nearer,\nTo the river of Tuoni,\nTo the cataract of death-land,\nTo the sacred stream and whirlpool.\nQuick the wretched shepherd, Nasshut,\nFrom the death-stream sends a serpent,\nLike an arrow from a cross-bow,\nTo the heart of Lemminkainen,\nThrough the vitals of the hero.\n\nLemminkainen, little conscious,\nHardly knew that he was injured,\nSpake these measures as he perished:\n\u201cAh! unworthy is my conduct,\nAh! unwisely have I acted,\nThat I did not heed my mother,\nDid not take her goodly counsel,\nDid not learn her words of magic.\nOh! for three words with my mother,\nHow to live, and how to suffer,\nIn this time of dire misfortune,\nHow to bear the stings of serpents,\nTortures of the reed of waters,\nFrom the stream of Tuonela!\n\n\u201cAncient mother who hast borne me,\nWho hast trained me from my childhood,\nLearn, I pray thee, where I linger,\nWhere alas! thy son is lying,\nWhere thy reckless hero suffers.\nCome, I pray thee, faithful mother,\nCome thou quickly, thou art needed,\nCome deliver me from torture,\nFrom the death-jaws of Tuoni,\nFrom the sacred stream and whirlpool.\u201d\n\nNorthland\u2019s old and wretched shepherd,\nNasshut, the despised protector\nOf the flocks of Sariola,\nThrows the dying Lemminkainen,\nThrows the hero of the islands,\nInto Tuonela\u2019s river,\nTo the blackest stream of death-land,\nTo the worst of fatal whirlpools.\nLemminkainen, wild and daring,\nHelpless falls upon the waters,\nFloating down the coal-black current,\nThrough the cataract and rapids\nTo the tombs of Tuonela.\n\nThere the blood-stained son of death-land,\nThere Tuoni\u2019s son and hero,\nCuts in pieces Lemminkainen,\nChops him with his mighty hatchet,\nTill the sharpened axe strikes flint-sparks\nFrom the rocks within his chamber,\nChops the hero into fragments,\nInto five unequal portions,\nThrows each portion to Tuoni,\nIn Manala\u2019s lowest kingdom,\nSpeaks these words when he has ended:\n\u201cSwim thou there, wild Lemminkainen,\nFlow thou onward in this river,\nHunt forever in these waters,\nWith thy cross-bow and thine arrow,\nShoot the swan within this empire,\nShoot our water-birds in welcome!\u201d\n\nThus the hero, Lemminkainen,\nThus the handsome Kaukomieli,\nThe untiring suitor, dieth\nIn the river of Tuoni,\nIn the death-realm of Manala.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XV.\nLEMMINKAINEN\u2019S RESTORATION.\n\n\nLemminkainen\u2019s aged mother\nAnxious roams about the islands,\nAnxious wonders in her chambers,\nWhat the fate of Lemminkainen,\nWhy her son so long has tarried;\nThinks that something ill has happened\nTo her hero in Pohyola.\nSad, indeed, the mother\u2019s anguish,\nAs in vain she waits his coming,\nAs in vain she asks the question,\nWhere her daring son is roaming,\nWhether to the fir-tree mountain,\nWhether to the distant heath-land,\nOr upon the broad-sea\u2019s ridges,\nOn the floods and rolling waters,\nTo the war\u2019s contending armies,\nTo the heat and din of battle,\nSteeped in blood of valiant heroes,\nEvidence of fatal warfare.\n\nDaily does the wife Kyllikki\nLook about her vacant chamber,\nIn the home of Lemminkainen,\nAt the court of Kaukomieli;\nLooks at evening, looks at morning,\nLooks, perchance, upon his hair-brush,\nSees alas! the blood-drops oozing,\nOozing from the golden bristles,\nAnd the blood-drops, scarlet-colored.\n\nThen the beauteous wife, Kyllikki,\nSpake these words in deeps of anguish:\n\u201cDead or wounded is my husband,\nOr at best is filled with trouble,\nLost perhaps in Northland forests,\nIn some glen unknown to heroes,\nSince alas! the blood is flowing\nFrom the brush of Lemminkainen,\nRed drops oozing from the bristles.\u201d\n\nThereupon the anxious mother\nLooks upon the bleeding hair-brush\nAnd begins this wail of anguish:\n\u201cWoe is me, my life hard-fated,\nWoe is me, all joy departed!\nFor alas! my son and hero,\nValiant hero of the islands,\nSon of trouble and misfortune!\nSome sad fate has overtaken\nMy ill-fated Lemminkainen!\nBlood is flowing from his hair-brush,\nOozing from its golden bristles,\nAnd the drops are scarlet-colored.\u201d\n\nQuick her garment\u2019s hem she clutches,\nOn her arm she throws her long-robes,\nFleetly flies upon her journey;\nWith her might she hastens northward,\nMountains tremble from her footsteps,\nValleys rise and heights are lowered,\nHighlands soon become as lowlands,\nAll the hills and valleys levelled.\nSoon she gains the Northland village,\nQuickly asks about her hero,\nThese the words the mother utters:\n\u201cO thou hostess of Pohyola,\nWhere hast thou my Lemminkainen?\nTell me of my son and hero!\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of the Northland,\nGives this answer to the mother:\n\u201cNothing know I of thy hero,\nOf the hero of the islands;\nWhere thy son may be I know not,\nCannot lend the information;\nOnce I gave thy son a courser,\nHitched the racer to his snow-sledge,\nThis the last of Lemminkainen;\nMay perchance be drowned in Wuhne,\nFrozen in the icy ocean,\nFallen prey to wolves in hunger,\nIn a bear\u2019s den may have perished.\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answers:\n\u201cThou art only speaking falsehoods,\nNorthland wolves cannot devour us,\nNor the bears kill Kaukomieli;\nHe can slay the wolves of Pohya\nWith the fingers of his left hand;\nBears of Northland he would silence\nWith the magic of his singing.\n\n\u201cHostess of Pohyola, tell me\nWhither thou hast sent my hero;\nI shall burst thy many garners,\nShall destroy the magic Sampo,\nIf thou dost not tell me truly\nWhere to find my Lemminkainen.\u201d\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cI have well thy hero treated,\nWell my court has entertained him,\nGave him of my rarest viands,\nFed him at my well-filled tables,\nPlaced him in a boat of copper,\nThus to float adown the current,\nThis the last of Lemminkainen;\nCannot tell where he has wandered,\nWhether in the foam of waters,\nWhether in the boiling torrent,\nWhether in the drowning whirlpool.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answers:\n\u201cThou again art speaking falsely;\nTell me now the truth I pray thee,\nMake an end of thy deception,\nWhere is now my Lemminkainen,\nWhither hast thou sent my hero,\nYoung and daring son of Kalew?\nIf a third time thou deceivest,\nI will send thee plagues, unnumbered,\nI will send thee fell destruction,\nCertain death will overtake thee.\u201d\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cThis the third time that I answer,\nThis the truth that I shall tell thee:\nI have sent the Kalew-hero\nTo the Hisi-fields and forests,\nThere to hunt the moose of Lempo;\nSent him then to catch the fire-horse,\nCatch the fire-expiring stallion,\nOn the distant plains of Juutas,\nIn the realm of cruel Hisi.\nThen I sent him to the Death-stream,\nIn the kingdom of Tuoni,\nWith his bow and but one arrow,\nThere to shoot the swan as dowry\nFor my best and fairest daughter;\nHave not heard about thy hero\nSince he left for Tuonela;\nMay in misery have fallen,\nMay have perished in Manala;\nHas not come to ask my daughter,\nHas not come to woo the maiden,\nSince he left to hunt the death-swan.\u201d\n\nNow the mother seeks her lost one,\nFor her son she weeps and trembles,\nLike the wolf she bounds through fenlands,\nLike the bear, through forest thickets,\nLike the wild-boar, through the marshes,\nLike the hare, along the sea-coast,\nTo the sea-point, like the hedgehog,\nLike the wild-duck swims the waters,\nCasts the rubbish from her pathway,\nTramples down opposing brush-wood,\nStops at nothing in her journey;\nSeeks a long time for her hero,\nSeeks, and seeks, and does not find him.\n\nNow she asks the trees the question,\nAnd the forest gives this answer:\n\u201cWe have care enough already,\nCannot think about thy matters;\nCruel fates have we to battle,\nPitiful our own misfortunes!\nWe are felled and chopped in pieces,\nCut in blocks for hero-fancy,\nWe are burned to death as fuel,\nNo one cares how much we suffer.\u201d\n\nNow again the mother wanders,\nSeeks again her long-lost hero,\nSeeks, and seeks, and does not find him.\nPaths arise and come to meet her,\nAnd she questions thus the pathways:\n\u201cPaths of hope that God has fashioned,\nHave ye seen my Lemminkainen,\nHas my son and golden hero\nTravelled through thy many kingdoms?\u201d\nSad, the many pathways answer:\n\u201cWe ourselves have cares sufficient,\nCannot watch thy son and hero,\nWretched are the lives of pathways,\nDeep indeed our own misfortunes;\nWe are trodden by the red-deer,\nBy the wolves, and bears, and roebucks,\nDriven o\u2019er by heavy cart-wheels,\nBy the feet of dogs are trodden,\nTrodden under foot of heroes,\nFoot-paths for contending armies.\u201d\n\nSeeks again the frantic mother,\nSeeks her long-lost son and hero,\nSeeks, and seeks, and does not find him;\nFinds the Moon within her orbit,\nAsks the Moon in pleading measures:\n\u201cGolden Moon, whom God has stationed\nIn the heavens, the Sun\u2019s companion,\nHast thou seen my Kaukomieli,\nHast thou seen my silver apple,\nAnywhere in thy dominions?\u201d\nThus the golden Moon makes answer:\n\u201cI have trouble all-sufficient,\nCannot watch thy daring hero;\nLong the journey I must travel,\nSad the fate to me befallen,\nPitiful mine own misfortunes,\nAll alone the nights to wander,\nShine alone without a respite,\nIn the winter ever watching,\nIn the summer sink and perish.\u201d\n\nStill the mother seeks, and wanders,\nSeeks, and does not find her hero;\nSees the Sun in the horizon,\nAnd the mother thus entreats him:\n\u201cSilver Sun, whom God has fashioned,\nThou that giveth warmth and comfort,\nHast thou lately seen my hero,\nHast thou seen my Lemminkainen,\nWandering in thy dominions?\u201d\nThus the Sun in kindness answers:\n\u201cSurely has thy hero perished,\nTo ingratitude a victim;\nLemminkainen died and vanished\nIn Tuoni\u2019s fatal river,\nIn the waters of Manala,\nIn the sacred stream and whirlpool,\nIn the cataract and rapids,\nSank within the drowning current\nTo the realm of Tuonela,\nTo Manala\u2019s lower regions.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother weeping,\nWailing in the deeps of anguish,\nMourns the fate of Kaukomieli,\nHastens to the Northland smithy,\nTo the forge of Ilmarinen,\nThese the words the mother utters:\n\u201cIlmarinen, metal-artist,\nThou that long ago wert forging,\nForging earth a concave cover,\nYesterday wert forging wonders,\nForge thou now, immortal blacksmith,\nForge a rake with shaft of copper,\nForge the teeth of strongest metal,\nTeeth in length a hundred fathoms,\nAnd five hundred long the handle.\u201d\n\nIlmarinen does as bidden,\nMakes the rake in full perfection.\n\nLemminkainen\u2019s anxious mother\nTakes the magic rake and hastens\nTo the river of Tuoni,\nPraying to the Sun as follows:\n\u201cThou, O Sun, by God created,\nThou that shinest on thy Maker,\nShine for me in heat of magic,\nGive me warmth, and strength, and courage,\nShine a third time full of power,\nLull to sleep the wicked people,\nStill the people of Manala,\nQuiet all Tuoni\u2019s empire.\u201d\n\nThereupon the sun of Ukko,\nDearest child of the Creator,\nFlying through the groves of Northland,\nSitting on a curving birch-tree,\nShines a little while in ardor,\nShines again in greater fervor,\nShines a third time full of power,\nLulls to sleep the wicked people\nIn the Manala home and kingdom,\nStill the heroes with their broadswords,\nMakes the lancers halt and totter,\nStills the stoutest of the spearmen,\nQuiets Tuoni\u2019s ghastly empire.\nNow the Sun retires in magic,\nHovers here and there a moment\nOver Tuoni\u2019s hapless sleepers,\nHastens upward to his station,\nTo his Jumala home and kingdom.\n\nLemminkainen\u2019s faithful mother\nTakes the rake of magic metals,\nRakes the Tuoni river bottoms,\nRakes the cataract and whirlpool,\nRakes the swift and boiling current\nOf the sacred stream of death-land,\nIn the Manala home and kingdom.\nSearching for her long-lost hero,\nRakes a long time, finding nothing;\nNow she wades the river deeper,\nTo her belt in mud and water,\nDeeper, deeper, rakes the death-stream,\nRakes the river\u2019s deepest caverns,\nRaking up and down the current,\nTill at last she finds his tunic,\nHeavy-hearted, finds his jacket;\nRakes again and rakes unceasing,\nFinds the hero\u2019s shoes and stockings,\nSorely troubled, finds these relics;\nNow she wades the river deeper,\nRakes the Manala shoals and shallows,\nRakes the deeps at every angle;\nAs she draws the rake the third time\nFrom the Tuoni shores and waters,\nIn the rake she finds the body\nOf her long-lost Lemminkainen,\nIn the metal teeth entangled,\nIn the rake with copper handle.\n\nThus the reckless Lemminkainen,\nThus the son of Kalevala,\nWas recovered from the bottom\nOf the Manala lake and river.\nThere were wanting many fragments,\nHalf the head, a hand, a fore-arm,\nMany other smaller portions,\nLife, above all else, was missing.\nThen the mother, well reflecting,\nSpake these words in bitter weeping:\n\u201cFrom these fragments, with my magic,\nI will bring to life my hero.\u201d\n\nHearing this, the raven answered,\nSpake these measures to the mother:\n\u201cThere is not in these a hero,\nThou canst not revive these fragments;\nEels have fed upon his body,\nOn his eyes have fed the whiting;\nCast the dead upon the waters,\nOn the streams of Tuonela,\nLet him there become a walrus,\nOr a seal, or whale, or porpoise.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother does not\nCast the dead upon the waters,\nOn the streams of Tuonela;\nShe again with hope and courage,\nRakes the river lengthwise, crosswise,\nThrough the Manala pools and caverns,\nRakes up half the head, a fore-arm,\nFinds a hand and half the back-bone,\nMany other smaller portions;\nShapes her son from all the fragments,\nShapes anew her Lemminkainen,\nFlesh to flesh with skill she places,\nGives the bones their proper stations,\nBinds one member to the other,\nJoins the ends of severed vessels,\nCounts the threads of all the venules,\nKnits the parts in apposition;\nThen this prayer the mother offers:\n\n\u201cSuonetar, thou slender virgin,\nGoddess of the veins of heroes,\nSkilful spinner of the vessels,\nWith thy slender, silver spindle,\nWith thy spinning-wheel of copper,\nSet in frame of molten silver,\nCome thou hither, thou art needed;\nBring the instruments for mending,\nFirmly knit the veins together,\nAt the end join well the venules,\nIn the wounds that still are open,\nIn the members that are injured.\n\n\u201cShould this aid be inefficient,\nThere is living in the ether,\nIn a boat enriched with silver,\nIn a copper boat, a maiden,\nThat can bring to thee assistance.\nCome, O maiden, from the ether,\nVirgin from the belt of heaven,\nRow throughout these veins, O maiden,\nRow through all these lifeless members,\nThrough the channels of the long-bones,\nRow through every form of tissue.\nSet the vessels in their places,\nLay the heart in right position,\nMake the pulses beat together,\nJoin the smallest of the veinlets,\nAnd unite with skill the sinews.\nTake thou now a slender needle,\nSilken thread within its eyelet,\nPly the silver needle gently,\nSew with care the wounds together.\n\n\u201cShould this aid be inefficient,\nThou, O God, that knowest all things,\nCome and give us thine assistance,\nHarness thou thy fleetest racer,\nCall to aid thy strongest courser,\nIn thy scarlet sledge come swiftly,\nDrive through all the bones and channels,\nDrive throughout these lifeless tissues,\nDrive thy courser through each vessel,\nBind the flesh and bones securely,\nIn the joints put finest silver,\nPurest gold in all the fissures.\n\n\u201cWhere the skin is broken open,\nWhere the veins are torn asunder,\nMend these injuries with magic;\nWhere the blood has left the body,\nThere make new blood flow abundant;\nWhere the bones are rudely broken,\nSet the parts in full perfection;\nWhere the flesh is bruised and loosened,\nTouch the wounds with magic balsam,\nDo not leave a part imperfect;\nBone, and vein, and nerve, and sinew,\nHeart, and brain, and gland, and vessel,\nHeal as Thou alone canst heal them.\u201d\n\nThese the means the mother uses,\nThus she joins the lifeless members,\nThus she heals the death-like tissues,\nThus restores her son and hero\nTo his former life and likeness;\nAll his veins are knit together,\nAll their ends are firmly fastened,\nAll the parts in apposition,\nLife returns, but speech is wanting,\nDeaf and dumb, and blind, and senseless.\nNow the mother speaks as follows:\n\u201cWhere may I procure the balsam,\nWhere the drops of magic honey,\nTo anoint my son and hero,\nThus to heal my Lemminkainen,\nThat again his mouth may open,\nMay again begin his singing,\nSpeak again in words of wonder,\nSing again his incantations?\n\n\u201cTiny bee, thou honey-birdling,\nLord of all the forest flowers,\nFly away and gather honey,\nBring to me the forest-sweetness,\nFound in Metsola\u2019s rich gardens,\nAnd in Tapio\u2019s fragrant meadows,\nFrom the petals of the flowers,\nFrom the blooming herbs and grasses,\nThus to heal my hero\u2019s anguish,\nThus to heal his wounds of evil.\u201d\n\nThereupon the honey-birdling\nFlies away on wings of swiftness,\nInto Metsola\u2019s rich gardens,\nInto Tapio\u2019s flowery meadows,\nGathers sweetness from the meadows,\nWith the tongue distills the honey\nFrom the cups of seven flowers,\nFrom the bloom of countless grasses;\nQuick from Metsola returning,\nFlying, humming, darting onward,\nWith his winglets honey-laden,\nWith the store of sweetest odors,\nTo the mother brings the balsam.\nLemminkainen\u2019s anxious mother\nTakes the balm of magic virtues,\nAnd anoints the injured hero,\nHeals his wounds and stills his anguish;\nBut the balm is inefficient,\nFor her son is deaf and speechless.\n\nThen again out-speaks the mother:\n\u201cLittle bee, my honey-birdling,\nFly away in one direction,\nFly across the seven oceans,\nIn the eighth, a magic island,\nWhere the honey is enchanted,\nTo the distant Turi-castles,\nTo the chambers of Palwoinen;\nThere the honey is effective,\nThere, the wonder-working balsam,\nThis may heal the wounded hero;\nBring me of this magic ointment,\nThat I may anoint his eyelids,\nMay restore his injured senses.\u201d\n\nThereupon the honey-birdling\nFlies away o\u2019er seven oceans,\nTo the old enchanted island;\nFlies one day, and then a second,\nOn the verdure does not settle,\nDoes not rest upon the flowers;\nFlies a third day, fleetly onward,\nTill a third day evening brings him\nTo the island in the ocean,\nTo the meadows rich in honey,\nTo the cataract and fire-flow,\nTo the sacred stream and whirlpool.\n\nThere the honey was preparing,\nThere the magic balm distilling\nIn the tiny earthen vessels,\nIn the burnished copper kettles,\nSmaller than a maiden\u2019s thimble,\nSmaller than the tips of fingers.\nFaithfully the busy insect\nGathers the enchanted honey\nFrom the magic Turi-cuplets\nIn the chambers of Palwoinen.\n\nTime had gone but little distance,\nEre the bee came loudly humming,\nFlying fleetly, honey-laden;\nIn his arms were seven vessels,\nSeven, the vessels on each shoulder;\nAll were filled with honey-balsam,\nWith the balm of magic virtues.\n\nLemminkainen\u2019s tireless mother\nQuick anoints her speechless hero,\nWith the magic Turi-balsam,\nWith the balm of seven virtues;\nNine the times that she anoints him\nWith the honey of Palwoinen,\nWith the wonder-working balsam;\nBut the balm is inefficient,\nFor the hero still is speechless.\nThen again out-speaks the mother:\n\u201cHoney-bee, thou ether birdling,\nFly a third time on thy journey,\nFly away to high Jumala,\nFly thou to the seventh heaven,\nHoney there thou\u2019lt find abundant,\nBalsam of the highest virtue,\nOnly used by the Creator,\nOnly made from the breath of Ukko.\nGod anoints his faithful children,\nWith the honey of his wisdom,\nWhen they feel the pangs of sorrow,\nWhen they meet the powers of evil.\nDip thy winglets in this honey,\nSteep thy plumage in His sweetness,\nHither bring the all-sufficient\nBalsam of the great Creator;\nThis will still my hero\u2019s anguish,\nThis will heal his wounded tissues,\nThis restore his long-lost vision,\nMake the Northland hills re-echo\nWith the magic of his singing,\nWith his wonderful enchantment.\u201d\nThus the honey-bee made answer:\n\u201cI can never fly to heaven,\nTo the seventh of the heavens,\nTo the distant home of Ukko,\nWith these wings of little virtue.\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answered:\n\u201cThou canst surely fly to heaven,\nTo the seventh of the heavens,\nO\u2019er the Moon, beneath the sunshine,\nThrough the dim and distant starlight.\nOn the first day, flying upward,\nThou wilt near the Moon in heaven,\nFan the brow of Kootamoinen;\nOn the second thou canst rest thee\nOn the shoulders of Otava;\nOn the third day, flying higher,\nRest upon the seven starlets,\nOn the heads of Hetewan\u00e8;\nShort the journey that is left thee,\nInconsiderable the distance\nTo the home of mighty Ukko,\nTo the dwellings of the blessed.\u201d\n\nThereupon the bee arising,\nFrom the earth flies swiftly upward,\nHastens on with graceful motion,\nBy his tiny wings borne heavenward,\nIn the paths of golden moonbeams,\nTouches on the Moon\u2019s bright borders,\nFans the brow of Kootamoinen,\nRests upon Otava\u2019s shoulders,\nHastens to the seven starlets,\nTo the heads of Hetewan\u00e8,\nFlies to the Creator\u2019s castle,\nTo the home of generous Ukko,\nFinds the remedy preparing,\nFinds the balm of life distilling,\nIn the silver-tinted caldrons,\nIn the purest golden kettles;\nOn one side, heart-easing honey,\nOn a second, balm of joyance,\nOn the third, life-giving balsam.\nHere the magic bee, selecting,\nCulls the sweet, life-giving balsam,\nGathers too, heart-easing honey,\nHeavy-laden hastens homeward.\n\nTime had traveled little distance,\nEre the busy bee came humming\nTo the anxious mother waiting,\nIn his arms a hundred cuplets,\nAnd a thousand other vessels,\nFilled with honey, filled with balsam,\nFilled with the balm of the Creator.\n\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother quickly\nTakes them on her tongue and tests them,\nFinds a balsam all-sufficient.\nThen the mother spake as follows:\n\u201cI have found the long-sought balsam,\nFound the remedy of Ukko,\nWherewith God anoints his people,\nGives them life, and faith, and wisdom,\nHeals their wounds and stills their anguish,\nMakes them strong against temptation,\nGuards them from the evil-doers.\u201d\n\nNow the mother well anointing,\nHeals her son, the magic singer,\nEyes, and ears, and tongue, and temples,\nBreaks, and cuts, and seams, anointing,\nTouching well the life-blood centres,\nSpeaks these words of magic import\nTo the sleeping Lemminkainen:\n\u201cWake, arise from out thy slumber,\nFrom the worst of low conditions,\nFrom thy state of dire misfortune!\u201d\n\nQuickly wakes the son and hero,\nRises from the depths of slumber,\nSpeaks again in magic accents,\nThese the first words of the singer:\n\u201cLong, indeed, have I been sleeping,\nLong unconscious of existence,\nBut my sleep was full of sweetness,\nSweet the sleep in Tuonela,\nKnowing neither joy nor sorrow!\u201d\nThis the answer of his mother:\n\u201cLonger still thou wouldst have slumbered,\nWere it not for me, thy mother;\nTell me now, my son beloved,\nTell me that I well may hear thee,\nWho enticed thee to Manala,\nTo the river of Tuoni,\nTo the fatal stream and whirlpool?\u201d\n\nThen the hero, Lemminkainen,\nGave this answer to his mother:\n\u201cNasshut, the decrepit shepherd\nOf the flocks of Sariola,\nBlind, and halt, and poor, and wretched,\nAnd to whom I did a favor;\nFrom the slumber-land of envy\nNasshut sent me to Manala,\nTo the river of Tuoni;\nSent a serpent from the waters,\nSent an adder from the death-stream,\nThrough the heart of Lemminkainen;\nDid not recognize the serpent,\nCould not speak the serpent-language,\nDid not know the sting of adders.\u201d\nSpake again the ancient mother:\n\u201cO thou son of little insight,\nSenseless hero, fool-magician,\nThou didst boast betimes thy magic\nTo enchant the wise enchanters,\nOn the dismal shores of Lapland,\nThou didst think to banish heroes,\nFrom the borders of Pohyola;\nDidst not know the sting of serpents,\nDidst not know the reed of waters,\nNor the magic word-protector!\nLearn the origin of serpents,\nWhence the poison of the adder.\n\n\u201cIn the floods was born the serpent,\nFrom the marrow of the gray-duck,\nFrom the brain of ocean-swallows;\nSuoyatar had made saliva,\nCast it on the waves of ocean,\nCurrents drove it outward, onward,\nSoftly shone the sun upon it,\nBy the winds \u2019twas gently cradled,\nGently nursed by winds and waters,\nBy the waves was driven shoreward,\nLanded by the surging billows.\nThus the serpent, thing of evil,\nFilling all the world with trouble,\nWas created in the waters\nBorn from Suoyatar, its maker.\u201d\n\nThen the mother of the hero\nRocked her son to rest and comfort,\nRocked him to his former being,\nTo his former life and spirit,\nInto greater magic powers;\nWiser, handsomer than ever\nGrew the hero of the islands;\nBut his heart was full of trouble,\nAnd his mother, ever watchful,\nAsked the cause of his dejection.\nThis is Lemminkainen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cThis the cause of all my sorrow;\nFar away my heart is roaming,\nAll my thoughts forever wander\nTo the Northland\u2019s blooming virgins,\nTo the maids of braided tresses.\nNorthland\u2019s ugly hostess, Louhi,\nWill not give to me her daughter,\nFairest maiden of Pohyola,\nTill I kill the swan of Mana,\nWith my bow and but one arrow,\nIn the river of Tuoni.\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answers,\nIn the sacred stream and whirlpool.\n\u201cLet the swan swim on in safety,\nGive the water-bird his freedom,\nIn the river of Manala,\nIn the whirlpool of Tuoni;\nLeave the maiden in the Northland,\nWith her charms and fading beauty;\nWith thy fond and faithful mother,\nGo at once to Kalevala,\nTo thy native fields and fallows.\nPraise thy fortune, all sufficient,\nPraise, above all else, thy Maker.\nUkko gave thee aid when needed,\nThou wert saved by thy Creator,\nFrom thy long and hopeless slumber,\nIn the waters of Tuoni,\nIn the chambers of Manala.\nI unaided could not save thee,\nCould not give the least assistance;\nGod alone, omniscient Ukko,\nFirst and last of the creators,\nCan revive the dead and dying,\nCan protect his worthy people\nFrom the waters of Manala,\nFrom the fatal stream and whirlpool,\nIn the kingdom of Tuoni.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen, filled with wisdom,\nWith his fond and faithful mother,\nHastened straightway on his journey\nTo his distant home and kindred,\nTo the Wainola fields and meadows,\nTo the plains of Kalevala.\n\n\nHere I leave my Kaukomieli,\nLeave my hero Lemminkainen,\nLong I leave him from my singing,\nTurn my song to other heroes,\nSend it forth on other pathways,\nSing some other golden legend.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XVI.\nWAINAMOINEN\u2019S BOAT-BUILDING.\n\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nThe eternal wisdom-singer,\nFor his boat was working lumber,\nWorking long upon his vessel,\nOn a fog-point jutting seaward,\nOn an island, forest-covered;\nBut the lumber failed the master,\nBeams were wanting for his vessel,\nBeams and scantling, ribs and flooring.\nWho will find for him the lumber,\nWho procure the timber needed\nFor the boat of Wainamoinen,\nFor the bottom of his vessel?\n\nPellerwoinen of the prairies,\nSampsa, slender-grown and ancient,\nHe will seek the needful timber,\nHe procure the beams of oak-wood\nFor the boat of Wainamoinen,\nFor the bottom of his vessel.\n\nQuick he starts upon his journey\nTo the eastern fields and forests,\nHunts throughout the Northland mountain\nTo a second mountain wanders,\nTo a third he hastens, searching,\nGolden axe upon his shoulder,\nIn his hand a copper hatchet.\nComes an aspen-tree to meet him\nOf the height of seven fathoms.\nSampsa takes his axe of copper,\nStarts to fell the stately aspen,\nBut the aspen quickly halting,\nSpeaks these words to Pellerwoinen:\n\u201cTell me, hero, what thou wishest,\nWhat the service thou art needing?\u201d\nSampsa Pellerwoinen answers:\n\u201cThis indeed, the needed service\nThat I ask of thee, O aspen:\nNeed thy lumber for a vessel,\nFor the boat of Wainamoinen,\nWisest of the wisdom-singers.\u201d\n\nQuick and wisely speaks the aspen,\nThus its hundred branches answer:\n\u201cAll the boats that have been fashioned\nFrom my wood have proved but failures;\nSuch a vessel floats a distance,\nThen it sinks upon the bottom\nOf the waters it should travel.\nAll my trunk is filled with hollows,\nThree times in the summer seasons\nWorms devour my stem and branches,\nFeed upon my heart and tissues.\u201d\n\nPellerwoinen leaves the aspen,\nHunts again through all the forest,\nWanders through the woods of Northland,\nWhere a pine-tree comes to meet him,\nOf the height of fourteen fathoms.\n\nWith his axe he chops the pine-tree,\nStrikes it with his axe of copper,\nAs he asks the pine this question:\n\u201cWill thy trunk give worthy timber\nFor the boat of Wainamoinen,\nWisest of the wisdom-singers?\u201d\nLoudly does the pine-tree answer:\n\u201cAll the ships that have been fashioned\nFrom my body are unworthy;\nI am full of imperfections,\nCannot give thee needed timber\nWherewithal to build thy vessel;\nRavens live within my branches,\nBuild their nests and hatch their younglings,\nThree times in my trunk in summer.\u201d\n\nSampsa leaves the lofty pine-tree,\nWanders onward, onward, onward,\nTo the woods of gladsome summer,\nWhere an oak-tree comes to meet him,\nIn circumference, three fathoms,\nAnd the oak he thus addresses:\n\u201cAncient oak-tree, will thy body\nFurnish wood to build a vessel,\nBuild a boat for Wainamoinen,\nMaster-boat for the magician,\nWisest of the wisdom-singers?\u201d\nThus the oak replies to Sampsa:\n\u201cI for thee will gladly furnish\nWood to build the hero\u2019s vessel;\nI am tall, and sound, and hardy,\nHave no flaws within my body;\nThree times in the months of summer,\nIn the warmest of the seasons,\nDoes the sun dwell in my tree-top,\nOn my trunk the moonlight glimmers,\nIn my branches sings the cuckoo,\nIn my top her nestlings slumber.\u201d\n\nNow the ancient Pellerwoinen\nTakes the hatchet from his shoulder,\nTakes his axe with copper handle,\nChops the body of the oak-tree;\nWell he knows the art of chopping.\nSoon he fells the tree majestic,\nFells the mighty forest-monarch,\nWith his magic axe and power.\nFrom the stems he lops the branches,\nSplits the trunk in many pieces,\nFashions lumber for the bottom,\nCountless boards, and ribs, and braces,\nFor the singer\u2019s magic vessel,\nFor the boat of the magician.\n\nWainamoinen, old and skilful,\nThe eternal wonder-worker,\nBuilds his vessel with enchantment,\nBuilds his boat by art of magic,\nFrom the timber of the oak-tree,\nFrom its posts, and planks, and flooring.\nSings a song, and joins the frame-work;\nSings a second, sets the siding;\nSings a third time, sets the row-locks;\nFashions oars, and ribs, and rudder,\nJoins the sides and ribs together.\nWhen the ribs were firmly fastened,\nWhen the sides were tightly jointed,\nThen alas! three words were wanting,\nLost the words of master-magic,\nHow to fasten in the ledges,\nHow the stern should be completed,\nHow complete the boat\u2019s forecastle.\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen,\nWise and wonderful enchanter,\nHeavy-hearted spake as follows:\n\u201cWoe is me, my life hard-fated!\nNever will this magic vessel\nPass in safety o\u2019er the water,\nNever ride the rough sea-billows.\u201d\n\nThen he thought and long considered,\nWhere to find these words of magic,\nFind the lost-words of the Master:\n\u201cFrom the brains of countless swallows,\nFrom the heads of swans in dying,\nFrom the plumage of the gray-duck?\u201d\n\nFor these words the hero searches,\nKills of swans a goodly number,\nKills a flock of fattened gray-duck,\nKills of swallows countless numbers,\nCannot find the words of magic,\nNot the lost-words of the Master.\nWainamoinen, wisdom-singer,\nStill reflected and debated:\n\u201cI perchance may find the lost-words\nOn the tongue of summer-reindeer,\nIn the mouth of the white squirrel.\u201d\n\nNow again he hunts the lost-words,\nHastes to find the magic sayings,\nKills a countless host of reindeer,\nKills a rafterful of squirrels,\nFinds of words a goodly number,\nBut they are of little value,\nCannot find the magic lost-word.\nLong he thought and well considered:\n\u201cI can find of words a hundred\nIn the dwellings of Tuoni,\nIn the Manala fields and castles.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen quickly journeys\nTo the kingdom of Tuoni,\nThere to find the ancient wisdom,\nThere to learn the secret doctrine;\nHastens on through fen and forest,\nOver meads and over marshes,\nThrough the ever-rising woodlands,\nJourneys one week through the brambles,\nAnd a second through the hazels,\nThrough the junipers the third week,\nWhen appear Tuoni\u2019s islands,\nAnd the Manala fields and castles.\n\nWainamoinen, brave and ancient,\nCalls aloud in tones of thunder,\nTo the Tuonela deeps and dungeons,\nAnd to Manala\u2019s magic castle:\n\u201cBring a boat, Tuoni\u2019s daughter,\nBring a ferry-boat, O maiden,\nThat may bear me o\u2019er this channel,\nO\u2019er this black and fatal river.\u201d\n\nQuick the daughter of Tuoni,\nMagic maid of little stature,\nTiny virgin of Manala,\nTiny washer of the linen,\nTiny cleaner of the dresses,\nAt the river of Tuoni,\nIn Manala\u2019s ancient castles,\nSpeaks these words to Wainamoinen,\nGives this answer to his calling:\n\u201cStraightway will I bring the row-boat,\nWhen the reasons thou hast given\nWhy thou comest to Manala\nIn a hale and active body.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and artful,\nGives this answer to the maiden:\n\u201cI was brought here by Tuoni,\nMana raised me from the coffin.\u201d\nSpeaks the maiden of Manala:\n\u201cThis a tale of wretched liars;\nHad Tuoni brought thee hither,\nMana raised thee from the coffin,\nThen Tuoni would be with thee,\nManalainen too would lead thee,\nWith Tuoni\u2019s hat upon thee,\nOn thy hands, the gloves of Mana;\nTell the truth now, Wainamoinen,\nWhat has brought thee to Manala?\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, artful hero,\nGives this answer, still finessing:\n\u201cIron brought me to Manala,\nTo the kingdom of Tuoni.\u201d\n\nSpeaks the virgin of the death-land,\nMana\u2019s wise and tiny daughter:\n\u201cWell I know that this is falsehood,\nHad the iron brought thee hither,\nBrought thee to Tuoni\u2019s kingdom,\nBlood would trickle from thy vesture,\nAnd the blood-drops, scarlet-colored.\nSpeak the truth now, Wainamoinen,\nThis the third time that I ask thee.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, little heeding,\nStill finesses to the daughter:\n\u201cWater brought me to Manala,\nTo the kingdom of Tuoni.\u201d\nThis the tiny maiden\u2019s answer:\n\u201cWell I know thou speakest falsely;\nIf the waters of Manala,\nIf the cataract and whirlpool,\nOr the waves had brought thee hither,\nFrom thy robes the drops would trickle,\nWater drip from all thy raiment.\nTell the truth and I will serve thee,\nWhat has brought thee to Manala?\u201d\n\nThen the stubborn Wainamoinen\nTold this falsehood to the maiden:\n\u201cFire has brought me to Manala,\nTo the kingdom of Tuoni.\u201d\nSpake again Tuoni\u2019s daughter:\n\u201cWell I know the voice of falsehood.\nIf the fire had brought thee hither,\nBrought thee to Tuoni\u2019s empire,\nSinged would be thy locks and eyebrows,\nAnd thy beard be crisped and tangled.\nO, thou foolish Wainamoinen,\nIf I row thee o\u2019er the ferry,\nThou must speak the truth in answer,\nThis the last time I will ask thee;\nMake an end of thy deception.\nWhat has brought thee to Manala,\nStill unharmed by pain or sickness,\nStill untouched by Death\u2019s dark angels?\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cAt the first I spake, not truly,\nNow I give thee rightful answer:\nI a boat with ancient wisdom,\nFashioned with my powers of magic,\nSang one day and then a second,\nSang the third day until evening,\nWhen I broke the magic main-spring,\nBroke my magic sledge in pieces,\nOf my song the fleetest runners;\nThen I come to Mana\u2019s kingdom,\nCame to borrow here a hatchet,\nThus to mend my sledge of magic,\nThus to join the parts together.\nSend the boat now quickly over,\nSend me, quick, Tuoni\u2019s row-boat,\nHelp me cross this fatal river,\nCross the channel of Manala.\u201d\n\nSpake the daughter of Tuoni,\nMana\u2019s maiden thus replying:\n\u201cThou art sure a stupid fellow,\nForesight wanting, judgment lacking,\nHaving neither wit nor wisdom,\nComing here without a reason,\nComing to Tuoni\u2019s empire;\nBetter far if thou shouldst journey\nTo thy distant home and kindred;\nMany they that visit Mana,\nFew return from Mana\u2019s kingdom.\u201d\n\nSpake the good old Wainamoinen:\n\u201cWomen old retreat from danger,\nNot a man of any courage,\nNot the weakest of the heroes.\nBring thy boat, Tuoni\u2019s daughter,\nTiny maiden of Manala,\nCome and row me o\u2019er the ferry.\u201d\n\nMana\u2019s daughter does as bidden,\nBrings her boat to Wainamoinen,\nQuickly rows him through the channel,\nO\u2019er the black and fatal river,\nTo the kingdom of Manala,\nSpeaks these words to the magician:\n\u201cWoe to thee! O Wainamoinen!\nWonderful indeed, thy magic,\nSince thou comest to Manala,\nComest neither dead nor dying.\u201d\n\nTuonetar, the death-land hostess,\nAncient hostess of Tuoni,\nBrings him pitchers filled with strong-beer,\nFills her massive golden goblets,\nSpeaks these measures to the stranger:\n\u201cDrink, thou ancient Wainamoinen,\nDrink the beer of king Tuoni!\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, wise and cautious,\nCarefully inspects the liquor,\nLooks a long time in the pitchers,\nSees the spawning of the black-frogs,\nSees the young of poison-serpents,\nLizards, worms, and writhing adders,\nThus addresses Tuonetar:\n\u201cHave not come with this intention,\nHave not come to drink thy poisons,\nDrink the beer of Tuonela;\nThose that drink Tuoni\u2019s liquors,\nThose that sip the cups of Mana,\nCourt the Devil and destruction,\nEnd their lives in want and ruin.\u201d\nTuonetar makes this answer:\n\u201cAncient minstrel, Wainamoinen,\nTell me what has brought thee hither,\nBrought thee to the realm of Mana,\nTo the courts of Tuonela,\nEre Tuoni sent his angels\nTo thy home in Kalevala,\nThere to cut thy magic life-thread.\u201d\nSpake the singer, Wainamoinen:\n\u201cI was building me a vessel,\nAt my craft was working, singing,\nNeeded three words of the Master,\nHow to fasten in the ledges,\nHow the stern should be completed,\nHow complete the boat\u2019s forecastle.\nThis the reason of my coming\nTo the empire of Tuoni,\nTo the castles of Manala:\nCame to learn these magic sayings,\nLearn the lost-words of the Master.\u201d\nSpake the hostess, Tuonetar:\n\u201cMana never gives these sayings,\nCanst not learn them from Tuoni,\nNot the lost-words of the Master;\nThou shalt never leave this kingdom,\nNever in thy magic life-time,\nNever go to Kalevala,\nTo Wainola\u2019s peaceful meadows.\nTo thy distant home and country.\u201d\n\nQuick the hostess, Tuonetar,\nWaves her magic wand of slumber\nO\u2019er the head of Wainamoinen,\nPuts to rest the wisdom-hero,\nLays him on the couch of Mana,\nIn the robes of living heroes,\nDeep the sleep that settles o\u2019er him.\nIn Manala lived a woman,\nIn the kingdom of Tuoni,\nEvil witch and toothless wizard,\nSpinner of the threads of iron,\nMoulder of the bands of copper,\nWeaver of a hundred fish-nets,\nOf a thousand nets of copper,\nSpinning in the days of summer,\nWeaving in the winter evenings,\nSeated on a rock in water.\n\nIn the kingdom of Tuoni\nLived a man, a wicked wizard,\nThree the fingers of the hero,\nSpinner he of iron meshes,\nMaker too of nets of copper,\nCountless were his nets of metal,\nMoulded on a rock in water,\nThrough the many days of summer.\n\nMana\u2019s son with crooked fingers,\nIron-pointed, copper fingers,\nPulls of nets, at least a thousand,\nThrough the river of Tuoni,\nSets them lengthwise, sets them crosswise,\nIn the fatal, darksome river,\nThat the sleeping Wainamoinen,\nFriend and brother of the waters,\nMay not leave the isle of Mana,\nNever in the course of ages,\nNever leave the death-land castles,\nNever while the moonlight glimmers\nOn the empire of Tuoni.\n\nWainamoinen, wise and wary,\nRising from his couch of slumber,\nSpeaks these words as he is waking:\n\u201cIs there not some mischief brewing,\nAm I not at last in danger,\nIn the chambers of Tuoni,\nIn the Manala home and household?\u201d\n\nQuick he changes his complexion,\nChanges too his form and feature,\nSlips into another body;\nLike a serpent in a circle,\nRolls black-dyed upon the waters;\nLike a snake among the willows,\nCrawls he like a worm of magic,\nLike an adder through the grasses,\nThrough the coal-black stream of death-land,\nThrough a thousand nets of copper\nInterlaced with threads of iron,\nFrom the kingdom of Tuoni,\nFrom the castles of Manala.\n\nMana\u2019s son, the wicked wizard,\nWith his iron-pointed fingers,\nIn the early morning hastens\nTo his thousand nets of copper,\nSet within the Tuoni river,\nFinds therein a countless number\nOf the death-stream fish and serpents;\nDoes not find old Wainamoinen,\nWainamoinen, wise and wary,\nFriend and fellow of the waters.\n\nWhen the wonder-working hero\nHad escaped from Tuonela,\nSpake he thus in supplication:\n\u201cGratitude to thee, O Ukko,\nDo I bring for thy protection!\nNever suffer other heroes,\nOf thy heroes not the wisest,\nTo transgress the laws of nature;\nNever let another singer,\nWhile he lives within the body,\nCross the river of Tuoni,\nAs thou lovest thy creations.\nMany heroes cross the channel,\nCross the fatal stream of Mana,\nFew return to tell the story,\nFew return from Tuonela,\nFrom Manala\u2019s courts and castles.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen calls his people,\nOn the plains of Kalevala,\nSpeaks these words of ancient wisdom,\nTo the young men, to the maidens,\nTo the rising generation:\n\u201cEvery child of Northland, listen:\nIf thou wishest joy eternal,\nNever disobey thy parents,\nNever evil treat the guiltless,\nNever wrong the feeble-minded,\nNever harm thy weakest fellow,\nNever stain thy lips with falsehood,\nNever cheat thy trusting neighbor,\nNever injure thy companion,\nLest thou surely payest penance\nIn the kingdom of Tuoni,\nIn the prison of Manala;\nThere, the home of all the wicked,\nThere the couch of the unworthy,\nThere the chambers of the guilty.\nUnderneath Manala\u2019s fire-rock\nAre their ever-flaming couches,\nFor their pillows hissing serpents,\nVipers green their writhing covers,\nFor their drink the blood of adders,\nFor their food the pangs of hunger,\nPain and agony their solace;\nIf thou wishest joy eternal,\nShun the kingdom of Tuoni!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XVII.\nWAINAMOINEN FINDS THE LOST-WORD.\n\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nDid not learn the words of magic\nIn Tuoni\u2019s gloomy regions,\nIn the kingdom of Manala.\nThereupon he long debated,\nWell considered, long reflected,\nWhere to find the magic sayings;\nWhen a shepherd came to meet him,\nSpeaking thus to Wainamoinen:\n\u201cThou canst find of words a hundred,\nFind a thousand wisdom-sayings,\nIn the mouth of wise Wipunen,\nIn the body of the hero;\nTo the spot I know the foot-path,\nTo his tomb the magic highway,\nTrodden by a host of heroes;\nLong the distance thou must travel,\nOn the sharpened points of needles;\nThen a long way thou must journey\nOn the edges of the broadswords;\nThirdly thou must travel farther\nOn the edges of the hatchets.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and trustful,\nWell considered all these journeys,\nTravelled to the forge and smithy,\nThus addressed the metal-worker:\n\u201cIlmarinen, worthy blacksmith,\nMake a shoe for me of iron,\nForge me gloves of burnished copper,\nMold a staff of strongest metal,\nLay the steel upon the inside,\nForge within the might of magic;\nI am going on a journey\nTo procure the magic sayings,\nFind the lost-words of the Master,\nFrom the mouth of the magician,\nFrom the tongue of wise Wipunen.\u201d\nSpake the artist, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cLong ago died wise Wipunen,\nDisappeared these many ages,\nLays no more his snares of copper,\nSets no longer traps of iron,\nCannot learn from him the wisdom,\nCannot find in him the lost-words.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and hopeful,\nLittle heeding, not discouraged,\nIn his metal shoes and armor,\nHastens forward on his journey,\nRuns the first day fleetly onward,\nOn the sharpened points of needles;\nWearily he strides the second,\nOn the edges of the broadswords\nSwings himself the third day forward,\nOn the edges of the hatchets.\n\nWise Wipunen, wisdom-singer,\nAncient bard, and great magician,\nWith his magic songs lay yonder,\nStretched beside him, lay his sayings,\nOn his shoulder grew the aspen,\nOn each temple grew the birch-tree,\nOn his mighty chin the alder,\nFrom his beard grew willow-bushes,\nFrom his mouth the dark green fir-tree,\nAnd the oak-tree from his forehead.\n\nWainamoinen, coming closer,\nDraws his sword, lays bare his hatchet\nFrom his magic leathern scabbard,\nFells the aspen from his shoulder,\nFells the birch-tree from his temples,\nFrom his chin he fells the alder,\nFrom his beard, the branching willows,\nFrom his mouth the dark-green fir-tree,\nFells the oak-tree from his forehead.\n\nNow he thrusts his staff of iron\nThrough the mouth of wise Wipunen,\nPries his mighty jaws asunder,\nSpeaks these words of master-magic:\n\u201cRise, thou master of magicians,\nFrom the sleep of Tuonela,\nFrom thine everlasting slumber!\u201d\n\nWise Wipunen, ancient singer,\nQuickly wakens from his sleeping,\nKeenly feels the pangs of torture,\nFrom the cruel staff of iron;\nBites with mighty force the metal,\nBites in twain the softer iron,\nCannot bite the steel asunder,\nOpens wide his mouth in anguish.\nWainamoinen of Wainola,\nIn his iron-shoes and armor,\nCareless walking, headlong stumbles\nIn the spacious mouth and fauces\nOf the magic bard, Wipunen.\nWise Wipunen, full of song-charms,\nOpens wide his mouth and swallows\nWainamoinen and his magic,\nShoes, and staff, and iron armor.\nThen outspeaks the wise Wipunen:\n\u201cMany things before I\u2019ve eaten,\nDined on goat, and sheep, and reindeer,\nBear, and ox, and wolf, and wild-boar,\nNever in my recollection,\nHave I tasted sweeter morsels!\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cNow I see the evil symbols,\nSee misfortune hanging o\u2019er me,\nIn the darksome Hisi-hurdles,\nIn the catacombs of Kalma.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen long considered\nHow to live and how to prosper,\nHow to conquer this condition.\nIn his belt he wore a poniard,\nWith a handle hewn from birch-wood,\nFrom the handle builds a vessel,\nBuilds a boat through magic science;\nIn this vessel rows he swiftly\nThrough the entrails of the hero,\nRows through every gland and vessel\nOf the wisest of magicians.\nOld Wipunen, master-singer,\nBarely feels the hero\u2019s presence,\nGives no heed to Wainamoinen.\nThen the artist of Wainola\nStraightway sets himself to forging,\nSets at work to hammer metals;\nMakes a smithy from his armor,\nOf his sleeves he makes the bellows,\nMakes the air-valve from his fur-coat,\nFrom his stockings, makes the muzzle,\nUses knees instead of anvil,\nMakes a hammer of his fore-arm;\nLike the storm-wind roars the bellows,\nLike the thunder rings the anvil;\nForges one day, then a second,\nForges till the third day closes,\nIn the body of Wipunen,\nIn the sorcerer\u2019s abdomen.\n\nOld Wipunen, full of magic,\nSpeaks these words in wonder, guessing:\n\u201cWho art thou of ancient heroes,\nWho of all the host of heroes?\nMany heroes I have eaten,\nAnd of men a countless number,\nHave not eaten such as thou art;\nSmoke arises from my nostrils,\nFrom my mouth the fire is streaming,\nIn my throat are iron-clinkers.\n\n\u201cGo, thou monster, hence to wander,\nFlee this place, thou plague of Northland,\nEre I go to seek thy mother,\nTell the ancient dame thy mischief;\nShe shall bear thine evil conduct,\nGreat the burden she shall carry;\nGreat a mother\u2019s pain and anguish,\nWhen her child runs wild and lawless;\nCannot comprehend the meaning,\nNor this mystery unravel,\nWhy thou camest here, O monster,\nCamest here to give me torture.\nArt thou Hisi sent from heaven,\nSome calamity from Ukko?\nArt, perchance, some new creation,\nOrdered here to do me evil?\nIf thou art some evil genius,\nSome calamity from Ukko,\nSent to me by my Creator,\nThen am I resigned to suffer;\nGod does not forsake the worthy,\nDoes not ruin those that trust him,\nNever are the good forsaken.\nIf by man thou wert created,\nIf some hero sent thee hither,\nI shall learn thy race of evil,\nShall destroy thy wicked tribe-folk.\n\n\u201cThence arose the violation,\nThence arose the first destruction,\nThence came all the evil-doings:\nFrom the neighborhood of wizards,\nFrom the homes of the magicians,\nFrom the caves of vicious spirits,\nFrom the haunts of fortune-tellers,\nFrom the cabins of the witches,\nFrom the castles of Tuoni,\nFrom the bottom of Manala,\nFrom the ground with envy swollen,\nFrom Ingratitude\u2019s dominions,\nFrom the rocky shoals and quicksands,\nFrom the marshes filled with danger,\nFrom the cataract\u2019s commotion,\nFrom the bear-caves in the mountains,\nFrom the wolves within the thickets,\nFrom the roarings of the pine-tree,\nFrom the burrows of the fox-dog,\nFrom the woodlands of the reindeer,\nFrom the caves and Hisi-hurdles,\nFrom the battles of the giants,\nFrom uncultivated pastures,\nFrom the billows of the oceans,\nFrom the streams of boiling waters,\nFrom the waterfalls of Rutya,\nFrom the limits of the storm-clouds,\nFrom the pathways of the thunders,\nFrom the flashings of the lightnings,\nFrom the distant plains of Pohya,\nFrom the fatal stream and whirlpool,\nFrom the birthplace of Tuoni.\n\n\u201cArt thou coming from these places?\nHast thou, evil, hastened hither,\nTo the heart of sinless hero,\nTo devour my guiltless body,\nTo destroy this wisdom-singer?\nGet thee hence, thou dog of Lempo,\nLeave, thou monster from Manala,\nFlee from mine immortal body,\nLeave my liver, thing of evil,\nIn my body cease thy forging,\nCease this torture of my vitals,\nLet me rest in peace and slumber.\n\n\u201cShould I want in means efficient,\nShould I lack the magic power\nTo outroot thine evil genius,\nI shall call a better hero,\nCall upon a higher power,\nTo remove this dire misfortune,\nTo annihilate this monster.\nI shall call the will of woman,\nFrom the fields, the old-time heroes,\nMounted heroes from the sand-hills,\nThus to rescue me from danger,\nFrom these pains and ceaseless tortures.\n\n\u201cIf this force prove inefficient,\nShould not drive thee from my body,\nCome, thou forest, with thy heroes,\nCome, ye junipers and pine-trees,\nWith your messengers of power,\nCome, ye mountains, with your wood-nymphs,\nCome, ye lakes, with all your mermaids,\nCome, ye hundred ocean-spearmen,\nCome, torment this son of Hisi,\nCome and kill this evil monster.\n\n\u201cIf this call is inefficient,\nDoes not drive thee from my vitals,\nRise, thou ancient water-mother,\nWith thy blue-cap from the ocean,\nFrom the seas, the lakes, the rivers,\nBring protection to thy hero,\nComfort bring and full assistance,\nThat I guiltless may not suffer,\nMay not perish prematurely.\n\n\u201cShouldst thou brave this invocation,\nKap\u00e8, daughter of Creation,\nCome, thou beauteous, golden maiden,\nOldest of the race of women,\nCome and witness my misfortunes,\nCome and turn away this evil,\nCome, remove this biting torment,\nTake away this plague of Piru.\n\n\u201cIf this call be disregarded,\nIf thou wilt not leave me guiltless,\nUkko, on the arch of heaven,\nIn the thunder-cloud dominions,\nCome thou quickly, thou art needed,\nCome, protect thy tortured hero,\nDrive away this magic demon,\nBanish ever his enchantment,\nWith his sword and flaming furnace,\nWith his fire-enkindling bellows.\n\n\u201cGo, thou demon, hence to wander,\nFlee, thou plague of Northland heroes;\nNever come again for shelter,\nNevermore build thou thy dwelling\nIn the body of Wipunen;\nTake at once thy habitation\nTo the regions of thy kindred,\nTo thy distant fields and firesides;\nWhen thy journey thou hast ended,\nGained the borders of thy country,\nGained the meads of thy Creator,\nGive a signal of thy coming,\nRumble like the peals of thunder,\nGlisten like the gleam of lightning,\nKnock upon the outer portals,\nEnter through the open windows,\nGlide about the many chambers,\nSeize the host and seize the hostess,\nKnock their evil heads together,\nWring their necks and hurl their bodies\nTo the black-dogs of the forest.\n\n\u201cShould this prove of little value,\nHover like the bird of battle,\nO\u2019er the dwellings of the master,\nScare the horses from the mangers,\nFrom the troughs affright the cattle,\nTwist their tails, and horns, and forelocks,\nHurl their carcasses to Lempo.\n\n\u201cIf some scourge the winds have sent me,\nSent me on the air of spring-tide,\nBrought me by the frosts of winter,\nQuickly journey whence thou camest,\nOn the air-path of the heavens,\nPerching not upon some aspen,\nResting not upon the birch-tree;\nFly away to copper mountains,\nThat the copper-winds may nurse thee,\nWaves of ether, thy protection.\n\n\u201cDidst those come from high Jumala,\nFrom the hems of ragged snow-clouds,\nQuick ascend beyond the cloud-space,\nQuickly journey whence thou camest,\nTo the snow-clouds, crystal-sprinkled,\nTo the twinkling stars of heaven;\nThere thy fire may burn forever,\nThere may flash thy forked lightnings,\nIn the Sun\u2019s undying furnace.\n\n\u201cWert thou sent here by the spring-floods,\nDriven here by river-torrents?\nQuickly journey whence thou camest,\nQuickly hasten to the waters,\nTo the borders of the rivers,\nTo the ancient water-mountain,\nThat the floods again may rock thee,\nAnd thy water-mother nurse thee.\n\n\u201cDidst thou come from Kalma\u2019s kingdom,\nFrom the castles of the death-land?\nHaste thou back to thine own country,\nTo the Kalma-halls and castles,\nTo the fields with envy swollen,\nWhere contending armies perish.\n\n\u201cArt thou from the Hisi-woodlands,\nFrom ravines in Lempo\u2019s forest,\nFrom the thickets of the pine-wood,\nFrom the dwellings of the fir-glen?\nQuick retrace thine evil footsteps\nTo the dwellings of thy master,\nTo the thickets of thy kindred;\nThere thou mayest dwell at pleasure,\nTill thy house decays about thee,\nTill thy walls shall mould and crumble.\n\n\u201cEvil genius, thee I banish,\nGot thee hence, thou horrid monster,\nTo the caverns of the white-bear,\nTo the deep abysm of serpents,\nTo the vales, and swamps, and fenlands,\nTo the ever-silent waters,\nTo the hot-springs of the mountains,\nTo the dead-seas of the Northland,\nTo the lifeless lakes and rivers,\nTo the sacred stream and whirlpool.\n\n\u201cShouldst thou find no place of resting,\nI will banish thee still farther,\nTo the Northland\u2019s distant borders,\nTo the broad expanse of Lapland,\nTo the ever-lifeless deserts,\nTo the unproductive prairies,\nSunless, moonless, starless, lifeless,\nIn the dark abyss of Northland;\nThis for thee, a place befitting,\nPitch thy tents and feast forever\nOn the dead plains of Pohyola.\n\n\u201cShouldst thou find no means of living,\nI will banish thee still farther,\nTo the cataract of Rutya,\nTo the fire-emitting whirlpool,\nWhere the firs are ever falling,\nTo the windfalls of the forest;\nSwim hereafter in the waters\nOf the fire-emitting whirlpool,\nWhirl thou ever in the current\nOf the cataract\u2019s commotion,\nIn its foam and boiling waters.\n\n\u201cShould this place be unbefitting,\nI will drive thee farther onward,\nTo Tuoni\u2019s coal-black river,\nTo the endless stream of Mana,\nWhere thou shalt forever linger;\nThou canst never leave Manala,\nShould I not thy head deliver,\nShould I never pay thy ransom;\nThou canst never safely journey\nThrough nine brother-rams abutting,\nThrough nine brother-bulls opposing,\nThrough nine brother-stallions thwarting,\nThou canst not re-cross Death-river\nThickly set with iron netting,\nInterlaced with threads of copper.\n\n\u201cShouldst thou ask for steeds for saddle,\nShouldst thou need a fleet-foot courser,\nI will give thee worthy racers,\nI will give thee saddle-horses;\nEvil Hisi has a charger,\nCrimson mane, and tail, and foretop,\nFire emitting from his nostrils,\nAs he prances through his pastures;\nHoofs are made of strongest iron,\nLegs are made of steel and copper,\nQuickly scales the highest mountains,\nDarts like lightning through the valleys,\nWhen a skilful master rides him.\n\n\u201cShould this steed be insufficient,\nI will give thee Lempo\u2019s snow-shoes,\nGive thee Hisi\u2019s shoes of elm-wood,\nGive to thee the staff of Piru,\nThat with these thou mayest journey\nInto Hisi\u2019s courts and castles,\nTo the woods and fields of Juutas;\nIf the rocks should rise before thee,\nDash the flinty rocks in pieces,\nHurl the fragments to the heavens;\nIf the branches cross thy pathway,\nMake them turn aside in greeting;\nIf some mighty hero hail thee,\nHurl him headlong to the woodlands.\n\n\u201cHasten hence, thou thing of evil,\nHeinous monster, leave my body,\nEre the breaking of the morning\nEre the Sun awakes from slumber,\nEre the sinning of the cuckoo;\nHaste away, thou plague of Northland,\nHaste along the track of moonbeams,\nWander hence, forever wander,\nTo the darksome fields of Pohya.\n\n\u201cIf at once thou dost not leave me,\nI will send the eagle\u2019s talons,\nSend to thee the beaks of vultures,\nTo devour thine evil body,\nHurl thy skeleton to Hisi.\nMuch more quickly cruel Lempo\nLeft my vitals when commanded,\nWhen I called the aid of Ukko,\nCalled the help of my Creator.\nFlee, thou motherless offendant,\nFlee, thou fiend of Sariola,\nFlee, thou hound without a master,\nEre the morning sun arises,\nEre the Moon withdraws to slumber!\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, ancient hero,\nSpeaks at last to old Wipunen:\n\u201cSatisfied am I to linger\nIn these old and spacious caverns,\nPleasant here my home and dwelling;\nFor my meat I have thy tissues,\nHave thy heart, and spleen, and liver,\nFor my drink the blood of ages,\nGoodly home for Wainamoinen.\n\n\u201cI shall set my forge and bellows\nDeeper, deeper in thy vitals;\nI shall swing my heavy hammer,\nSwing it with a greater power\nOn thy heart, and lungs, and liver;\nI shall never, never leave thee\nTill I learn thine incantations,\nLearn thy many wisdom-sayings,\nLearn the lost-words of the Master;\nNever must these words be hidden,\nEarth must never lose this wisdom,\nThough the wisdom-singers perish.\u201d\n\nOld Wipunen, wise magician,\nAncient prophet, filled with power,\nOpens full his store of knowledge,\nLifts the covers from his cases,\nFilled with old-time incantations,\nFilled with songs of times primeval,\nFilled with ancient wit and wisdom;\nSings the very oldest folk-songs,\nSings the origin of witchcraft,\nSings of Earth and its beginning,\nSings the first of all creations,\nSings the source of good and evil,\nSung alas! by youth no longer,\nOnly sung in part by heroes\nIn these days of sin and sorrow.\nEvil days our land befallen.\nSings the orders of enchantment.\nHow, upon the will of Ukko,\nBy command of the Creator,\nHow the air was first divided,\nHow the water came from ether,\nHow the earth arose from water,\nHow from earth came vegetation,\nFish, and fowl, and man, and hero.\n\nSings again the wise Wipunen,\nHow the Moon was first created,\nHow the Sun was set in heaven,\nWhence the colors of the rainbow,\nWhence the ether\u2019s crystal pillars,\nHow the skies with stars were sprinkled.\n\nThen again sings wise Wipunen,\nSings in miracles of concord,\nSings in magic tones of wisdom,\nNever was there heard such singing;\nSongs he sings in countless numbers,\nSwift his notes as tongues of serpents,\nAll the distant hills re-echo;\nSings one day, and then a second,\nSings a third from dawn till evening,\nSings from evening till the morning;\nListen all the stars of heaven,\nAnd the Moon stands still and listens\nFall the waves upon the deep-sea,\nIn the bay the tides cease rising,\nStop the rivers in their courses,\nStops the waterfall of Rutya,\nEven Jordan ceases flowing,\nAnd the Wuoksen stops and listens.\n\nWhen the ancient Wainamoinen\nWell had learned the magic sayings,\nLearned the ancient songs and legends,\nLearned the words of ancient wisdom,\nLearned the lost-words of the Master,\nWell had learned the secret doctrine,\nHe prepared to leave the body\nOf the wisdom-bard, Wipunen,\nLeave the bosom of the master,\nLeave the wonderful enchanter.\nSpake the hero, Wainamoinen:\n\u201cO, thou Antero Wipunen,\nOpen wide thy mouth and fauces,\nI have found the magic lost-words,\nI will leave thee now forever,\nLeave thee and thy wondrous singing,\nWill return to Kalevala,\nTo Wainola\u2019s fields and firesides.\u201d\nThus Wipunen spake in answer:\n\u201cMany are the things I\u2019ve eaten,\nEaten bear, and elk, and reindeer,\nEaten ox, and wolf, and wild-boar,\nEaten man, and eaten hero,\nNever, never have I eaten\nSuch a thing as Wainamoinen;\nThou hast found what thou desirest,\nFound the three words of the Master;\nGo in peace, and ne\u2019er returning,\nTake my blessing on thy going.\u201d\n\nThereupon the bard Wipunen\nOpens wide his mouth, and wider;\nAnd the good, old Wainamoinen\nStraightway leaves the wise enchanter,\nLeaves Wipunen\u2019s great abdomen;\nFrom the mouth he glides and journeys\nO\u2019er the hills and vales of Northland,\nSwift as red-deer of the forest,\nSwift as yellow-breasted marten,\nTo the firesides of Wainola,\nTo the plains of Kalevala.\n\nStraightway hastes he to the smithy\nOf his brother, Ilmarinen,\nThus the iron-artist greets him:\n\u201cHast thou found the long-lost wisdom,\nHast thou heard the secret doctrine,\nHast thou learned the master magic,\nHow to fasten in the ledges,\nHow the stern should be completed,\nHow complete the ship\u2019s forecastle?\u201d\nWainamoinen thus made answer:\n\u201cI have learned of words a hundred,\nLearned a thousand incantations,\nHidden deep for many ages,\nLearned the words of ancient wisdom,\nFound the keys of secret doctrine,\nFound the lost-words of the Master.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, magic-builder,\nStraightway journeys to his vessel,\nTo the spot of magic labor,\nQuickly fastens in the ledges,\nFirmly binds the stern together\nAnd completes the boat\u2019s forecastle.\nThus the ancient Wainamoinen\nBuilt the boat with magic only,\nAnd with magic launched his vessel,\nUsing not the hand to touch it,\nUsing not the foot to move it,\nUsing not the knee to turn it,\nUsing nothing to propel it.\nThus the third task was completed,\nFor the hostess of Pohyola,\nDowry for the Maid of Beauty\nSitting on the arch of heaven,\nOn the bow of many colors.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XVIII.\nTHE RIVAL SUITORS.\n\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nLong considered, long debated,\nHow to woo and win the daughter\nOf the hostess of Pohyola,\nHow to lead the Bride of Beauty,\nFairy maiden of the rainbow,\nTo the meadows of Wainola,\nFrom the dismal Sariola.\n\nNow he decks his magic vessel,\nPaints the boat in blue and scarlet,\nTrims in gold the ship\u2019s forecastle,\nDecks the prow in molten silver;\nSings his magic ship down gliding,\nOn the cylinders of fir-tree;\nNow erects the masts of pine-wood,\nOn each mast the sails of linen,\nSails of blue, and white, and scarlet,\nWoven into finest fabric.\n\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nSteps aboard his wondrous vessel,\nSteers the bark across the waters,\nOn the blue back of the broad-sea,\nSpeaks these words in sailing northward,\nSailing to the dark Pohyola:\n\u201cCome aboard my ship, O Ukko,\nCome with me, thou God of mercy,\nTo protect thine ancient hero,\nTo support thy trusting servant,\nOn the breasts of raging billows,\nOn the far out-stretching waters.\n\n\u201cRock, O winds, this wondrous vessel,\nCausing not a single ripple;\nRolling waves, bear ye me northward,\nThat the oar may not be needed\nIn my journey to Pohyola,\nO\u2019er this mighty waste of waters.\u201d\n\nIlmarinen\u2019s beauteous sister,\nFair and goodly maid, Annikki,\nOf the Night and Dawn, the daughter,\nWho awakes each morning early,\nRises long before the daylight,\nStood one morning on the sea-shore,\nWashing in the foam her dresses,\nRinsing out her silken ribbons,\nOn the bridge of scarlet color,\nOn the border of the highway,\nOn a headland jutting seaward,\nOn the forest-covered island.\nHere Annikki, looking round her,\nLooking through the fog and ether,\nLooking through the clouds of heaven,\nGazing far out on the blue-sea,\nSees the morning sun arising,\nGlimmering along the billows,\nLooks with eyes of distant vision\nToward the sunrise on the waters,\nToward the winding streams of Suomi,\nWhere the Wina-waves were flowing.\n\nThere she sees, on the horizon,\nSomething darkle in the sunlight,\nSomething blue upon the billows,\nSpeaks these words in wonder guessing:\n\u201cWhat is this upon the surges,\nWhat this blue upon the waters,\nWhat this darkling in the sunlight?\n\u2019Tis perhaps a flock of wild-geese,\nOr perchance the blue-duck flying;\nThen upon thy wings arising,\nFly away to highest heaven.\n\n\u201cArt thou then a shoal of sea-trout,\nOr perchance a school of salmon?\nDive then to the deep sea-bottom,\nIn the waters swim and frolic.\n\n\u201cArt thou then a cliff of granite,\nOr perchance a mighty oak-tree,\nFloating on the rough sea-billows?\nMay the floods then wash and beat thee,\nBreak thee to a thousand fragments.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, sailing northward,\nSteers his wondrous ship of magic\nToward the headland jutting seaward,\nToward the island forest-covered.\n\nNow Annikki, goodly maiden,\nSees it is the magic vessel\nOf a wonderful enchanter,\nOf a mighty bard and hero,\nAnd she asks this simple question:\n\u201cArt thou then my father\u2019s vessel,\nOr my brother\u2019s ship of magic?\nHaste away then to thy harbor,\nTo thy refuge in Wainola.\nHast thou come a goodly distance?\nSail then farther on thy journey,\nPoint thy prow to other waters.\u201d\n\nIt was not her father\u2019s vessel,\nNot a sail-boat from the distance,\n\u2019Twas the ship of Wainamoinen,\nBark of the eternal singer;\nSails within a hailing distance,\nSwims still nearer o\u2019er the waters,\nBrings one word and takes another,\nBrings a third of magic import.\n\nSpeaks the goodly maid, Annikki,\nOf the Night and Dawn, the daughter,\nTo the sailor of the vessel:\n\u201cWhither sailest, Wainamoinen,\nWhither bound, thou friend of waters,\nPride and joy of Kalevala?\u201d\n\nFrom the vessel Wainamoinen\nGives this answer to the maiden:\n\u201cI have come to catch some sea-trout,\nCatch the young and toothsome whiting,\nHiding in these reeds and rushes.\u201d\nThis the answer of Annikki:\n\n\u201cDo not speak to me in falsehood,\nKnow I well the times of fishing;\nLong ago my honored father\nWas a fisherman in Northland,\nCame to catch the trout and whiting,\nFished within these seas and rivers.\nVery well do I remember\nHow the fisherman disposes,\nHow he rigs his fishing vessel,\nLines, and gaffs, and poles, and fish-nets;\nHast not come a-fishing hither.\nWhither goest, Wainamoinen,\nWhither sailest, friend of waters?\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cI have come to catch some wild-geese,\nCatch the hissing birds of Suomi,\nIn these far-extending borders,\nIn the Sachsensund dominions.\u201d\nGood Annikki gives this answer:\n\u201cKnow I well a truthful speaker,\nEasily detect a falsehood;\nFormerly my aged father\nOften came a-hunting hither,\nCame to hunt the hissing wild-geese,\nHunt the red-bill of these waters.\nVery well do I remember\nHow the hunter rigs his vessel,\nBows, and arrows, knives, and quiver,\nDogs enchained within the vessel,\nPointers hunting on the sea-shore,\nSetters seeking in the marshes;\nTell the truth now Wainamoinen,\nWhither is thy vessel sailing?\u201d\nSpake the hero of the Northland:\n\u201cTo the wars my ship is sailing,\nTo the bloody fields of battle,\nWhere the streams run scarlet-colored,\nWhere the paths are paved with bodies.\u201d\nThese the words of fair Annikki:\n\u201cKnow I well the paths to battle;\nFormerly my aged father\nOften sounded war\u2019s alarum,\nOften led the hosts to conquest;\nIn each ship a hundred rowers,\nAnd in arms a thousand heroes,\nOn the prow a thousand cross-bows,\nSwords, and spears, and battle-axes;\nKnow I well the ship of battle.\nSpeak no longer fruitless falsehoods,\nWhither sailest, Wainamoinen,\nWhither steerest, friend of waters?\u201d\nThese the words of Wainamoinen:\n\u201cCome, O maiden, to my vessel,\nIn my magic ship be seated,\nThen I\u2019ll give thee truthful answer.\u201d\n\nThus Annikki, silver-tinselled,\nAnswers ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cWith the winds I\u2019ll fill thy vessel,\nTo thy bark I\u2019ll send the storm-winds\nAnd capsize thy ship of magic,\nBreak in pieces its forecastle,\nIf the truth thou dost not tell me,\nIf thou dost not cease thy falsehoods,\nIf thou dost not tell me truly\nWhither sails thy magic vessel.\u201d\nThese the words of Wainamoinen:\n\u201cNow I make thee truthful answer,\nThough at first I spake deception:\nI am sailing to the Northland\nTo the dismal Sariola,\nWhere the ogres live and flourish,\nWhere they drown the worthy heroes,\nThere to woo the Maid of Beauty\nSitting on the bow of heaven,\nWoo and win the fairy virgin,\nBring her to my home and kindred,\nTo the firesides of Wainola.\u201d\n\nThen Annikki, graceful maiden,\nOf the Night and Dawn, the daughter,\nAs she heard the rightful answer,\nKnew the truth was fully spoken,\nStraightway left her coats unbeaten,\nLeft unwashed her linen garments,\nLeft unrinsed her silks and ribbons\nOn the highway by the sea-shore,\nOn the bridge of scarlet color;\nOn her arm she threw her long-robes,\nHastened off with speed of roebuck\nTo the shops of Ilmarinen,\nTo the iron-forger\u2019s furnace,\nTo the blacksmith\u2019s home and smithy,\nHere she found the hero-artist,\nForging out a bench of iron,\nAnd adorning it with silver.\nSoot lay thick upon his forehead,\nSoot and coal upon his shoulders.\n\nOn the threshold speaks Annikki,\nThese the words his sister uses:\n\u201cIlmarinen, dearest brother,\nThou eternal artist-forger,\nForge me now a loom of silver,\nGolden rings to grace my fingers,\nForge me gold and silver ear-rings,\nSix or seven golden girdles,\nGolden crosslets for my bosom,\nFor my head forge golden trinkets,\nAnd I\u2019ll tell a tale surprising,\nTell a story that concerns thee\nTruthfully I\u2019ll tell the story.\u201d\n\nThen the blacksmith Ilmarinen\nSpake and these the words he uttered:\n\u201cIf thou\u2019lt tell the tale sincerely,\nI will forge the loom of silver,\nGolden rings to grace thy fingers,\nForge thee gold and silver ear-rings,\nSix or seven golden girdles,\nGolden crosslets for thy bosom,\nFor thy head forge golden trinkets;\nBut if thou shouldst tell me falsely,\nI shall break thy beauteous jewels,\nBreak thine ornaments in pieces,\nHurl them to the fire and furnace,\nNever forge thee other trinkets.\u201d\nThis the answer of Annikki:\n\u201cAncient blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nDost thou ever think to marry\nHer already thine affianced,\nBeauteous Maiden of the Rainbow,\nFairest virgin of the Northland,\nChosen bride of Sariola?\nShouldst thou wish the Maid of Beauty,\nThou must forge, and forge unceasing,\nHammering the days and nights through;\nForge the summer hoofs for horses,\nForge them iron hoofs for winter,\nIn the long nights forge the snow-sledge,\nGaily trim it in the daytime,\nHaste thou then upon thy journey\nTo thy wooing in the Northland,\nTo the dismal Sariola;\nThither journeys one more clever,\nSails another now before thee,\nThere to woo thy bride affianced,\nThence to lead thy chosen virgin,\nWoo and win the Maid of Beauty;\nThree long years thou hast been wooing.\nWainamoinen now is sailing\nOn the blue back of the waters,\nSitting at his helm of copper;\nOn the prow are golden carvings,\nBeautiful his boat of magic,\nSailing fleetly o\u2019er the billows,\nTo the never-pleasant Northland,\nTo the dismal Sariola.\u201d\n\nIlmarinen stood in wonder,\nStood a statue at the story;\nSilent grief had settled o\u2019er him,\nSettled o\u2019er the iron-artist;\nFrom one hand the tongs descended,\nFrom the other fell the hammer,\nAs the blacksmith made this answer:\n\u201cGood Annikki, worthy sister,\nI shall forge the loom of silver,\nGolden rings to grace thy fingers,\nForge thee gold and silver ear-rings,\nSix or seven golden girdles,\nGolden crosslets for thy bosom;\nGo and heat for me the bath-room,\nFill with heat the honey-chambers,\nLay the faggots on the fire-place,\nLay the smaller woods around them,\nPour some water through the ashes,\nMake a soap of magic virtue,\nThus to cleanse my blackened visage,\nThus to cleanse the blacksmith\u2019s body,\nThus remove the soot and ashes.\u201d\n\nThen Annikki, kindly sister,\nQuickly warmed her brother\u2019s bath-room,\nWarmed it with the knots of fir-trees,\nThat the thunder-winds had broken;\nGathered pebbles from the fire-stream,\nThrew them in the heating waters;\nBroke the tassels from the birch-trees,\nSteeped the foliage in honey,\nMade a lye from milk and ashes,\nMade of these a strong decoction,\nMixed it with the fat and marrow\nOf the reindeer of the mountains,\nMade a soap of magic virtue,\nThus to cleanse the iron-artist,\nThus to beautify the suitor,\nThus to make the hero worthy.\n\nIlmarinen, ancient blacksmith,\nThe eternal metal-worker,\nForged the wishes of his sister,\nOrnaments for fair Annikki,\nRings, and bracelets, pins and ear-drops,\nForged for her six golden girdles,\nForged a weaving loom of silver,\nWhile the maid prepared the bath-room,\nSet his toilet-room in order.\n\nTo the maid he gave the trinkets,\nGave the loom of molten silver,\nAnd the sister thus made answer:\n\u201cI have heated well thy bath-room,\nHave thy toilet-things in order,\nEverything as thou desirest;\nGo prepare thyself for wooing,\nLave thy head to flaxen whiteness,\nMake thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy,\nLave thyself in Love\u2019s aroma,\nThat thy wooing prove successful.\u201d\n\nIlmarinen, magic artist,\nQuick repairing to his bath-room,\nBathed his head to flaxen whiteness,\nMade his cheeks look fresh and ruddy,\nLaved his eyes until they sparkled\nLike the moonlight on the waters;\nWondrous were his form and features,\nAnd his cheeks like ruddy berries.\nThese the words of Ilmarinen:\n\u201cFair Annikki, lovely sister,\nBring me now my silken raiment,\nBring my best and richest vesture,\nBring me now my softest linen,\nThat my wooing prove successful.\u201d\n\nStraightway did the helpful sister\nBring the finest of his raiment,\nBring the softest of his linen,\nRaiment fashioned by his mother;\nBrought to him his silken stockings,\nBrought him shoes of marten-leather,\nBrought a vest of sky-blue color,\nBrought him scarlet-colored trousers,\nBrought a coat with scarlet trimming,\nBrought a red shawl trimmed in ermine\nFourfold wrapped about his body;\nBrought a fur-coat made of seal-skin,\nFastened with a thousand bottons,\nAnd adorned with countless jewels;\nBrought for him his magic girdle,\nFastened well with golden buckles,\nThat his artist-mother fashioned;\nBrought him gloves with golden wristlets,\nThat the Laplanders had woven\nFor a head of many ringlets;\nBrought the finest cap in Northland,\nThat his ancient father purchased\nWhen he first began his wooing.\n\nIlmarinen, blacksmith-artist,\nClad himself to look his finest,\nWhen he thus addressed a servant:\n\u201cHitch for me a fleet-foot racer,\nHitch him to my willing snow-sledge,\nFor I start upon a journey\nTo the distant shores of Pohya,\nTo the dismal Sariola.\u201d\nSpake the servant thus in answer:\n\u201cThou hast seven fleet-foot racers,\nMunching grain within their mangers,\nWhich of these shall I make ready?\u201d\nSpake the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cTake the fleetest of my coursers,\nPut the gray steed in the harness,\nHitch him to my sledge of magic;\nPlace six cuckoos on the break-board,\nSeven bluebirds on the cross-bars,\nThus to charm the Northland maidens,\nThus to make them look and listen,\nAs the cuckoos call and echo.\nBring me too my largest bear-skin,\nFold it warm about the cross-bench;\nBring me then my marten fur-robes,\nAs a cover and protection.\u201d\n\nStraightway then the trusty servant\nOf the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nPut the gray steed in the harness,\nHitched the racer to the snow-sledge,\nPlaced six cuckoos on the break-board,\nSeven bluebirds on the cross-bars,\nOn the front to sing and twitter;\nThen he brought the largest bear-skin,\nFolded it upon the cross-bench;\nBrought the finest robes of marten,\nWarm protection for the master.\n\nIlmarinen, forger-artist,\nThe eternal metal-worker,\nEarnestly entreated Ukko:\n\u201cSend thy snow-flakes, Ukko, father,\nLet them gently fall from heaven,\nLet them cover all the heather,\nLet them hide the berry-bushes,\nThat my sledge may glide in freedom\nO\u2019er the hills to Sariola!\u201d\n\nUkko sent the snow from heaven,\nGently dropped the crystal snow-flakes,\nLending thus his kind assistance\nTo the hero, Ilmarinen,\nOn his journey to the Northland.\n\nReins in hand, the ancient artist\nSeats him in his metal snow-sledge,\nAnd beseeches thus his Master:\n\u201cGood luck to my reins and traces,\nGood luck to my shafts and runners!\nGod protect my magic snow-sledge,\nBe my safeguard on my journey\nTo the dismal Sariola!\u201d\n\nNow the ancient Ilmarinen\nDraws the reins upon the racer,\nSnaps his whip above the courser,\nTo the gray steed gives this order,\nAnd the charger plunges northward:\n\u201cHaste away, my flaxen stallion,\nHaste thee onward, noble white-face,\nTo the never-pleasant Pohya,\nTo the dreary Sariola!\u201d\n\nFast and faster flies the fleet-foot,\nOn the curving snow-capped sea-coast,\nOn the borders of the lowlands,\nO\u2019er the alder-hills and mountains.\nMerrily the steed flies onward,\nBluebirds singing, cuckoos calling,\nOn the sea-shore looking northward,\nThrough the sand and falling snow-flakes\nBlinding winds, and snow, and sea-foam,\nCloud the hero, Ilmarinen,\nAs he glides upon his journey,\nLooking seaward for the vessel\nOf the ancient Wainamoinen;\nTravels one day, then a second,\nTravels all the next day northward,\nTill the third day Ilmarinen\nOvertakes old Wainamoinen,\nHails him in his magic vessel,\nAnd addresses thus the minstrel:\n\u201cO thou ancient Wainamoinen,\nLet us woo in peace the maiden,\nFairest daughter of the Northland,\nSitting on the bow of heaven,\nLet each labor long to win her,\nLet her wed the one she chooses,\nHim selecting, let her follow.\u201d\nWainamoinen thus makes answer:\n\u201cI agree to thy proposal,\nLet us woo in peace the maiden,\nNot by force, nor faithless measures,\nShall we woo the Maid of Beauty,\nLet her follow him she chooses;\nLet the unsuccessful suitor\nHarbor neither wrath nor envy\nFor the hero that she follows.\u201d\n\nThus agreeing, on they journey,\nEach according to his pleasure;\nFleetly does the steed fly onward,\nQuickly flies the magic vessel,\nSailing on the broad-sea northward;\nIlmarinen\u2019s fleet-foot racer\nMakes the hills of Northland tremble,\nAs he gallops on his journey\nTo the dismal Sariola.\n\nWainamoinen calls the South-winds,\nAnd they fly to his assistance;\nSwiftly sails his ship of beauty,\nSwiftly plows the rough sea-billows\nIn her pathway to Pohyola.\n\nTime had gone but little distance,\nScarce a moment had passed over,\nEre the dogs began their barking,\nIn the mansions of the Northland,\nIn the courts of Sariola,\nWatch-dogs of the court of Louhi;\nNever had they growled so fiercely,\nNever had they barked so loudly,\nNever with their tails had beaten\nNorthland into such an uproar.\nSpake the master of Pohyola:\n\u201cGo and learn, my worthy daughter,\nWhy the watch-dogs have been barking,\nWhy the black-dog signals danger.\u201d\nQuickly does the daughter answer:\n\u201cI am occupied, dear father,\nI have work of more importance,\nI must tend my flock of lambkins,\nI must turn the nether millstone,\nGrind to flour the grains of barley,\nRun the grindings through the sifter,\nOnly have I time for grinding.\u201d\n\nLowly growls the faithful watch-dog,\nSeldom does he growl so strangely.\nSpake the master of Pohyola:\n\u201cGo and learn, my trusted consort,\nWhy the Northland dogs are barking,\nWhy the black-dog signals danger.\u201d\nThus his aged wife makes answer:\n\u201cHave no time, nor inclination,\nI must feed my hungry household,\nMust prepare a worthy dinner,\nI must bake the toothsome biscuit,\nKnead the dough till it is ready,\nOnly have I strength for kneading.\u201d\nSpake the master of Pohyola:\n\u201cDames are always in a hurry,\nMaidens too are ever busy,\nWhether warming at the oven,\nOr asleep upon their couches;\nGo my son, and learn the danger,\nWhy the black-dog growls displeasure.\u201d\nQuickly does the son give answer:\n\u201cHave no time, nor inclination,\nAm in haste to grind my hatchet;\nI must chop this log to cordwood,\nFor the fire must cut the faggots,\nI must split the wood in fragments,\nLarge the pile and small the fire-wood,\nOnly have I strength for chopping.\u201d\n\nStill the watch-dog growls in anger,\nGrowl the whelps within the mansion,\nGrowl the dogs chained in the kennel,\nGrowls the black-dog on the hill-top,\nSetting Northland in an uproar.\nSpake the master of Pohyola:\n\u201cNever, never does my black-dog\nGrowl like this without a reason;\nNever does he bark for nothing,\nDoes not growl at angry billows,\nNor the sighing of the pine-trees.\u201d\n\nThen the master of Pohyola\nWent himself to learn the reason\nFor the barking of the watch-dogs;\nStrode he through the spacious court-yard,\nThrough the open fields beyond it,\nTo the summit of the uplands.\nLooking toward his black-dog barking,\nHe beholds the muzzle pointed\nTo a distant, stormy hill-top,\nTo a mound with alders covered;\nThere he learned the rightful reason,\nWhy his dogs had barked so loudly,\nWhy had growled the wool-tail bearer,\nWhy his whelps had signalled danger.\nAt full sail, he saw a vessel,\nAnd the ship was scarlet-colored,\nEntering the bay of Lempo;\nSaw a sledge of magic colors,\nGliding up the curving sea-shore,\nO\u2019er the snow-fields of Pohyola.\n\nThen the master of the Northland\nHastened straightway to his dwelling,\nHastened forward to his court-room,\nThese the accents of the master:\n\u201cOften strangers journey hither,\nOn the blue back of the ocean,\nSailing in a scarlet vessel,\nRocking in the bay of Lempo;\nOften strangers come in sledges\nTo the honey-lands of Louhi.\u201d\n\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cHow shall we obtain a token\nWhy these strangers journey hither?\nMy beloved, faithful daughter,\nLay a branch upon the fire-place,\nLet it burn with fire of magic;\nIf it trickle drops of scarlet,\nWar and bloodshed do they bring us;\nIf it trickle drops of water,\nPeace and plenty bring the strangers.\u201d\n\nNorthland\u2019s fair and slender maiden,\nBeautiful and modest daughter,\nLays a sorb-branch on the fire-place,\nLights it with the fire of magic;\nDoes not trickle drops of scarlet,\nTrickles neither blood, nor water,\nFrom the wand come drops of honey.\n\nFrom the corner spake Suowakko,\nThis the language of the wizard:\n\u201cIf the wand is dripping honey,\nThen the strangers that are coming\nAre but worthy friends and suitors.\u201d\n\nThen the hostess of the Northland,\nWith the daughter of the hostess,\nStraightway left their work, and hastened\nFrom their dwelling to the court-yard;\nLooked about in all directions,\nTurned their eyes upon the waters,\nSaw a magic-colored vessel\nRocking slowly in the harbor,\nHaving sailed the bay of Lempo,\nTriple sails, and masts, and rigging,\nSable was the nether portion,\nAnd the upper, scarlet-colored,\nAt the helm an ancient hero\nLeaning on his oars of copper;\nSaw a fleet-foot racer running,\nSaw a red sledge lightly follow,\nSaw the magic sledge emblazoned,\nGuided toward the courts of Louhi;\nSaw and heard six golden cuckoos\nSitting on the break-board, calling,\nSeven bluebirds richly colored\nSinging from the yoke and cross-bar;\nIn the sledge a magic hero,\nYoung, and strong, and proud, and handsome,\nHolding reins upon the courser.\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cDearest daughter, winsome maiden,\nDost thou wish a noble suitor?\nShould these heroes come to woo thee,\nWouldst thou leave thy home and country,\nBe the bride of him that pleases,\nBe his faithful life-companion?\n\n\u201cHe that comes upon the waters,\nSailing in a magic vessel,\nHaving sailed the bay of Lempo,\nIs the good, old Wainamoinen;\nIn his ship are countless treasures,\nRichest presents from Wainola.\n\n\u201cHe that rides here in his snow-sledge\nIn his sledge of magic beauty,\nWith the cuckoos and the bluebirds,\nIs the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nCometh hither empty-handed,\nOnly brings some wisdom-sayings.\nWhen they come within the dwelling,\nBring a bowl of honeyed viands,\nBring a pitcher with two handles,\nGive to him that thou wouldst follow;\nGive it to old Wainamoinen,\nHim that brings thee countless treasures,\nCostly presents in his vessel,\nPriceless gems from Kalevala.\u201d\n\nSpake the Northland\u2019s lovely daughter,\nThis the language of the maiden:\n\u201cGood, indeed, advice maternal,\nBut I will not wed for riches,\nWed no man for countless treasures;\nFor his worth I\u2019ll choose a husband,\nFor his youth and fine appearance,\nFor his noble form and features;\nIn the olden times the maidens\nWere not sold by anxious mothers\nTo the suitors that they loved not.\nI shall choose without his treasures\nIlmarinen for his wisdom,\nFor his worth and good behavior,\nHim that forged the wondrous Sampo,\nHammered thee the lid in colors.\u201d\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cSenseless daughter, child of folly,\nThus to choose the ancient blacksmith,\nFrom whose brow drips perspiration,\nEvermore to rinse his linen,\nLave his hands, and eyes, and forehead,\nKeep his ancient house in order;\nLittle use his wit and wisdom\nWhen compared with gold and silver.\u201d\nThis the answer of the daughter:\n\u201cI will never, never, never,\nWed the ancient Wainamoinen\nWith his gold and priceless jewels;\nNever will I be a helpmate\nTo a hero in his dotage,\nLittle thanks my compensation.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, safely landing\nIn advance of Ilmarinen,\nPulls his gaily-covered vessel\nFrom the waves upon the sea-beach,\nOn the cylinders of birch-wood,\nOn the rollers copper-banded,\nStraightway hastens to the guest-room\nOf the hostess of Pohyola,\nOf the master of the Northland,\nSpeaks these words upon the threshold\nTo the famous Maid of Beauty:\n\u201cCome with me, thou lovely virgin,\nBe my bride and life-companion,\nShare with me my joys and sorrows,\nBe my honored wife hereafter!\u201d\nThis the answer of the maiden:\n\u201cHast thou built for me the vessel,\nBuilt for me the ship of magic\nFrom the fragments of the distaff,\nFrom the splinters of the spindle?\u201d\nWainamoinen thus replying:\n\u201cI have built the promised vessel,\nBuilt the wondrous ship for sailing,\nFirmly joined the parts by magic;\nIt will weather roughest billows,\nWill outlive the winds and waters,\nSwiftly glide upon the blue-back\nOf the deep and boundless ocean;\nIt will ride the waves in beauty,\nLike an airy bubble rising,\nLike a cork on lake and river,\nThrough the angry seas of Northland,\nThrough Pohyola\u2019s peaceful waters.\u201d\n\nNorthland\u2019s fair and slender daughter\nGives this answer to her suitor:\n\u201cWill not wed a sea-born hero,\nDo not care to rock the billows,\nCannot live with such a husband;\nStorms would bring us pain and trouble,\nWinds would rack our hearts and temples;\nTherefore thee I cannot follow,\nCannot keep thy home in order,\nCannot be thy life-companion,\nCannot wed old Wainamoinen.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XIX.\nILMARINEN\u2019S WOOING.\n\n\nIlmarinen, hero-blacksmith,\nThe eternal metal-worker,\nHastens forward to the court-room\nOf the hostess of Pohyola,\nOf the master of the Northland,\nHastens through the open portals\nInto Louhi\u2019s home and presence.\nServants come with silver pitchers,\nFilled with Northland\u2019s richest brewing;\nHoney-drink is brought and offered\nTo the blacksmith of Wainola,\nIlmarinen thus replying:\n\u201cI shall not in all my life-time\nTaste the drink that thou hast brought me,\nTill I see the Maid of Beauty,\nFairy Maiden of the Rainbow;\nI will drink with her in gladness,\nFor whose hand I journey hither.\u201d\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cTrouble does the one selected\nGive to him that wooes and watches;\nNot yet are her feet in sandals,\nThine affianced is not ready.\nOnly canst thou woo my daughter,\nOnly canst thou win the maiden,\nWhen thou hast by aid of magic\nPlowed the serpent-field of Hisi,\nPlowed the field of hissing vipers,\nTouching neither beam nor handles.\nOnce this field was plowed by Piru,\nLempo furrowed it with horses,\nWith a plowshare made of copper,\nWith a beam of flaming iron;\nNever since has any hero\nBrought this field to cultivation.\u201d\n\nIlmarinen of Wainola\nStraightway hastens to the chamber\nOf the Maiden of the Rainbow,\nSpeaks these words in hesitation:\n\u201cThou of Night and Dawn the daughter,\nTell me, dost thou not remember\nWhen for thee I forged the Sampo,\nHammered thee the lid in colors?\nThou didst swear by oath the strongest,\nBy the forge and by the anvil,\nBy the tongs and by the hammer,\nIn the ears of the Almighty,\nAnd before omniscient Ukko,\nThou wouldst follow me hereafter,\nBe my bride, my life-companion,\nBe my honored wife forever.\nNow thy mother is exacting,\nWill not give to me her daughter,\nTill by means of magic only,\nI have plowed the field of serpents,\nPlowed the hissing soil of Hisi.\u201d\n\nThe affianced Bride of Beauty\nGives this answer to the suitor:\n\u201cO, thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nThe eternal wonder-forger,\nForge thyself a golden plowshare,\nForge the beam of shining silver,\nAnd of copper forge the handles;\nThen with ease, by aid of magic,\nThou canst plow the field of serpents,\nPlow the hissing soil of Hisi.\u201d\n\nIlmarinen, welcome suitor,\nStraightway builds a forge and smithy,\nPlaces gold within the furnace,\nIn the forge he lays the silver,\nForges then a golden plowshare,\nForges, too, a beam of silver,\nForges handles out of copper,\nForges boots and gloves of iron,\nForges him a mail of metal,\nFor his limbs a safe protection,\nSafe protection for his body.\nThen a horse of fire selecting,\nHarnesses the flaming stallion,\nGoes to plow the field of serpents,\nPlow the viper-lands of Hisi.\nIn the field were countless vipers,\nSerpents there of every species,\nCrawling, writhing, hissing, stinging,\nHarmless all against the hero,\nThus he stills the snakes of Lempo:\n\u201cVipers, ye by God created,\nNeither best nor worst of creatures,\nYe whose wisdom comes from Ukko,\nAnd whose venom comes from Hisi,\nUkko is your greater Master,\nBy His will your heads are lifted;\nGet ye hence before my plowing,\nWrithe ye through the grass and stubble,\nCrawl ye to the nearest thicket,\nKeep your heads beneath the heather,\nHunt your holes to Mana\u2019s kingdom\nIf your poison-heads be lifted,\nThen will mighty Ukko smite them\nWith his iron-pointed arrows,\nWith the lightning of his anger.\u201d\n\nThus the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nSafely plows the field of serpents,\nLifts the vipers in his plowing,\nBuries them beneath the furrow,\nHarmless all against his magic.\nWhen the task had been completed,\nIlmarinen, quick returning,\nThus addressed Pohyola\u2019s hostess:\n\u201cI have plowed the field of Hisi,\nPlowed the field of hissing serpents,\nStilled and banished all the vipers;\nGive me, ancient dame, thy daughter,\nFairest maiden of the Northland.\u201d\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cShall not grant to thee my daughter,\nShall not give my lovely virgin,\nTill Tuoni\u2019s bear is muzzled,\nTill Manala\u2019s wolf is conquered,\nIn the forests of the Death-land,\nIn the boundaries of Mana.\nHundreds have been sent to hunt him,\nSo one yet has been successful,\nAll have perished in Manala.\u201d\n\nThereupon young Ilmarinen\nTo the maiden\u2019s chamber hastens,\nThus addresses his affianced:\n\u201cStill another test demanded,\nI must go to Tuonela,\nBridle there the bear of Mana,\nBring him from the Death-land forests,\nFrom Tuoni\u2019s grove and empire!\u201d\nThis advice the maiden gives him:\n\u201cO thou artist, Ilmarinen,\nThe eternal metal-worker,\nForge of steel a magic bridle,\nOn a rock beneath the water,\nIn the foaming triple currents;\nMake the straps of steel and copper,\nBridle then the bear of Mana,\nLead him from Tuoni\u2019s forests.\u201d\n\nThen the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nForged of steel a magic bridle,\nOn a rock beneath the water,\nIn the foam of triple currents;\nMade the straps of steel and copper,\nStraightway went the bear to muzzle,\nIn the forests of the Death-land,\nSpake these words in supplication:\n\u201cTerhenetar, ether-maiden,\nDaughter of the fog and snow-flake,\nSift the fog and let it settle\nO\u2019er the hills and lowland thickets,\nWhere the wild-bear feeds and lingers,\nThat he may not see my coming,\nMay not hear my stealthy footsteps!\u201d\n\nTerhenetar hears his praying,\nMakes the fog and snow-flake settle\nOn the coverts of the wild-beasts;\nThus the bear he safely bridles,\nFetters him in chains of magic,\nIn the forests of Tuoni,\nIn the blue groves of Manala.\n\nWhen this task had been completed,\nIlmarinen, quick returning,\nThus addressed the ancient Louhi:\n\u201cGive me, worthy dame, thy daughter,\nGive me now my bride affianced,\nI have brought the bear of Mana\nFrom Tuoni\u2019s fields and forests.\u201d\n\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola\nTo the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cI will only give my daughter,\nGive to thee the Maid of Beauty,\nWhen the monster-pike thou catchest\nIn the river of Tuoni,\nIn Manala\u2019s fatal waters,\nUsing neither hooks, nor fish-nets,\nNeither boat, nor fishing-tackle;\nHundreds have been sent to catch him,\nNo one yet has been successful,\nAll have perished in Manala.\u201d\n\nMuch disheartened, Ilmarinen\nHastened to the maiden\u2019s chamber,\nThus addressed the rainbow-maiden:\n\u201cNow a third test is demanded,\nMuch more difficult than ever;\nI must catch the pike of Mana,\nIn the river of Tuoni,\nAnd without my fishing-tackle,\nHard the third test of the hero!\u201d\nThis advice the maiden gives him:\n\u201cO thou hero, Ilmarinen,\nNever, never be discouraged:\nIn thy furnace, forge an eagle,\nFrom the fire of ancient magic;\nHe will catch the pike of Mana,\nCatch the monster-fish in safety,\nFrom the death-stream of Tuoni,\nFrom Manala\u2019s fatal waters.\u201d\n\nThen the suitor, Ilmarinen,\nThe eternal artist-forgeman,\nIn the furnace forged an eagle\nFrom the fire of ancient wisdom;\nFor this giant bird of magic\nForged he talons out of iron,\nAnd his beak of steel and copper;\nSeats himself upon the eagle,\nOn his back between the wing-bones,\nThus addresses he his creature,\nGives the bird of fire this order:\n\u201cMighty eagle, bird of beauty,\nFly thou whither I direct thee,\nTo Tuoni\u2019s coal-black river,\nTo the blue deeps of the Death-stream,\nSeize the mighty fish of Mana,\nCatch for me this water-monster.\u201d\n\nSwiftly flies the magic eagle,\nGiant-bird of worth and wonder,\nTo the river of Tuoni,\nThere to catch the pike of Mana;\nOne wing brushes on the waters,\nWhile the other sweeps the heavens;\nIn the ocean dips his talons,\nWhets his beak on mountain-ledges.\n\nSafely landing, Ilmarinen,\nThe immortal artist-forger,\nHunts the monster of the Death-stream,\nWhile the eagle hunts and fishes\nIn the waters of Manala.\nFrom the river rose a monster,\nGrasped the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nTried to drag him to his sea-cave;\nQuick the eagle pounced upon him,\nWith his metal-beak he seized him,\nWrenched his head, and rent his body,\nHurled him back upon the bottom\nOf the deep and fatal river,\nFreed his master, Ilmarinen.\n\nThen arose the pike of Mana,\nCame the water-dog in silence,\nOf the pikes was not the largest,\nNor belonged he to the smallest;\nTongue the length of double hatchets,\nTeeth as long as fen-rake handles,\nMouth as broad as triple streamlets,\nBack as wide as seven sea-boats,\nTried to snap the magic blacksmith,\nTried to swallow Ilmarinen.\nSwiftly swoops the mighty eagle,\nOf the birds was not the largest,\nNor belonged he to the smallest;\nBeak a hundred fathoms measured,\nMouth as wide as seven streamlets,\nTongue as long as seven javelins,\nLike five crooked scythes his talons;\nSwoops upon the pike of Mana.\nQuick the giant fish endangered,\nDarts and flounders in the river,\nDragging down the mighty eagle,\nLashing up the very bottom\nTo the surface of the river;\nWhen the mighty bird uprising\nLeaves the wounded pike in water,\nSoars aloft on worsted pinions\nTo his home in upper ether;\nSoars awhile, and sails, and circles,\nCircles o\u2019er the reddened waters,\nSwoops again on lightning-pinions,\nStrikes with mighty force his talons\nInto the shoulder of his victim;\nStrikes the second of his talons\nOn the flinty mountain-ledges,\nOn the rocks with iron hardened;\nFrom the cliffs rebound his talons,\nSlip the flinty rocks o\u2019erhanging,\nAnd the monster-pike resisting\nDives again beneath the surface\nTo the bottom of the river,\nFrom the talons of the eagle;\nDeep, the wounds upon the body\nOf the monster of Tuoni.\nStill a third time soars the eagle,\nSoars, and sails, and quickly circles,\nSwoops again upon the monster,\nFire out-shooting from his pinions,\nBoth his eyeballs flashing lightning;\nWith his beak of steel and copper\nGrasps again the pike of Mana;\nFirmly planted are his talons\nIn the rocks and in his victim,\nDrags the monster from the river,\nLifts the pike above the waters,\nFrom Tuoni\u2019s coal-black river,\nFrom the blue-back of Manala.\n\nThus the third time does the eagle\nBring success from former failures;\nThus at last the eagle catches\nMana\u2019s pike, the worst of fishes,\nSwiftest swimmer of the waters,\nFrom the river of Tuoni;\nNone could see Manala\u2019s river,\nFor the myriad of fish-scales;\nHardly could one see through ether,\nFor the feathers of the eagle,\nRelicts of the mighty contest.\n\nThen the bird of copper talons\nTook the pike, with scales of silver,\nTo the pine-tree\u2019s topmost branches,\nTo the fir-tree plumed with needles,\nTore the monster-fish in pieces,\nAte the body of his victim,\nLeft the head for Ilmarinen.\nSpake the blacksmith to the eagle:\n\u201cO thou bird of evil nature,\nWhat thy thought and what thy motive?\nThou hast eaten what I needed,\nEvidence of my successes;\nThoughtless eagle, witless instinct,\nThus to mar the spoils of conquest!\u201d\n\nBut the bird of metal talons\nHastened onward, soaring upward,\nRising higher into ether,\nRising, flying, soaring, sailing,\nTo the borders of the long-clouds,\nMade the vault of ether tremble,\nSplit apart the dome of heaven,\nBroke the colored bow of Ukko,\nTore the Moon-horns from their sockets,\nDisappeared beyond the Sun-land,\nTo the home of the triumphant.\n\nThen the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nTook the pike-head to the hostess\nOf the ever-dismal Northland,\nThus addressed the ancient Louhi:\n\u201cLet this head forever serve thee\nAs a guest-bench for thy dwelling,\nEvidence of hero-triumphs;\nI have caught the pike of Mana,\nI have done as thou demandest,\nThree my victories in Death-land,\nThree the tests of magic heroes;\nWilt thou give me now thy daughter,\nGive to me the Maid of Beauty?\u201d\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cBadly is the test accomplished,\nThou has torn the pike in pieces,\nFrom his neck the head is severed,\nOf his body thou hast eaten,\nBrought to me this worthless relic!\u201d\nThese the words of Ilmarinen:\n\u201cWhen the victory is greatest,\nDo we suffer greatest losses!\nFrom the river of Tuoni,\nFrom the kingdom of Manala,\nI have brought to thee this trophy,\nThus the third task is completed.\nTell me is the maiden ready,\nWilt thou give the bride affianced?\u201d\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cI will give to thee my daughter,\nWill prepare my snow-white virgin,\nFor the suitor, Ilmarinen;\nThou hast won the Maid of Beauty,\nBride is she of thine hereafter,\nFit companion of thy fireside,\nHelp and joy of all thy lifetime.\u201d\n\nOn the floor a child was sitting,\nAnd the babe this tale related.\n\u201cThere appeared within this dwelling,\nCame a bird within the castle,\nFrom the East came flying hither,\nFrom the East, a monstrous eagle,\nOne wing touched the vault of heaven,\nWhile the other swept the ocean;\nWith his tail upon the waters,\nReached his beak beyond the cloudlets,\nLooked about, and eager watching,\nFlew around, and sailing, soaring,\nFlew away to hero-castle,\nKnocked three times with beak of copper\nOn the castle-roof of iron;\nBut the eagle could not enter.\n\n\u201cThen the eagle, looking round him,\nFlew again, and sailed, and circled,\nFlew then to the mothers\u2019 castle,\nLoudly rapped with heavy knocking\nOn the mothers\u2019 roof of copper;\nBut the eagle could not enter.\n\n\u201cThen the eagle, looking round him,\nFlew a third time, sailing, soaring,\nFlew then to the virgins\u2019 castle,\nKnocked again with beak of copper,\nOn the virgins\u2019 roof of linen,\nEasy for him there to enter;\nFlew upon the castle-chimney,\nQuick descending to the chamber,\nPulled the clapboards from the studding,\nTore the linen from the rafters,\nPerched upon the chamber-window,\nNear the walls of many colors,\nOn the cross-bars gaily-feathered,\nLooked upon the curly-headed,\nLooked upon their golden ringlets,\nLooked upon the snow-white virgins,\nOn the purest of the maidens,\nOn the fairest of the daughters,\nOn the maid with pearly necklace,\nOn the maiden wreathed in flowers;\nPerched awhile, and looked, admiring,\nSwooped upon the Maid of Beauty,\nOn the purest of the virgins,\nOn the whitest, on the fairest,\nOn the stateliest and grandest,\nSwooped upon the rainbow-daughter\nOf the dismal Sariola;\nGrasped her in his mighty talons,\nBore away the Maid of Beauty,\nMaid of fairest form and feature,\nMaid adorned with pearly necklace,\nDecked in feathers iridescent,\nFragrant flowers upon her bosom,\nScarlet band around her forehead,\nGolden rings upon her fingers,\nFairest maiden of the Northland.\u201d\n\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola,\nWhen the babe his tale had ended:\n\u201cTell me how, my child beloved,\nThou hast learned about the maiden,\nHast obtained the information,\nHow her flaxen ringlets nestled,\nHow the maiden\u2019s silver glistened,\nHow the virgin\u2019s gold was lauded.\nShone the silver Sun upon thee,\nDid the moonbeams bring this knowledge?\u201d\nFrom the floor the child made answer:\n\u201cThus I gained the information,\nMoles of good-luck led me hither,\nTo the home of the distinguished,\nTo the guest-room of the maiden,\nGood-name bore her worthy father,\nHe that sailed the magic vessel;\nBetter-name enjoyed the mother,\nShe that baked the bread of barley,\nShe that kneaded wheaten biscuits,\nFed her many guests in Northland.\n\n\u201cThus the information reached me,\nThus the distant stranger heard it,\nHeard the virgin had arisen:\nOnce I walked within the court-yard,\nStepping near the virgin\u2019s chamber,\nAt an early hour of morning,\nEre the Sun had broken slumber;\nWhirling rose the soot in cloudlets,\nBlackened wreaths of smoke came rising\nFrom the chamber of the maiden,\nFrom thy daughter\u2019s lofty chimney;\nThere the maid was busy grinding,\nMoved the handles of the millstone\nMaking voices like the cuckoo,\nLike the ducks the side-holes sounded,\nAnd the sifter like the goldfinch,\nLike the sea-pearls sang the grindstones.\n\n\u201cThen a second time I wandered\nTo the border of the meadow;\nIn the forest was the maiden\nRocking on a fragrant hillock,\nDyeing red in iron vessels,\nAnd in copper kettles, yellow.\n\n\u201cThen a third time did I wander\nTo the lovely maiden\u2019s window;\nThere I saw thy daughter weaving,\nHeard the flying of her shuttle,\nHeard the beating of her loom-lathe,\nHeard the rattling of her treddles,\nHeard the whirring of her yarn-reel.\u201d\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cNow alas! beloved daughter,\nI have often taught this lesson:\n\u2018Do not sing among the pine-trees,\nDo not call adown the valleys,\nDo not hang thy head in walking,\nDo not bare thine arms, nor shoulders,\nKeep the secrets of thy bosom,\nHide thy beauty and thy power.\u2019\n\n\u201cThis I told thee in the autumn,\nTaught thee in the summer season,\nSang thee in the budding spring-time,\nSang thee when the snows were falling:\n\u2018Let us build a place for hiding,\nLet us build the smallest windows,\nWhere may weave my fairest daughter,\nWhere my maid may ply her shuttle,\nWhere my joy may work unnoticed\nBy the heroes of the Northland,\nBy the suitors of Wainola.\u2019\u201d\n\nFrom the floor the child made answer,\nFourteen days the young child numbered:\n\u201cEasy \u2019tis to hide a war-horse\nIn the Northland fields and stables;\nHard indeed to hide a maiden,\nHaving lovely form and features!\nBuild of stone a distant castle\nIn the middle of the ocean,\nKeep within thy lovely maiden,\nTrain thou there thy winsome daughter,\nNot long hidden canst thou keep her.\nMaidens will not grow and flourish,\nKept apart from men and heroes,\nWill not live without their suitors,\nWill not thrive without their wooers;\nThou canst never hide a maiden,\nNeither on the land nor water.\u201d\n\nNow the ancient Wainamoinen,\nHead down-bent and heavy-hearted,\nWanders to his native country,\nTo Wainola\u2019s peaceful meadows,\nTo the plains of Kalevala,\nChanting as he journeys homeward:\n\u201cI have passed the age for wooing,\nWoe is me, rejected suitor,\nWoe is me, a witless minstrel,\nThat I did not woo and marry,\nWhen my face was young and winsome,\nWhen my hand was warm and welcome!\nYouth dethrones my age and station,\nWealth is nothing, wisdom worthless,\nWhen a hero goes a-wooing\nWith a poor but younger brother.\nFatal error that a hero\nDoes not wed in early manhood,\nIn his youth does not be master\nOf a worthy wife and household.\u201d\n\nThus the ancient Wainamoinen\nSends the edict to his people:\n\u201cOld men must not go a-wooing,\nMust not swim the sea of anger,\nMust not row upon a wager,\nMust not run a race for glory,\nWith the younger sons of Northland.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XX.\nTHE BREWING OF BEER.\n\n\nNow we sing the wondrous legends,\nSongs of wedding-feasts and dances,\nSing the melodies of wedlock,\nSing the songs of old tradition;\nSing of Ilmarinen\u2019s marriage\nTo the Maiden of the Rainbow,\nFairest daughter of the Northland,\nSing the drinking-songs of Pohya.\n\nLong prepared they for the wedding\nIn Pohyola\u2019s halls and chambers,\nIn the courts of Sariola;\nMany things that Louhi ordered,\nGreat indeed the preparations\nFor the marriage of the daughter,\nFor the feasting of the heroes,\nFor the drinking of the strangers,\nFor the feeding of the poor-folk,\nFor the people\u2019s entertainment.\n\nGrew an ox in far Karjala,\nNot the largest, nor the smallest,\nWas the ox that grew in Suomi;\nBut his size was all-sufficient,\nFor his tail was sweeping Jamen,\nAnd his head was over Kemi,\nHorns in length a hundred fathoms,\nLonger than the horns his mouth was;\nSeven days it took a weasel\nTo encircle neck and shoulders;\nOne whole day a swallow journeyed\nFrom one horn-tip to the other,\nDid not stop between for resting.\nThirty days the squirrel travelled\nFrom the tail to reach the shoulders,\nBut he could not gain the horn-tip\nTill the Moon had long passed over.\n\nThis young ox of huge dimensions,\nThis great calf of distant Suomi,\nWas conducted from Karjala\nTo the meadows of Pohyola;\nAt each horn a hundred heroes,\nAt his head and neck a thousand.\nWhen the mighty ox was lassoed,\nLed away to Northland pastures,\nPeacefully the monster journeyed\nBy the bays of Sariola,\nAte the pasture on the borders;\nTo the clouds arose his shoulders,\nAnd his horns to highest heaven.\nNot in all of Sariola\nCould a butcher be discovered\nThat could kill the ox for Louhi,\nNone of all the sons of Northland,\nIn her hosts of giant people,\nIn her rising generation,\nIn the hosts of those grown older.\n\nCame a hero from a distance,\nWirokannas from Karelen,\nAnd these words the gray-beard uttered:\n\u201cWait, O wait, thou ox of Suomi,\nTill I bring my ancient war-club;\nThen I\u2019ll smite thee on thy forehead,\nBreak thy skull, thou willing victim!\nNevermore wilt thou in summer\nBrowse the woods of Sariola,\nBare our pastures, fields, and forests;\nThou, O ox, wilt feed no longer\nThrough the length and breadth of Northland,\nOn the borders of this ocean!\u201d\n\nWhen the ancient Wirokannas\nStarted out the ox to slaughter,\nWhen Palwoinen swung his war-club,\nQuick the victim turned his forehead,\nFlashed his flaming eyes upon him;\nTo the fir-tree leaped the hero,\nIn the thicket hid Palwoinen,\nHid the gray-haired Wirokannas.\n\nEverywhere they seek a butcher,\nOne to kill the ox of Suomi,\nIn the country of Karelen,\nAnd among the Suomi-giants,\nIn the quiet fields of Ehstland,\nOn the battle-fields of Sweden,\nMid the mountaineers of Lapland,\nIn the magic fens of Turya;\nSeek him in Tuoni\u2019s empire,\nIn the death-courts of Manala.\nLong the search, and unsuccessful,\nOn the blue back of the ocean,\nOn the far-outstretching pastures.\n\nThere arose from out the sea-waves,\nRose a hero from the waters,\nOn the white-capped, roaring breakers,\nFrom the water\u2019s broad expanses;\nNor belonged he to the largest,\nNor belonged he to the smallest;\nMade his bed within a sea-shell,\nStood erect beneath a flour-sieve,\nHero old, with hands of iron,\nAnd his face was copper-colored;\nQuick the hero full unfolded,\nLike the full corn from the kernel.\nOn his head a hat of flint-stone,\nOn his feet were sandstone-sandals,\nIn his hand a golden cleaver,\nAnd the blade was copper-handled.\nThus at last they found a butcher,\nFound the magic ox a slayer.\nNothing has been found so mighty\nThat it has not found a master.\n\nAs the sea-god saw his booty,\nQuickly rushed he on his victim,\nHurled him to his knees before him,\nQuickly felled the calf of Suomi,\nFelled the young ox of Karelen.\nBountifully meat was furnished;\nFilled at least a thousand hogsheads\nOf his blood were seven boatfuls,\nAnd a thousand weight of suet,\nFor the banquet of Pohyola,\nFor the marriage-feast of Northland.\n\nIn Pohyola was a guest-room,\nAmple was the hall of Louhi,\nWas in length a hundred furlongs,\nAnd in breadth was nearly fifty;\nWhen upon the roof a rooster\nCrowed at break of early morning,\nNo one on the earth could hear him;\nWhen the dog barked at one entrance,\nNone could hear him at the other.\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nHastens to the hall and court-room,\nIn the centre speaks as follows:\n\u201cWhence indeed will come the liquor,\nWho will brew me beer from barley,\nWho will make the mead abundant,\nFor the people of the Northland,\nComing to my daughter\u2019s marriage,\nTo her drinking-feast and nuptials?\nCannot comprehend the malting,\nNever have I learned the secret,\nNor the origin of brewing.\u201d\nSpake an old man from his corner:\n\u201cBeer arises from the barley,\nComes from barley, hops, and water,\nAnd the fire gives no assistance.\nHop-vine was the son of Remu,\nSmall the seed in earth was planted,\nCultivated in the loose soil,\nScattered like the evil serpents\nOn the brink of Kalew-waters,\nOn the Osmo-fields and borders.\nThere the young plant grew and flourished,\nThere arose the climbing hop-vine,\nClinging to the rocks and alders.\n\n\u201cMan of good-luck sowed the barley\nOn the Osmo hills and lowlands,\nAnd the barley grew and flourished,\nGrew and spread in rich abundance,\nFed upon the air and water,\nOn the Osmo plains and highlands,\nOn the fields of Kalew-heroes.\n\n\u201cTime had travelled little distance,\nEre the hops in trees were humming,\nBarley in the fields was singing,\nAnd from Kalew\u2019s well the water,\nThis the language of the trio:\n\u2018Let us join our triple forces,\nJoin to each the other\u2019s powers;\nSad alone to live and struggle,\nLittle use in working singly,\nBetter we should toil together.\u2019\n\n\u201cOsmotar, the beer-preparer,\nBrewer of the drink refreshing,\nTakes the golden grains of barley,\nTaking six of barley-kernels,\nTaking seven tips of hop-fruit,\nFilling seven cups with water,\nOn the fire she sets the caldron,\nBoils the barley, hops, and water,\nLets them steep, and seethe, and bubble\nBrewing thus the beer delicious,\nIn the hottest days of summer,\nOn the foggy promontory,\nOn the island forest-covered;\nPoured it into birch-wood barrels,\nInto hogsheads made of oak-wood.\n\n\u201cThus did Osmotar of Kalew\nBrew together hops and barley,\nCould not generate the ferment.\nThinking long and long debating,\nThus she spake in troubled accents:\n\u2018What will bring the effervescence,\nWho will add the needed factor,\nThat the beer may foam and sparkle,\nMay ferment and be delightful?\u2019\n\n\u201cKalevatar, magic maiden,\nGrace and beauty in her fingers,\nSwiftly moving, lightly stepping,\nIn her trimly-buckled sandals,\nSteps upon the birch-wood bottom,\nTurns one way, and then another,\nIn the centre of the caldron;\nFinds within a splinter lying,\nFrom the bottom lifts the fragment,\nTurns it in her fingers, musing:\n\u2018What may come of this I know not,\nIn the hands of magic maidens,\nIn the virgin hands of Kapo,\nSnowy virgin of the Northland!\u2019\n\n\u201cKalevatar took the splinter\nTo the magic virgin, Kapo,\nWho by unknown force and insight,\nRubbed her hands and knees together,\nAnd produced a snow-white squirrel;\nThus instructed she her creature,\nGave the squirrel these directions:\n\u2018Snow-white squirrel, mountain-jewel,\nFlower of the field and forest,\nHaste thee whither I would send thee,\nInto Metsola\u2019s wide limits,\nInto Tapio\u2019s seat of wisdom;\nHasten through the heavy tree-tops,\nWisely through the thickest branches,\nThat the eagle may not seize thee,\nThus escape the bird of heaven.\nBring me ripe cones from the fir-tree,\nFrom the pine-tree bring me seedlings,\nBring them to the hands of Kapo,\nFor the beer of Osmo\u2019s daughter.\u2019\n\n\u201cQuickly hastened forth the squirrel,\nQuickly sped the nimble broad-tail,\nSwiftly hopping on its journey\nFrom one thicket to another,\nFrom the birch-tree to the aspen,\nFrom the pine-tree to the willow,\nFrom the sorb-tree to the alder,\nJumping here and there with method,\nCrossed the eagle-woods in safety,\nInto Metsola\u2019s wide limits,\nInto Tapio\u2019s seat of wisdom;\nThere perceived three magic pine-trees,\nThere perceived three smaller fir-trees,\nQuickly climbed the dark-green branches,\nWas not captured by the eagle,\nWas not mangled in his talons;\nBroke the young cones from the fir-tree,\nCut the shoots of pine-tree branches,\nHid the cones within his pouches,\nWrapped them in his fur-grown mittens,\nBrought them to the hands of Kapo,\nTo the magic virgin\u2019s fingers.\nKapo took the cones selected,\nLaid them in the beer for ferment,\nBut it brought no effervescence,\nAnd the beer was cold and lifeless.\n\n\u201cOsmotar, the beer-preparer,\nKapo, brewer of the liquor,\nDeeply thought and long considered:\n\u2018What will bring the effervescence,\nWho will lend me aid efficient,\nThat the beer may foam and sparkle,\nMay ferment and be refreshing?\u2019\n\n\u201cKalevatar, sparkling maiden,\nGrace and beauty in her fingers,\nSoftly moving, lightly stepping,\nIn her trimly-buckled sandals,\nSteps again upon the bottom,\nTurns one way and then another,\nIn the centre of the caldron,\nSees a chip upon the bottom,\nTakes it from its place of resting,\nLooks upon the chip and muses:\n\u2018What may come of this I know not,\nIn the hands of mystic maidens,\nIn the hands of magic Kapo,\nIn the virgin\u2019s snow-white fingers.\u2019\n\n\u201cKalevatar took the birch-chip\nTo the magic maiden, Kapo,\nGave it to the white-faced maiden.\nKapo, by the aid of magic,\nRubbed her hands and knees together,\nAnd produced a magic marten,\nAnd the marten, golden-breasted;\nThus instructed she her creature,\nGave the marten these directions:\n\u2018Thou, my golden-breasted marten,\nThou my son of golden color,\nHaste thou whither I may send thee,\nTo the bear-dens of the mountain,\nTo the grottoes of the growler,\nGather yeast upon thy fingers,\nGather foam from lips of anger,\nFrom the lips of bears in battle,\nBring it to the hands of Kapo,\nTo the hands of Osmo\u2019s daughter.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen the marten golden-breasted,\nFull consenting, hastened onward,\nQuickly bounding on his journey,\nLightly leaping through the distance\nLeaping o\u2019er the widest rivers,\nLeaping over rocky fissures,\nTo the bear-dens of the mountain,\nTo the grottoes of the growler,\nWhere the wild-bears fight each other,\nWhere they pass a dread existence,\nIron rocks, their softest pillows,\nIn the fastnesses of mountains;\nFrom their lips the foam was dripping,\nFrom their tongues the froth of anger;\nThis the marten deftly gathered,\nBrought it to the maiden, Kapo,\nLaid it in her dainty fingers.\n\n\u201cOsmotar, the beer-preparer,\nBrewer of the beer of barley,\nUsed the beer-foam as a ferment;\nBut it brought no effervescence,\nDid not make the liquor sparkle.\n\n\u201cOsmotar, the beer-preparer,\nThought again, and long debated:\n\u2018Who or what will bring the ferment,\nThat my beer may not be lifeless?\u2019\n\n\u201cKalevatar, magic maiden,\nGrace and beauty in her fingers,\nSoftly moving, lightly stepping,\nIn her trimly-buckled sandals,\nSteps again upon the bottom,\nTurns one way and then another,\nIn the centre of the caldron,\nSees a pod upon the bottom,\nLifts it in her snow-white fingers,\nTurns it o\u2019er and o\u2019er, and muses:\n\u2018What may come of this I know not,\nIn the hands of magic maidens,\nIn the hands of mystic Kapo,\nIn the snowy virgin\u2019s fingers?\u2019\n\n\u201cKalevatar, sparkling maiden,\nGave the pod to magic Kapo;\nKapo, by the aid of magic,\nRubbed the pod upon her knee-cap,\nAnd a honey-bee came flying\nFrom the pod within her fingers,\nKapo thus addressed her birdling:\n\u2018Little bee with honeyed winglets,\nKing of all the fragrant flowers,\nFly thou whither I direct thee,\nTo the islands in the ocean,\nTo the water-cliffs and grottoes,\nWhere asleep a maid has fallen,\nGirdled with a belt of copper;\nBy her side are honey-grasses,\nBy her lips are fragrant flowers,\nHerbs and flowers honey-laden;\nGather there the sweetened juices,\nGather honey on thy winglets,\nFrom the calyces of flowers,\nFrom the tips of seven petals,\nBring it to the hands of Kapo,\nTo the hands of Osmo\u2019s daughter.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen the bee, the swift-winged birdling,\nFlew away with lightning-swiftness\nOn his journey to the islands,\nO\u2019er the high waves of the ocean;\nJourneyed one day, then a second,\nJourneyed all the next day onward,\nTill the third day evening brought him\nTo the islands in the ocean,\nTo the water-cliffs and grottoes;\nFound the maiden sweetly sleeping,\nIn her silver-tinselled raiment,\nGirdled with a belt of copper,\nIn a nameless meadow, sleeping,\nIn the honey-fields of magic;\nBy her side were honeyed grasses,\nBy her lips were fragrant flowers,\nSilver stalks with golden petals;\nDipped its winglets in the honey,\nDipped its fingers in the juices\nOf the sweetest of the flowers,\nBrought the honey back to Kapo,\nTo the mystic maiden\u2019s fingers.\n\n\u201cOsmotar, the beer-preparer,\nPlaced the honey in the liquor;\nKapo mixed the beer and honey,\nAnd the wedding-beer fermented;\nRose the live beer upward, upward,\nFrom the bottom of the vessels,\nUpward in the tubs of birch-wood,\nFoaming higher, higher, higher,\nTill it touched the oaken handles,\nOverflowing all the caldrons;\nTo the ground it foamed and sparkled,\nSank away in sand and gravel.\n\n\u201cTime had gone but little distance,\nScarce a moment had passed over,\nEre the heroes came in numbers\nTo the foaming beer of Northland,\nRushed to drink the sparkling liquor.\nEre all others Lemminkainen\nDrank, and grew intoxicated\nOn the beer of Osmo\u2019s daughter,\nOn the honey-drink of Kalew.\n\n\u201cOsmotar, the beer-preparer,\nKapo, brewer of the barley,\nSpake these words in saddened accents:\n\u2018Woe is me, my life hard-fated,\nBadly have I brewed the liquor,\nHave not brewed the beer in wisdom,\nWill not live within its vessels,\nOverflows and fills Pohyola!\u2019\n\n\u201cFrom a tree-top sings the redbreast,\nFrom the aspen calls the robin:\n\u2018Do not grieve, thy beer is worthy,\nPut it into oaken vessels,\nInto strong and willing barrels\nFirmly bound with hoops of copper.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus was brewed the beer of Northland,\nAt the hands of Osmo\u2019s daughter;\nThis the origin of brewing\nBeer from Kalew-hops and barley;\nGreat indeed the reputation\nOf the ancient beer of Kalew,\nSaid to make the feeble hardy,\nFamed to dry the tears of women,\nFamed to cheer the broken-hearted,\nMake the aged young and supple,\nMake the timid brave and mighty,\nMake the brave men ever braver,\nFill the heart with joy and gladness,\nFill the mind with wisdom-sayings,\nFill the tongue with ancient legends,\nOnly makes the fool more foolish.\u201d\n\nWhen the hostess of Pohyola\nHeard how beer was first fermented,\nHeard the origin of brewing,\nStraightway did she fill with water\nMany oaken tubs and barrels;\nFilled but half the largest vessels,\nMixed the barley with the water,\nAdded also hops abundant;\nWell she mixed the triple forces\nIn her tubs of oak and birch-wood,\nHeated stones for months succeeding,\nThus to boil the magic mixture,\nSteeped it through the days of summer,\nBurned the wood of many forests,\nEmptied all the springs of Pohya;\nDaily did the forests lesson,\nAnd the wells gave up their waters,\nThus to aid the hostess, Louhi,\nIn the brewing of the liquors,\nFrom the water, hops, and barley,\nAnd from honey of the islands,\nFor the wedding-feast of Northland,\nFor Pohyola\u2019s great carousal\nAnd rejoicings at the marriage\nOf the Maiden of the Rainbow\nTo the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nMetal-worker of Wainola.\n\nSmoke is seen upon the island,\nFire, upon the promontory,\nBlack smoke rising to the heavens\nFrom the fire upon the island;\nFills with clouds the half of Pohya,\nFills Karelen\u2019s many hamlets;\nAll the people look and wonder,\nThis the chorus of the women:\n\u201cWhence are rising all these smoke-clouds,\nWhy this dreadful fire in Northland?\nIs not like the smoke of camp-fires,\nIs too large for fires of shepherds!\u201d\n\nLemminkainen\u2019s ancient mother\nJourneyed in the early morning\nFor some water to the fountain,\nSaw the smoke arise to heaven,\nIn the region of Pohyola,\nThese the words the mother uttered:\n\u201c\u2019Tis the smoke of battle-heroes,\nFrom the heat of warring armies!\u201d\n\nEven Ahti, island-hero,\nAncient wizard, Lemminkainen,\nAlso known as Kaukomieli,\nLooked upon the scene in wonder,\nThought awhile and spake as follows:\n\u201cI would like to see this nearer,\nLearn the cause of all this trouble,\nWhence this smoke and great confusion,\nWhether smoke from heat of battle,\nOr the bonfires of the shepherds.\u201d\n\nKaukomieli gazed and pondered,\nStudied long the rising smoke-clouds;\nCame not from the heat of battle,\nCame not from the shepherd bonfires;\nHeard they were the fires of Louhi\nBrewing beer in Sariola,\nOn Pohyola\u2019s promontory;\nLong and oft looked Lemminkainen,\nStrained in eagerness his vision,\nStared, and peered, and thought, and wondered,\nLooked abashed and envy-swollen,\nSpake these words upon his island:\n\u201cO beloved, second mother,\nNorthland\u2019s well-intentioned hostess,\nBrew thy beer of honey-flavor,\nMake thy liquors foam and sparkle,\nFor thy many friends invited,\nBrew it well for Lemminkainen,\nFor his marriage in Pohyola\nWith the Maiden of the Rainbow.\u201d\n\nFinally the beer was ready,\nBeverage of noble heroes,\nStored away in casks and barrels,\nThere to rest awhile in silence,\nIn the cellars of the Northland,\nIn the copper-banded vessels,\nIn the magic oaken hogsheads,\nPlugs and faucets made of copper.\nThen the hostess of Pohyola\nSkilfully prepared the dishes,\nLaid them all with careful fingers\nIn the boiling-pans and kettles,\nOrdered countless loaves of barley,\nOrdered many liquid dishes,\nAll the delicacies of Northland,\nFor the feasting of her people,\nFor their richest entertainment,\nFor the nuptial songs and dances,\nAt the marriage of her daughter\nWith the blacksmith, Ilmarinen.\n\nWhen the loaves were baked and ready,\nWhen the dishes all were seasoned,\nTime had gone but little distance,\nScarce a moment had passed over,\nEre the beer, in casks imprisoned,\nLoudly rapped, and sang, and murmured:\n\u201cCome, ye heroes, come and take me,\nCome and let me cheer your spirits,\nMake you sing the songs of wisdom,\nThat with honor ye may praise me,\nSing the songs of beer immortal!\u201d\n\nStraightway Louhi sought a minstrel,\nMagic bard and artist-singer,\nThat the beer might well be lauded,\nMight be praised in song and honor.\nFirst as bard they brought a salmon,\nAlso brought a pike from ocean,\nBut the salmon had no talent,\nAnd the pike had little wisdom;\nTeeth of pike and gills of salmon\nWere not made for singing legends.\n\nThen again they sought a singer,\nMagic minstrel, beer-enchanter,\nThus to praise the drink of heroes,\nSing the songs of joy and gladness;\nAnd a boy was brought for singing;\nBut the boy had little knowledge,\nCould not praise the beer in honor;\nChildren\u2019s tongues are filled with questions,\nChildren cannot speak in wisdom,\nCannot sing the ancient legends.\n\nStronger grew the beer imprisoned\nIn the copper-banded vessels,\nLocked behind the copper faucets,\nBoiled, and foamed, and sang, and murmured:\n\u201cIf ye do not bring a singer,\nThat will sing my worth immortal,\nThat will sing my praise deserving,\nI will burst these bands of copper,\nBurst the heads of all these barrels;\nWill not serve the best of heroes\nTill he sings my many virtues.\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nCalled a trusted maiden-servant,\nSent her to invite the people\nTo the marriage of her daughter,\nThese the words that Louhi uttered:\n\u201cO my trusted, truthful maiden,\nServant-maid to me belonging,\nCall together all my people,\nCall the heroes to my banquet,\nAsk the rich, and ask the needy,\nAsk the blind and deaf, and crippled,\nAsk the young, and ask the aged;\nGo thou to the hills, and hedges,\nTo the highways, and the by-ways,\nUrge them to my daughter\u2019s wedding;\nBring the blind, and sorely troubled,\nIn my boats upon the waters,\nIn my sledges bring the halting,\nWith the old, and sick, and needy;\nAsk the whole of Sariola,\nAsk the people of Karelen,\nAsk the ancient Wainamoinen,\nFamous bard and wisdom-singer;\nBut I give command explicit\nNot to ask wild Lemminkainen,\nNot the island-dweller, Ahti!\u201d\nThis the question of the servant:\n\u201cWhy not ask wild Lemminkainen,\nAncient islander and minstrel?\u201d\n\nLouhi gave this simple answer:\n\u201cGood the reasons that I give thee\nWhy the wizard, Lemminkainen,\nMust not have an invitation\nTo my daughter\u2019s feast and marriage:\nAhti courts the heat of battle,\nLemminkainen fosters trouble,\nSkilful fighter of the virtues;\nEvil thinking, acting evil,\nHe would bring but pain and sorrow,\nHe would jest and jeer at maidens\nIn their trimly buckled raiment,\nCannot ask the evil-minded!\u201d\nThus again the servant questions:\n\u201cTell me how to know this Ahti,\nAlso known as Lemminkainen,\nThat I may not ask him hither;\nDo not know the isle of Ahti,\nNor the home of Kaukomieli!\u201d\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cEasy \u2019tis to know the wizard,\nEasy find the Ahti-dwelling:\nAhti lives on yonder island,\nOn that point dwells Lemminkainen,\nIn his mansion near the water,\nFar at sea his home and dwelling.\u201d\n\nThereupon the trusted maiden\nSpread the wedding-invitations\nTo the people of Pohyola,\nTo the tribes of Kalevala;\nAsked the friendless, asked the homeless\nAsked the laborers and shepherds,\nAsked the fishermen and hunters,\nAsked the deaf, the dumb, the crippled,\nAsked the young, and asked the aged,\nAsked the rich, and asked the needy;\nDid not give an invitation\nTo the reckless Lemminkainen,\nIsland-dweller of the ocean.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXI.\nILMARINEN\u2019S WEDDING-FEAST.\n\n\nLouhi, hostess of the Northland,\nAncient dame of Sariola,\nWhile at work within her dwelling,\nHeard the whips crack on the fenlands,\nHeard the rattle of the sledges;\nTo the northward turned her glances,\nTurned her vision to the sunlight,\nAnd her thoughts ran on as follow:\n\u201cWho are these in bright apparel,\nOn the banks of Pohya-waters,\nAre they friends or hostile armies?\u201d\n\nThen the hostess of the Northland\nLooked again and well considered,\nDrew much nearer to examine,\nFound they were not hostile armies,\nFound that they were friends and suitors.\nIn the midst was Ilmarinen,\nSon-in-law to ancient Louhi.\n\nWhen the hostess of Pohyola\nSaw the son-in-law approaching,\nShe addressed the words that follow:\n\u201cI had thought the winds were raging,\nThat the piles of wood were falling,\nThought the pebbles in commotion,\nOr perchance the ocean roaring;\nThen I hastened nearer, nearer,\nDrew still nearer and examined,\nFound the winds were not in battle,\nFound the piles of wood unshaken,\nFound the ocean was not roaring,\nNor the pebbles in commotion;\nFound my son-in-law was coming\nWith his heroes and attendants,\nHeroes counted by the hundreds.\n\n\u201cShould you ask of me the question,\nHow I recognized the bridegroom\nMid the hosts of men and heroes,\nI should answer, I should tell you:\n\u2018As the hazel-bush in copses,\nAs the oak-tree in the forest,\nAs the Moon among the planets;\nDrives the groom a coal-black courser,\nRunning like the famished black-dog,\nFlying like the hungry raven,\nGraceful as the lark at morning,\nGolden cuckoos, six in number,\nTwitter on the birchen cross-bow;\nThere are seven bluebirds singing\nOn the racer\u2019s hame and collar.\u2019\u201d\n\nNoises hear they in the court-yard,\nOn the highway hear the sledges,\nTo the court comes Ilmarinen,\nWith his body-guard of heroes;\nIn the midst the chosen suitor,\nNot too far in front of others,\nNot too far behind his fellows.\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cHie ye hither, men and heroes,\nHaste, ye watchers, to the stables,\nThere unhitch the suitor\u2019s stallion,\nLower well the racer\u2019s breast-plate,\nThere undo the straps and buckles,\nLoosen well the shafts and traces,\nAnd conduct the suitor hither,\nGive my son-in-law good welcome!\u201d\n\nIlmarinen turned his racer\nInto Louhi\u2019s yard and stables,\nAnd descended from his snow-sledge.\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cCome, thou servant of my bidding,\nBest of all my trusted servants,\nTake at once the bridegroom\u2019s courser\nFrom the shafts adorned with silver,\nFrom the curving arch of willow,\nLift the harness trimmed in copper,\nTie the white-face to the manger,\nTreat the suitor\u2019s steed with kindness,\nLead him carefully to shelter\nBy his soft and shining bridle,\nBy his halter tipped with silver;\nLet him roll among the sand-hills,\nOn the bottoms soft and even,\nOn the borders of the snow-banks,\nIn the fields of milky color.\n\n\u201cLead the hero\u2019s steed to water,\nLead him to the Pohya-fountains,\nWhere the living streams are flowing,\nSweet as milk of human kindness,\nFrom the roots of silvery birches,\nUnderneath the shade of aspens.\n\n\u201cFeed the courser of the suitor,\nWith the sweetest corn and barley,\nOn the summer-wheat and clover,\nIn the caldron steeped in sweetness;\nFeed him at the golden manger,\nIn the boxes lined with copper,\nAt my manger richly furnished,\nIn the warmest of the stables;\nTie him with a silk-like halter,\nTo the golden rings and staples,\nTo the hooks of purest silver,\nSet in beams of birch and oak-wood;\nFeed him on the hay the sweetest,\nFeed him on the corn nutritious,\nGive the best my barns can furnish.\n\n\u201cCurry well the suitor\u2019s courser\nWith the curry-comb of fish-bone,\nBrush his hair with silken brushes,\nPut his mane and tail in order,\nCover well with flannel blankets,\nBlankets wrought in gold and silver,\nBuckles forged from shining copper.\n\n\u201cCome, ye small lads of the village,\nLead the suitor to my chambers,\nWith your auburn locks uncovered,\nFrom your hands remove your mittens,\nSee if ye can lead the hero\nThrough the door without his stooping,\nLifting not the upper cross-bar,\nLowering not the oaken threshold,\nMoving not the birchen casings,\nGreat the hero who must enter.\n\n\u201cIlmarinen is too stately,\nCannot enter through the portals,\nNot the son-in-law and bridegroom,\nTill the portals have been heightened;\nTaller by a head the suitor\nThan the door-ways of the mansion.\u201d\n\nQuick the servants of Pohyola\nTore away the upper cross-bar,\nThat his cap might not be lifted;\nMade the oaken threshold lower\nThat the hero might not stumble;\nMade the birch-wood portals wider,\nOpened full the door of welcome,\nEasy entrance for the suitor.\n\nSpeaks the hostess of the Northland\nAs the bridegroom freely passes\nThrough the doorway of her dwelling:\n\u201cThanks are due to thee, O Ukko,\nThat my son-in-law has entered!\nLet me now my halls examine;\nMake the bridal chambers ready,\nFinest linen on my tables,\nSoftest furs upon my benches,\nBirchen flooring scrubbed to whiteness,\nAll my rooms in perfect order.\u201d\n\nThen the hostess of Pohyola\nVisited her spacious dwelling,\nDid not recognize her chambers;\nEvery room had been remodeled,\nChanged by force of mighty magic;\nAll the halls were newly burnished,\nHedge-hog bones were used for ceilings,\nBones of reindeer for foundations,\nBones of wolverine for door-sills,\nFor the cross-bars bones of roebuck,\nApple-wood were all the rafters,\nAlder-wood, the window-casings,\nScales of trout adorned the windows,\nAnd the fires were set in flowers.\nAll the seats were made of silver,\nAll the floors of copper-tiling,\nGold-adorned were all the tables,\nOn the floor were silken mattings,\nEvery fire-place set in copper,\nEvery hearth-stone cut from marble,\nOn each shelf were colored sea-shells,\nKalew\u2019s tree was their protection.\n\nTo the court-room came the hero,\nChosen suitor from Wainola,\nThese the words of Ilmarinen:\n\u201cSend, O Ukko, health and pleasure\nTo this ancient home and dwelling,\nTo this mansion richly fashioned!\u201d\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cLet thy coming be auspicious\nTo these halls of thee unworthy,\nTo the home of thine affianced,\nTo this dwelling lowly fashioned,\nMid the lindens and the aspens.\n\n\u201cCome, ye maidens that should serve me,\nCome, ye fellows from the village,\nBring me fire upon the birch-bark,\nLight the fagots of the fir-tree,\nThat I may behold the bridegroom,\nChosen suitor of my daughter,\nFairy Maiden of the Rainbow,\nSee the color of his eyeballs,\nWhether they are blue or sable,\nSee if they are warm and faithful.\u201d\n\nQuick the young lads from the village\nBrought the fire upon the birch-bark,\nBrought it on the tips of pine-wood;\nAnd the fire and smoke commingled\nRoll and roar about the hero,\nBlackening the suitor\u2019s visage,\nAnd the hostess speaks as follows:\n\u201cBring the fire upon a taper,\nOn the waxen tapers bring it!\u201d\n\nThen the maidens did as bidden,\nQuickly brought the lighted tapers,\nMade the suitor\u2019s eyeballs glisten,\nMade his cheeks look fresh and ruddy;\nMade his eyes of sable color\nSparkle like the foam of waters,\nLike the reed-grass on the margin,\nColored as the ocean jewels,\nIridescent as the rainbow.\n\n\u201cCome, ye fellows of the hamlets,\nLead my son-in-law and hero\nTo the highest seat at table,\nTo the seat of greatest honor,\nWith his back upon the blue-wall,\nLooking on my bounteous tables,\nFacing all the guests of Northland.\u201d\n\nThen the hostess of Pohyola\nServed her guests in great abundance,\nRichest drinks and rarest viands,\nFirst of all she served the bridegroom;\nOn his platters, honeyed biscuit,\nAnd the sweetest river salmon,\nSeasoned butter, roasted bacon,\nAll the dainties of Pohyola.\nThen the helpers served the others,\nFilled the plates of all invited\nWith the varied food of Northland.\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\u201cCome, ye maidens from the village,\nHither bring the beer in pitchers,\nIn the urns with double handles,\nTo the many guests in-gathered,\nEre all others, serve the bridegroom.\u201d\n\nThereupon the merry maidens\nBrought the beer in silver pitchers\nFrom the copper-banded vessels,\nFor the wedding-guests assembled;\nAnd the beer, fermenting, sparkled\nOn the beard of Ilmarinen,\nOn the beards of many heroes.\n\nWhen the guests had all partaken\nOf the wondrous beer of barley,\nSpake the beer in merry accents\nThrough the tongues of the magicians,\nThrough the tongue of many a hero,\nThrough the tongue of Wainamoinen,\nFamed to be the sweetest singer\nOf the Northland bards and minstrels,\nThese the words of the enchanter:\n\u201cO thou beer of honeyed flavor,\nLet us not imbibe in silence,\nLet some hero sing thy praises,\nSing thy worth in golden measures;\nLet the hostess start the singing,\nLet the bridegroom sound thy virtues!\nHave our songs thus quickly vanished,\nHave our joyful tongues grown silent?\nEvil then has been the brewing,\nThen the beer must be unworthy,\nThat it does not cheer the singer,\nDoes not move the merry minstrel,\nThat the golden guests are joyless,\nAnd the cuckoo is not singing.\nNever will these benches echo\nTill the bench-guests chant thy virtues;\nNor the floor resound thy praises\nTill the floor-guests sing in concord;\nNor the windows join the chorus\nTill the window-guests have spoken;\nAll the tables will keep silence\nTill the heroes toast thy virtues;\nLittle singing from the chimney\nTill the chimney-guests have chanted.\u201d\n\nOn the floor a child was sitting,\nThus the little boy made answer:\n\u201cI am small and young in singing,\nHave perchance but little wisdom;\nBe that as it may, my seniors,\nSince the elder minstrels sing not,\nNor the heroes chant their legends,\nNor the hostess lead the singing,\nI will sing my simple stories,\nSing my little store of knowledge,\nTo the pleasure of the evening,\nTo the joy of the invited.\u201d\n\nNear the fire reclined an old man,\nAnd the gray-beard thus made answer:\n\u201cNot the time for children\u2019s singing,\nChildren\u2019s wisdom is too ready,\nChildren\u2019s songs are filled with trifles,\nFilled with shrewd and vain deceptions,\nMaiden-songs are full of follies;\nLeave the songs and incantations\nTo the ancient wizard-singers;\nLeave the tales of times primeval\nTo the minstrel of Wainola,\nTo the hero of the Northland,\nTo the ancient Wainamoinen.\u201d\nThereupon Osmoinen answered:\n\u201cAre there not some sweeter singers\nIn this honored congregation,\nThat will clasp their hands together,\nSing the ancient songs unbroken,\nThus begin the incantations,\nMake these ancient halls re-echo\nFor the pleasure of the evening,\nFor the joy of the in-gathered?\u201d\nFrom the hearth-stone spake, the gray-beard\n\u201cNot a singer of Pohyola,\nNot a minstrel, nor magician,\nThat was better skilled in chanting\nLegends of the days departed,\nThan was I when I was singing,\nIn my years of vain ambition;\nThen I chanted tales of heroes,\nOn the blue back of the waters,\nSang the ballads of my people,\nIn the vales and on the mountains,\nThrough the verdant fields and forests;\nSweet my voice and skilled my singing,\nAll my songs were highly lauded,\nRippled like the quiet rivers,\nEasy-flowing like the waters,\nEasy-gliding as the snow-shoes,\nLike the ship upon the ocean.\n\n\u201cWoe is me, my days are ended,\nWould not recognize my singing,\nAll its sweetness gone to others,\nFlows no more like rippling waters,\nMakes no more the hills re-echo!\nNow my songs are full of discord,\nLike the rake upon the stubble,\nLike the sledge upon the gravel,\nLike the boat upon the sea-shore!\u201d\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nSpake these words in magic measures:\n\u201cSince no other bard appeareth\nThat will clasp my hand in singing,\nI will sing some simple legends,\nSing my garnered store of wisdom,\nMake these magic halls re-echo\nWith my tales of ancient story,\nSince a bard I was created,\nBorn an orator and singer;\nDo not ask the ways of others,\nFollow not the paths of strangers.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, famous minstrel,\nSong\u2019s eternal, wise supporter,\nThen began the songs of pleasure,\nMade the halls resound with joyance,\nFilled the rooms with wondrous singing;\nSang the ancient bard-magician\nAll the oldest wisdom-sayings,\nDid not fail in voice nor legends,\nAll the wisest thoughts remembered.\n\nThus the ancient Wainamoinen\nSang the joy of all assembled,\nTo the pleasure of the evening,\nTo the merriment of maidens,\nTo the happiness of heroes;\nAll the guests were stilled in wonder\nAt the magic of his singing,\nAt the songs of the magician.\n\nSpake again wise Wainamoinen,\nWhen his wonder-tales had ended:\n\u201cl have little worth or power,\nAm a bard of little value,\nLittle consequence my singing,\nMine abilities as nothing,\nIf but Ukko, my Creator,\nShould intone his wisdom-sayings,\nSing the source of good and evil,\nSing the origin of matter,\nSing the legends of omniscience,\nSing his songs in full perfection.\nGod could sing the floods to honey,\nSing the sands to ruddy berries,\nSing the pebbles into barley,\nSing to beer the running waters,\nSing to salt the rocks of ocean,\nInto corn-fields sing the forests,\nInto gold the forest-fruitage,\nSing to bread the hills and mountains,\nSing to eggs the rounded sandstones;\nHe could touch the springs of magic,\nHe could turn the keys of nature,\nAnd produce within thy pastures,\nHurdles filled with sheep and reindeer,\nStables filled with fleet-foot stallions,\nKine in every field and fallow;\nSing a fur-robe for the bridegroom,\nFor the bride a coat of ermine,\nFor the hostess, shoes of silver,\nFor the hero, mail of copper.\n\n\u201cGrant O Ukko, my Creator,\nGod of love, and truth, and justice,\nGrant thy blessing on our feasting,\nBless this company assembled,\nFor the good of Sariola,\nFor the happiness of Northland!\nMay this bread and beer bring joyance,\nMay they come in rich abundance,\nMay they carry full contentment\nTo the people of Pohyola,\nTo the cabin and the mansion;\nMay the hours we spend in singing,\nIn the morning, in the evening,\nFill our hearts with joy and gladness!\nHear us in our supplications,\nGrant to us thy needed blessings,\nSend enjoyment, health, and comfort,\nTo the people here assembled,\nTo the host and to the hostess,\nTo the bride and to the bridegroom,\nTo the sons upon the waters,\nTo the daughters at their weavings,\nTo the hunters on the mountains,\nTo the shepherds in the fenlands,\nThat our lives may end in honor,\nThat we may recall with pleasure\nIlmarinen\u2019s magic marriage\nTo the Maiden of the Rainbow,\nSnow-white virgin of the Northland.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXII.\nTHE BRIDE\u2019S FAREWELL.\n\n\nWhen the marriage was completed,\nWhen the many guests had feasted,\nAt the wedding of the Northland,\nAt the Dismal-land carousal,\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola\nTo the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cWherefore, bridegroom, dost thou linger,\nWhy art waiting, Northland hero?\nSittest for the father\u2019s pleasure,\nFor affection of the mother,\nFor the splendor of the maidens,\nFor the beauty of the daughter?\nNoble son-in-law and brother,\nWait thou longer, having waited\nLong already for the virgin,\nThine affianced is not ready,\nNot prepared, thy life-companion,\nOnly are her tresses braided.\n\n\u201cChosen bridegroom, pride of Pohya,\nWait thou longer, having waited\nLong already for the virgin,\nThy beloved is preparing,\nOnly is one hand made ready.\n\n\u201cFamous artist, Ilmarinen,\nWait still longer, having waited\nLong already for the virgin,\nThy beloved is not ready,\nOnly is one foot in fur-shoes,\u201d\nSpake again the ancient Louhi:\n\u201cChosen suitor of my daughter,\nThou hast thrice in kindness waited,\nWait no longer for the virgin,\nThy beloved now is ready,\nWell prepared thy life-companion,\nFairy Maiden of the Rainbow.\n\n\u201cBeauteous daughter, join thy suitor,\nFollow him, thy chosen husband,\nVery near is the uniting,\nNear indeed thy separation.\nAt thy hand the honored bridegroom,\nNear the door he waits to lead thee,\nGuide thee to his home and kindred;\nAt the gate his steed is waiting,\nRestless champs his silver bridle,\nAnd the sledge awaits thy presence.\n\n\u201cThou wert anxious for a suitor,\nReady to accept his offer,\nWert in haste to take his jewels,\nPlace his rings upon thy fingers;\nNow, fair daughter, keep thy promise;\nTo his sledge, with happy footsteps,\nHie in haste to join the bridegroom,\nGaily journey to the village\nWith thy chosen life-companion,\nWith thy suitor, Ilmarinen.\nLittle hast thou looked about thee,\nHast not raised thine eyes above thee,\nBeauteous maiden of the Northland.\nHast thou made a rueful bargain,\nFull of wailing thine engagement,\nAnd thy marriage full of sorrow,\nThat thy father\u2019s ancient cottage\nThou art leaving now forever,\nLeaving also friends and kindred,\nFor the blacksmith, Ilmarinen?\n\n\u201cO how beautiful thy childhood,\nIn thy father\u2019s dwelling-places,\nNurtured like a tender flower,\nLike the strawberry in spring-time;\nSoft thy couch and sweet thy slumber,\nWarm thy fires and rich thy table;\nFrom the fields came corn in plenty,\nFrom the highlands, milk and berries,\nWheat and barley in abundance,\nFish, and fowl, and hare, and bacon,\nFrom thy father\u2019s fields and forests.\n\n\u201cNever wert thou, child, in sorrow,\nNever hadst thou grief nor trouble,\nAll thy cares were left to fir-trees,\nAll thy worry to the copses,\nAll thy weeping to the willows,\nAll thy sighing to the lindens,\nAll thy thinking to the aspens\nAnd the birches on the mountains,\nLight and airy as the leaflet,\nAs a butterfly in summer,\nRuddy as a mountain-berry,\nBeautiful as vernal flowers.\n\n\u201cNow thou leavest home and kindred,\nWanderest to other firesides,\nGoest to another mother,\nOther sisters, other brothers,\nGoest to a second father,\nTo the servant-folk of strangers,\nFrom thy native hills and lowlands.\nThere and here the homes will differ,\nHappier thy mother\u2019s hearth-stone;\nOther horns will there be sounded,\nOther portals there swing open,\nOther hinges there be creaking;\nThere the doors thou canst not enter\nLike the daughters of Wainola,\nCanst not tend the fires and ovens\nAs will please the minds of strangers.\n\n\u201cDidst thou think, my fairest maiden,\nThou couldst wed and on the morrow\nCouldst return, if thou shouldst wish it,\nTo thy father\u2019s court and dwelling?\nNot for one, nor two, nor three days,\nWilt thou leave thy mother\u2019s chambers,\nLeave thy sisters and thy brothers,\nLeave thy father\u2019s hills and lowlands.\nLong the time the wife must wander,\nMany months and years must wander,\nWork, and struggle, all her life long,\nEven though the mother liveth.\nGreat, indeed, must be the changes\nWhen thou comest back to Pohya,\nChanged, thy friends and nearest kindred,\nChanged, thy father\u2019s ancient dwellings,\nChanged, the valleys and the mountains,\nOther birds will sing thy praises!\u201d\n\nWhen the mother thus had spoken,\nThen the daughter spake, departing:\n\u201cIn my early days of childhood\nOften I intoned these measures:\n\u2018Art a virgin, yet no virgin,\nGuided by an aged mother,\nIn a brother\u2019s fields and forests,\nIn the mansion of a father!\nOnly wilt become a virgin,\nOnly when thou hast a suitor,\nOnly when thou wedst a hero,\nOne foot on the father\u2019s threshold,\nAnd the other for the snow-sledge\nThat will speed thee and thy husband\nTo his native vales and highlands!\u2019\n\n\u201cI have wished thus many summers,\nSang it often in my childhood,\nHoped for this as for the flowers,\nWelcome as the birds of spring-time.\nThus fulfilled are all my wishes,\nVery near is my departure,\nOne foot on my father\u2019s threshold,\nAnd the other for the journey\nWith my husband to his people;\nCannot understand the reason\nThat has changed my former feelings,\nCannot leave thee now with gladness,\nCannot go with great rejoicing\nFrom my dear, old home and kindred,\nWhere as maiden I have lingered,\nFrom the courts where I was nurtured,\nFrom my father\u2019s hand and guidance,\nFrom my faithful mother\u2019s counsel.\nNow I go, a maid of sorrow,\nHeavy-hearted to the bridegroom,\nLike the bride of Night in winter,\nLike the ice upon the rivers.\n\n\u201cSuch is not the mind of others,\nOther brides of Northland heroes;\nOthers do not leave unhappy,\nHave no tears, nor cares, nor sorrows,\nI alas! must weep and murmur,\nCarry to my grave great sadness,\nHeart as dark as Death\u2019s black river.\n\n\u201cSuch the feelings of the happy,\nSuch the minds of merry maidens:\nLike the early dawn of spring-time,\nLike the rising Sun in summer;\nNo such radiance awaits me,\nWith my young heart filled with terror;\nHappiness is not my portion,\nLike the flat-shore of the ocean,\nLike the dark rift of the storm-cloud,\nLike the cheerless nights of winter!\nDreary is the day in autumn,\nDreary too the autumn evening,\nStill more dreary is my future!\u201d\n\nAn industrious old maiden,\nEver guarding home and kindred,\nSpake these words of doubtful comfort:\n\u201cDost thou, beauteous bride, remember,\nCanst thou not recall my counsels?\nThese the words that I have taught thee:\n\u2018Look not joyfully for suitors,\nNever heed the tongues of wooers,\nLook not in the eyes of charmers,\nAt their feet let fall thy vision.\nHe that hath a mouth for sweetness,\nHe that hath an eye for beauty,\nOffers little that will comfort;\nLempo sits upon his forehead,\nIn his mouth dwells dire Tuoni.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus, fair bride, did I advise thee,\nThus advised my sister\u2019s daughter:\nShould there come the best of suitors,\nNoblest wooers, proudest lovers,\nGive to all these wisdom-sayings,\nLet thine answer be as follows:\n\u2018Never will I think it wisdom,\nNever will it be my pleasure,\nTo become a second daughter,\nLinger with my husband\u2019s mother;\nNever shall I leave my father,\nNever wander forth to bondage,\nAt the bidding of a bridegroom:\nNever shall I be a servant,\nWife and slave to any hero,\nNever will I be submissive\nTo the orders of a husband.\u2019\n\n\u201cFairest bride, thou didst not heed me,\nGav\u2019st no thought to my advices,\nDidst not listen to my counsel;\nWittingly thy feet have wandered\nInto boiling tar and water,\nHastened to thy suitor\u2019s snow-sledge,\nTo the bear-dens of thy husband,\nOn his sledge to be ill-treated,\nCarried to his native country,\nTo the bondage of his people,\nThere, a subject to his mother.\nThou hast left thy mother\u2019s dwelling,\nTo the schooling of the master;\nHard indeed the master\u2019s teachings,\nLittle else than constant torture;\nReady for thee are his bridles,\nReady for thy hands the shackles,\nWere not forged for any other;\nSoon, indeed, thou\u2019lt feel the hardness,\nFeel the weight of thy misfortune,\nFeel thy second father\u2019s censure,\nAnd his wife\u2019s inhuman treatment,\nHear the cold words of thy brother,\nQuail before thy haughty sister.\n\n\u201cListen, bride, to what I tell thee:\nIn thy home thou wert a jewel,\nWert thy father\u2019s pride and pleasure,\n\u2018Moonlight,\u2019 did thy father call thee,\nAnd thy mother called thee \u2018Sunshine,\u2019\n\u2018Sea-foam\u2019 did thy brother call thee,\nAnd thy sister called thee \u2018Flower.\u2019\nWhen thou leavest home and kindred\nGoest to a second mother,\nOften she will give thee censure,\nNever treat thee as her daughter,\nRarely will she give thee counsel,\nNever will she sound thy praises.\n\u2018Brush-wood,\u2019 will the father call thee,\n\u2018Sledge of Rags,\u2019 thy husband\u2019s mother,\n\u2018Flight of Stairs,\u2019 thy stranger brother,\n\u2018Scare-crow,\u2019 will the sister call thee,\nSister of thy blacksmith-husband;\nThen wilt think of my good counsels,\nThen wilt wish in tears and murmurs,\nThat as steam thou hadst ascended,\nThat as smoke thy soul had risen,\nThat as sparks thy life had vanished.\nAs a bird thou canst not wander\nFrom thy nest to circle homeward,\nCanst not fall and die like leaflets,\nAs the sparks thou canst not perish,\nLike the smoke thou canst not vanish.\n\n\u201cYouthful bride, and darling sister,\nThou hast bartered all thy friendships,\nHast exchanged thy loving father,\nThou hast left thy faithful mother\nFor the mother of thy husband;\nHast exchanged thy loving brother,\nHast renounced thy gentle sister,\nFor the kindred of thy suitor;\nHast exchanged thy snow-white covers\nFor the rocky couch of sorrow;\nHast exchanged these crystal waters\nFor the waters of Wainola;\nHast renounced these sandy sea-shores\nFor the muddy banks of Kalew;\nNorthland glens thou hast forsaken\nFor thy husband\u2019s barren meadows;\nThou hast left thy berry-mountains\nFor the stubble-fields and deserts.\n\n\u201cThou, O maiden, hast been thinking\nThou wouldst happy be in wedlock;\nNeither work, nor care, nor sorrow,\nFrom this night would be thy portion,\nWith thy husband for protection.\nNot to sleep art thou conducted,\nNot to happiness, nor joyance,\nWakefulness, thy night-companion,\nAnd thy day-attendant, trouble;\nOften thou wilt drink of sorrow,\nOften long for vanished pleasures.\n\n\u201cWhen at home thou hadst no head-gear,\nThou hadst also little sadness;\nWhen thy couch was not of linen,\nNo unhappiness came nigh thee;\nHead-gear brings but pain and sorrow,\nLinen breeds bad dispositions,\nLinen brings but deeps of anguish,\nAnd the flax untimely mourning.\n\n\u201cHappy in her home, the maiden,\nHappy at her father\u2019s fireside,\nLike the master in his mansion,\nHappy with her bows and arrows.\n\u2019Tis not thus with married women;\nBrides of heroes may be likened\nTo the prisoners of Moskva,\nHeld in bondage by their masters.\n\n\u201cAs a wife, must weep and labor,\nCarry trouble on both shoulders;\nWhen the next hour passes over,\nThou must tend the fire and oven,\nMust prepare thy husband\u2019s dinner,\nMust direct thy master\u2019s servants.\nWhen thine evening meal is ready,\nThou must search for hidden wisdom\nIn the brain of perch and salmon,\nIn the mouths of ocean whiting,\nGather wisdom from the cuckoo,\nCanst not learn it from thy mother,\nMother dear of seven daughters;\nCannot find among her treasures\nWhere were born the human instincts,\nWhere were born the minds of heroes,\nWhence arose the maiden\u2019s beauty,\nWhence the beauty of her tresses,\nWhy all life revives in spring-time.\n\n\u201cWeep, O weep, my pretty young bride.\nWhen thou weepest, weep sincerely,\nWeep great rivers from thine eyelids,\nFloods of tears in field and fallow,\nLakelets in thy father\u2019s dwelling;\nWeep thy rooms to overflowing,\nShed thy tears in great abundance,\nLest thou weepest on returning\nTo thy native hills and valleys,\nWhen thou visitest thy father\nIn the smoke of waning glory,\nOn his arm a withered tassel.\n\n\u201cWeep, O weep, my lovely maiden,\nWhen thou weepest, weep in earnest,\nWeep great rivers from thine eyelids;\nIf thou dost not weep sincerely,\nThou wilt weep on thy returning\nTo thy Northland home and kindred,\nWhen thou visitest thy mother\nOld and breathless near the hurdles,\nIn her arms a barley-bundle.\n\n\u201cWeep, O weep, sweet bride of beauty,\nWhen thou weepest, weep profusely;\nIf thou dost not weep in earnest,\nThou wilt weep on thy returning\nTo thy native vales and highlands,\nWhen thou visitest thy brother\nLying wounded by the way-side,\nIn his hand but empty honors.\n\n\u201cWeep, O weep, my sister\u2019s daughter,\nWeep great rivers from thine eyelids;\nIf thou dost not weep sufficient,\nThou wilt weep on thy returning\nTo the scenes of happy childhood,\nWhen thou visitest thy sister\nLying, prostrate in the meadow,\nIn her hand a birch-wood mallet.\u201d\n\nWhen the ancient maid had ended,\nThen the young bride sighed in anguish,\nStraightway fell to bitter weeping,\nSpake these words in deeps of sorrow:\n\u201cO, ye sisters, my beloved,\nYe companions of my childhood,\nPlaymates of my early summers,\nListen to your sister\u2019s counsel:\nCannot comprehend the reason,\nWhy my mind is so dejected,\nWhy this weariness and sadness,\nThis untold and unseen torture,\nCannot understand the meaning\nOf this mighty weight of sorrow!\nDifferently I had thought it,\nI had hoped for greater pleasures,\nI had hoped to sing as cuckoos,\nOn the hill-tops call and echo,\nWhen I had attained this station,\nReached at last the goal expectant;\nBut I am not like the cuckoo,\nSinging, merry on the hill-tops;\nI am like the songless blue-duck,\nAs she swims upon the waters,\nSwims upon the cold, cold ocean,\nIcicles upon her pinions.\n\n\u201cAncient father, gray-haired mother,\nWhither do ye wish to lead me,\nWhither take this bride, thy daughter,\nThat this sorrow may pass over,\nWhere this heavy heart may lighten,\nWhere this grief may turn to gladness?\nBetter it had been, O mother,\nHadst thou nursed a block of birch-wood,\nHadst thou clothed the colored sandstone,\nRather than this hapless maiden,\nFor the fulness of these sorrows,\nFor this keen and killing trouble.\n\n\u201cMany sympathizers tell me:\n\u2018Foolish bride, thou art ungrateful,\nDo not grieve, thou child of sorrow,\nThou hast little cause for weeping.\u2019\n\n\u201cO, deceive me not, my people,\nDo not argue with me falsely,\nFor alas! I have more troubles\nThan the waterfalls have pebbles,\nThan the Ingerland has willows,\nThan the Suomi-hills have berries;\nNever could the Pohya plow-horse\nPull this mighty weight of sorrow,\nShaking not his birchen cross-bar,\nBreaking not his heavy collar;\nNever could the Northland reindeer\nHeavy shod and stoutly harnessed,\nDraw this load of care and trouble.\u201d\n\nBy the stove a babe was playing,\nAnd the young child spake as follows:\n\u201cWhy, O fair bride, art thou weeping,\nWhy these tears of pain and sadness?\nLeave thy troubles to the elk-herds,\nAnd thy grief to sable fillies,\nLet the steeds of iron bridles\nBear the burden of thine anguish,\nHorses have much larger foreheads,\nLarger shoulders, stronger sinews,\nAnd their necks are made for labor,\nStronger are their bones and muscles,\nLet them bear thy heavy burdens.\nThere is little good in weeping,\nUseless are thy tears of sorrow;\nArt not led to swamps and lowlands,\nNor to banks of little rivers;\nThou art led to fields of flowers,\nLed to fruitful trees and forests,\nLed away from beer of Pohya\nTo the sweeter mead of Kalew.\nAt thy shoulder waits thy husband,\nOn thy right side, Ilmarinen,\nConstant friend and life-protector,\nHe will guard thee from all evil;\nHusband ready, steed in waiting,\nGold-and-silver-mounted harness,\nHazel-birds that sing and flutter\nOn the courser\u2019s yoke and cross-bar;\nThrushes also sing and twitter\nMerrily on hame and collar,\nSeven bluebirds, seven cuckoos,\nSing thy wedding-march in concord.\n\n\u201cBe no longer full of sorrow,\nDry thy tears, thou bride of beauty,\nThou hast found a noble husband,\nBetter wilt thou fare than ever,\nBy the side of Ilmarinen,\nArtist husband, metal-master,\nBread-provider of thy table,\nOn the arm of the fish-catcher,\nOn the breast of the elk-hunter,\nBy the side of the bear-killer.\nThou hast won the best of suitors,\nHast obtained a mighty hero;\nNever idle is his cross-bow,\nOn the nails his quivers hang not,\nNeither are his dogs in kennel,\nActive agents is his hunting.\nThrice within the budding spring-time\nIn the early hours of morning\nHe arises from his fare-couch,\nFrom his slumber in the brush-wood,\nThrice within the sowing season,\nOn his eyes the deer has fallen,\nAnd the branches brushed his vesture,\nAnd his locks been combed by fir-boughs.\nHasten homeward with thy husband,\nWhere thy hero\u2019s friends await thee,\nWhere his forests sing thy welcome.\n\n\u201cIlmarinen there possesses\nAll the birds that fly in mid-air,\nAll the beasts that haunt the woodlands,\nAll that feed upon the mountains,\nAll that graze on hill and valley,\nSheep and cattle by the thousands;\nSweet the grass upon his meadows,\nSweet the barley in his uplands,\nIn the lowlands corn abundant,\nWheat upon the elm-wood fallows,\nNear the streamlets rye is waving,\nWaving grain on many acres,\nOn his mountains gold and silver,\nRich his mines of shining copper,\nHighlands filled with magic metals,\nChests of jewels in his store-house,\nAll the wealth of Kalevala.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXIII.\nOSMOTAR THE BRIDE-ADVISER.\n\n\nNow the bride must be instructed,\nWho will teach the Maid of Beauty,\nWho instruct the Rainbow-daughter?\nOsmotar, the wisdom-maiden,\nKalew\u2019s fair and lovely virgin,\nOsmotar will give instructions\nTo the bride of Ilmarinen,\nTo the orphaned bride of Pohya,\nTeach her how to live in pleasure,\nHow to live and reign in glory,\nWin her second mother\u2019s praises,\nJoyful in her husband\u2019s dwelling.\n\nOsmotar in modest accents\nThus the anxious bride addresses:\n\u201cMaid of Beauty, lovely sister,\nTender plant of Louhi\u2019s gardens,\nHear thou what thy sister teaches,\nListen to her sage instructions:\nGo thou hence, my much beloved,\nWander far away, my flower,\nTravel on enwrapped in colors,\nGlide away in silks and ribbons,\nFrom this house renowned and ancient,\nFrom thy father\u2019s halls and court-yards\nHaste thee to thy husband\u2019s village,\nHasten to his mother\u2019s household;\nStrange, the rooms in other dwellings,\nStrange, the modes in other hamlets.\n\n\u201cFull of thought must be thy going,\nAnd thy work be well considered,\nQuite unlike thy home in Northland,\nOn the meadows of thy father,\nOn the highlands of thy brother,\nSinging through thy mother\u2019s fenlands,\nCulling daisies with thy sister.\n\n\u201cWhen thou goest from thy father\nThou canst take whatever pleases,\nOnly three things leave behind thee:\nLeave thy day-dreams to thy sister,\nLeave thou kindness for thy mother,\nTo thy brother leave thy labors,\nTake all else that thou desirest.\nThrow away thine incantations,\nCast thy sighing to the pine-trees,\nAnd thy maidenhood to zephyrs,\nThy rejoicings to the couches,\nCast thy trinkets to the children,\nAnd thy leisure to the gray-beards,\nCast all pleasures to thy playmates,\nLet them take them to the woodlands,\nBury them beneath the mountain.\n\n\u201cThou must hence acquire new habits,\nMust forget thy former customs,\nMother-love must be forsaken,\nThou must love thy husband\u2019s mother,\nLower must thy head be bended,\nKind words only must thou utter.\n\n\u201cThou must hence acquire new habits,\nMust forget thy former customs,\nFather-love must be forsaken,\nThou must love thy husband\u2019s father,\nLower must thy head be bended,\nKind words only must thou utter.\n\n\u201cThou must hence acquire new habits,\nMust forget thy former customs,\nBrother-love must be forsaken,\nThou must love thy husband\u2019s brother,\nLower must thy head be bended,\nKind words only must thou utter.\n\n\u201cThou must hence acquire new habits\nMust forget thy former customs,\nSister-love must be forsaken,\nThou must love thy husband\u2019s sister,\nLower must thy head be bended,\nKind words only must thou utter.\n\n\u201cNever in the course of ages,\nNever while the moonlight glimmers,\nWickedly approach thy household,\nNor unworthily, thy servants,\nNor thy courts with indiscretion;\nLet thy dwellings sing good manners,\nAnd thy walls re-echo virtue.\nAfter mind the hero searches,\nAnd the best of men seek honor,\nSeek for honesty and wisdom;\nIf thy home should be immoral,\nIf thine inmates fail in virtue,\nThen thy gray-beards would be black-dogs\nIn sheep\u2019s clothing at thy firesides;\nAll thy women would be witches,\nWicked witches in thy chambers,\nAnd thy brothers be as serpents\nCrawling through thy husband\u2019s mansion;\nAll thy sisters would be famous\nFor their evil thoughts and conduct.\n\n\u201cEqual honors must be given\nTo thy husband\u2019s friends and kindred;\nLower must thy head be bended,\nThan within thy mother\u2019s dwelling,\nThan within thy father\u2019s guest-room,\nWhen thou didst thy kindred honor.\nEver strive to give good counsel,\nWear a countenance of sunshine,\nBear a head upon thy shoulders\nFilled with wise and ancient sayings;\nOpen bright thine eyes at morning\nTo behold the silver sunrise,\nSharpen well thine ears at evening,\nThus to hear the rooster crowing;\nWhen he makes his second calling,\nStraightway thou must rise from slumber,\nLet the aged sleep in quiet;\nShould the rooster fail to call thee,\nLet the moonbeams touch thine eyelids,\nLet the Great Bear be thy keeper;\nOften go thou and consult them,\nCall upon the Moon for counsel,\nAsk the Bear for ancient wisdom,\nFrom the stars divine thy future;\nWhen the Great Bear faces southward,\nWhen his tail is pointing northward,\nThis is time to break with slumber,\nSeek for fire within the ashes,\nPlace a spark upon the tinder,\nBlow the fire through all the fuel.\nIf no spark is in the ashes,\nThen go wake thy hero-husband,\nSpeak these words to him on waking:\n\u2018Give me fire, O my beloved,\nGive a single spark, my husband,\nStrike a little fire from flintstone,\nLet it fall upon my tinder.\u2019\n\n\u201cFrom the spark, O Bride of Beauty,\nLight thy fires, and heat thine ovens,\nIn the holder, place the torch-light,\nFind thy pathway to the stables,\nThere to fill the empty mangers;\nIf thy husband\u2019s cows be lowing,\nIf thy brother\u2019s steeds be neighing,\nThen the cows await thy coming,\nAnd the steeds for thee are calling,\nHasten, stooping through the hurdles,\nHasten through the yards and stables,\nFeed thy husband\u2019s cows with pleasure,\nFeed with care the gentle lambkins,\nGive the cows the best of clover,\nHay, and barley, to the horses,\nFeed the calves of lowing mothers,\nFeed the fowl that fly to meet thee.\n\n\u201cNever rest upon the haymow,\nNever sleep within the hurdles,\nWhen the kine are fed and tended,\nWhen the flocks have all been watered;\nHasten thence, my pretty matron,\nLike the snow-flakes to thy dwelling,\nThere a crying babe awaits thee,\nWeeping in his couch neglected,\nCannot speak and tell his troubles,\nSpeechless babe, and weeping infant,\nCannot say that he is hungry,\nWhether pain or cold distresses,\nGreets with joy his mother\u2019s footsteps.\nAfterward repair in silence\nTo thy husband\u2019s rooms and presence,\nEarly visit thou his chambers,\nIn thy hand a golden pitcher,\nOn thine arm a broom of birch-wood,\nIn thy teeth a lighted taper,\nAnd thyself the fourth in order.\nSweep thou then thy hero\u2019s dwelling,\nDust his benches and his tables,\nWash the flooring well with water.\n\n\u201cIf the baby of thy sister\nPlay alone within his corner,\nShow the little child attention,\nBathe his eyes and smoothe his ringlets,\nGive the infant needed comforts;\nShouldst thou have no bread of barley,\nIn his hand adjust some trinket.\n\n\u201cLastly, when the week has ended,\nGive thy house a thorough cleansing,\nBenches, tables, walls, and ceilings;\nWhat of dust is on the windows,\nSweep away with broom of birch-twigs,\nAll thy rooms must first be sprinkled,\nThat the dust may not be scattered,\nMay not fill the halls and chambers.\nSweep the dust from every crevice,\nLeave thou not a single atom;\nAlso sweep the chimney-corners,\nDo not then forget the rafters,\nLest thy home should seem untidy,\nLest thy dwelling seem neglected.\n\n\u201cHear, O maiden, what I tell thee,\nLearn the tenor of my teaching:\nNever dress in scanty raiment,\nLet thy robes be plain and comely,\nEver wear the whitest linen,\nOn thy feet wear tidy fur-shoes,\nFor the glory of thy husband,\nFor the honor of thy hero.\nTend thou well the sacred sorb-tree,\nGuard the mountain-ashes planted\nIn the court-yard, widely branching;\nBeautiful the mountain-ashes,\nBeautiful their leaves and flowers,\nStill more beautiful the berries.\nThus the exiled one demonstrates\nThat she lives to please her husband,\nTries to make her hero happy.\n\n\u201cLike the mouse, have ears for hearing,\nLike the hare, have feet for running,\nBend thy neck and turn thy visage\nLike the juniper and aspen,\nThus to watch with care thy goings,\nThus to guard thy feet from stumbling,\nThat thou mayest walk in safety.\n\n\u201cWhen thy brother comes from plowing,\nAnd thy father from his garners,\nAnd thy husband from the woodlands,\nFrom his chopping, thy beloved,\nGive to each a water-basin,\nGive to each a linen-towel,\nSpeak to each some pleasant greeting.\n\n\u201cWhen thy second mother hastens\nTo thy husband\u2019s home and kindred,\nIn her hand a corn-meal measure,\nHaste thou to the court to meet her,\nHappy-hearted, bow before her,\nTake the measure from her fingers,\nHappy, bear it to thy husband.\n\n\u201cIf thou shouldst not see distinctly\nWhat demands thy next attention,\nAsk at once thy hero\u2019s mother:\n\u2018Second mother, my beloved,\nName the task to be accomplished\nBy thy willing second daughter,\nTell me how to best perform it.\u2019\n\n\u201cThis should be the mother\u2019s answer:\n\u2018This the manner of thy workings,\nThus thy daily work accomplish:\nStamp with diligence and courage,\nGrind with will and great endurance,\nSet the millstones well in order,\nFill the barley-pans with water,\nKnead with strength the dough for baking,\nPlace the fagots on the fire-place,\nThat thy ovens may be heated,\nBake in love the honey-biscuit,\nBake the larger loaves of barley,\nRinse to cleanliness thy platters,\nPolish well thy drinking-vessels.\n\n\u201cIf thou hearest from the mother,\nFrom the mother of thy husband,\nThat the cask for meal is empty,\nTake the barley from the garners,\nHasten to the rooms for grinding.\nWhen thou grindest in the chambers,\nDo not sing in glee and joyance,\nTurn the grinding-stones in silence,\nTo the mill give up thy singing,\nLet the side-holes furnish music;\nDo not sigh as if unhappy,\nDo not groan as if in trouble,\nLest the father think thee weary,\nLest thy husband\u2019s mother fancy\nThat thy groans mean discontentment,\nThat thy sighing means displeasure.\nQuickly sift the flour thou grindest,\nTake it to the casks in buckets,\nBake thy hero\u2019s bread with pleasure,\nKnead the dough with care and patience,\nThat thy biscuits may be worthy,\nThat the dough be light and airy.\n\n\u201cShouldst thou see a bucket empty,\nTake the bucket on thy shoulder,\nOn thine arm a silver-dipper,\nHasten off to fill with water\nFrom the crystal river flowing;\nGracefully thy bucket carry,\nBear it firmly by the handles,\nHasten houseward like the zephyrs,\nHasten like the air of autumn;\nDo not tarry near the streamlet,\nAt the waters do not linger,\nThat the father may not fancy,\nNor the ancient dame imagine,\nThat thou hast beheld thine image,\nHast admired thy form and features,\nHast admired thy grace and beauty\nIn the mirror of the fountain,\nIn the crystal streamlet\u2019s eddies.\n\n\u201cShouldst thou journey to the woodlands,\nThere to gather aspen-fagots,\nDo not go with noise and bustle,\nGather all thy sticks in silence,\nGather quietly the birch-wood,\nThat the father may not fancy,\nAnd the mother not imagine,\nThat thy calling came from anger,\nAnd thy noise from discontentment.\n\n\u201cIf thou goest to the store-house\nTo obtain the flour of barley,\nDo not tarry on thy journey,\nOn the threshold do not linger,\nThat the father may not fancy,\nAnd the mother not imagine,\nThat the meal thou hast divided\nWith the women of the village.\n\n\u201cIf thou goest to the river,\nThere to wash thy birchen platters,\nThere to cleanse thy pans and buckets,\nLest thy work be done in neatness,\nRinse the sides, and rinse the handles,\nRinse thy pitchers to perfection,\nSpoons, and forks, and knives, and goblets,\nRinse with care thy cooking-vessels,\nClosely watch the food-utensils,\nThat the dogs may not deface them,\nThat the kittens may not mar them,\nThat the eagles may not steal them,\nThat the children may not break them;\nMany children in the village,\nMany little heads and fingers,\nThat will need thy careful watching,\nLest they steal the things of value.\n\n\u201cWhen thou goest to thy bathing,\nHave the brushes ready lying\nIn the bath-room clean and smokeless;\nDo not, linger in the water,\nAt thy bathing do not tarry,\nThat the father may not fancy,\nAnd the mother not imagine,\nThou art sleeping on the benches,\nRolling in the laps of comfort.\n\n\u201cFrom thy bath, when thou returnest,\nTo his bathing tempt the father,\nSpeak to him the words that follow:\n\u2018Father of my hero-husband,\nClean are all the bath-room benches,\nEverything in perfect order;\nGo and bathe for thine enjoyment,\nPour the water all-sufficient,\nI will lend thee needed service.\u2019\n\n\u201cWhen the time has come for spinning,\nWhen the hours arrive for weaving,\nDo not ask the help of others,\nLook not in the stream for knowledge,\nFor advice ask not the servants,\nNor the spindle from the sisters,\nNor the weaving-comb from strangers.\nThou thyself must do the spinning,\nWith thine own hand ply the shuttle,\nLoosely wind the skeins of wool-yarn,\nTightly wind the balls of flax-thread,\nWind them deftly in the shuttle;\nFit the warp upon the rollers,\nBeat the woof and warp together,\nSwiftly ply the weaver\u2019s shuttle,\nWeave good cloth for all thy vestments,\nWeave of woolen, webs for dresses\nFrom the finest wool of lambkins,\nOne thread only in thy weaving.\n\n\u201cHear thou what I now advise thee:\nBrew thy beer from early barley,\nFrom the barley\u2019s new-grown kernels,\nBrew it with the magic virtues,\nMalt it with the sweets of honey,\nDo not stir it with the birch-rod,\nStir it with thy skilful fingers;\nWhen thou goest to the garners,\nDo not let the seed bring evil,\nKeep the dogs outside the brew-house,\nHave no fear of wolves in hunger,\nNor the wild-beasts of the mountains,\nWhen thou goest to thy brewing,\nShouldst thou wander forth at midnight.\n\n\u201cShould some stranger come to see thee,\nDo not worry for his comfort;\nEver does the worthy household\nHave provisions for the stranger,\nBits of meat, and bread, and biscuit,\nAmple for the dinner-table;\nSeat the stranger in thy dwelling,\nSpeak with him in friendly accents,\nEntertain the guest with kindness,\nWhile his dinner is preparing.\nWhen the stranger leaves thy threshold,\nWhen his farewell has been spoken,\nLead him only to the portals,\nDo not step without the doorway,\nThat thy husband may not fancy,\nAnd the mother not imagine,\nThou hast interest in strangers.\n\n\u201cShouldst thou ever make a journey\nTo the centre of the village,\nThere to gain some needed object,\nWhile thou speakest in the hamlet,\nLet thy words be full of wisdom,\nThat thou shamest not thy kindred,\nNor disgrace thy husband\u2019s household.\n\n\u201cVillage-maidens oft will ask thee,\nMothers of the hamlet question:\n\u2018Does thy husband\u2019s mother greet thee\nAs in childhood thou wert greeted,\nIn thy happy home in Pohya?\u2019\nDo not answer in negation,\nSay that she has always given\nThee the best of her provisions,\nGiven thee the kindest greetings,\nThough it be but once a season.\n\n\u201cListen well to what I tell thee:\nAs thou goest from thy father\nTo thy husband\u2019s distant dwelling,\nThou must not forget thy mother,\nHer that gave thee life and beauty,\nHer that nurtured thee in childhood,\nMany sleepless nights she nursed thee;\nOften were her wants neglected,\nNumberless the times she rocked thee;\nTender, true, and ever faithful,\nIs the mother to her daughter.\nShe that can forget her mother,\nCan neglect the one that nursed her,\nShould not visit Mana\u2019s castle,\nIn the kingdom of Tuoni;\nIn Manala she would suffer,\nSuffer frightful retribution,\nShould her mother be forgotten;\nShould her dear one be neglected,\nMana\u2019s daughters will torment her,\nAnd Tuoni\u2019s sons revile her,\nThey will ask her much as follows:\n\u2018How couldst thou forget thy mother,\nHow neglect the one that nursed thee?\nGreat the pain thy mother suffered,\nGreat the trouble that thou gavest\nWhen thy loving mother brought thee\nInto life for good or evil,\nWhen she gave thee earth-existence,\nWhen she nursed thee but an infant,\nWhen she fed thee in thy childhood,\nWhen she taught thee what thou knowest,\nMana\u2019s punishments upon thee,\nSince thy mother is forgotten!\u2019\u201d\n\nOn the floor a witch was sitting,\nNear the fire a beggar-woman,\nOne that knew the ways of people,\nThese the words the woman uttered:\n\u201cThus the crow calls in the winter:\n\u2018Would that I could be a singer,\nAnd my voice be full of sweetness,\nBut, alas! my songs are worthless,\nCannot charm the weakest creature;\nI must live without the singing,\nLeave the songs to the musicians,\nThose that live in golden houses,\nIn the homes of the beloved;\nHomeless therefore I must wander,\nLike a beggar in the corn-fields,\nAnd with none to do me honor.\u2019\n\n\u201cHear now, sister, what I tell thee,\nEnter thou thy husband\u2019s dwelling,\nFollow not his mind, nor fancies,\nAs my husband\u2019s mind I followed;\nAs a flower was I when budding,\nSprouting like a rose in spring-time,\nGrowing like a slender maiden,\nLike the honey-gem of glory,\nLike the playmates of my childhood,\nLike the goslings of my father,\nLike the blue-ducks of my mother,\nLike my brother\u2019s water-younglings,\nLike the bullfinch of my sister;\nGrew I like the heather-flower,\nLike the berry of the meadow,\nPlayed upon the sandy sea-shore,\nRocked upon the fragrant upland,\nSang all day adown the valley,\nThrilled with song the hill and mountain,\nFilled with mirth the glen and forest,\nLived and frolicked in the woodlands.\n\n\u201cInto traps are foxes driven\nBy the cruel pangs of hunger,\nInto traps, the cunning ermine;\nThus are maidens wooed and wedded,\nIn their hunger for a husband.\nThus created is the virgin,\nThus intended is the daughter,\nSubject to her hero-husband,\nSubject also to his mother.\n\n\u201cThen to other fields I hastened,\nLike a berry from the border,\nLike a cranberry for roasting,\nLike a strawberry for dinner;\nAll the elm-trees seemed to wound me,\nAll the aspens tried to cut me,\nAll the willows tried to seize me,\nAll the forest tried to slay me.\nThus I journeyed to my husband,\nThus I travelled to his dwelling,\nWas conducted to his mother.\nThen there were, as was reported,\nSix compartments built of pine-wood,\nTwelve the number of the chambers,\nAnd the mansion filled with garrets,\nStudding all the forest border,\nEvery by-way filled with flowers;\nStreamlets bordered fields of barley,\nFilled with wheat and corn, the islands,\nGrain in plenty in the garners,\nRye unthrashed in great abundance,\nCountless sums of gold and silver,\nOther treasures without number.\nWhen my journey I had ended,\nWhen my hand at last was given,\nSix supports were in his cabin,\nSeven poles as rails for fencing.\nFilled with anger were the bushes,\nAll the glens disfavor showing,\nAll the walks were lined with trouble,\nEvil-tempered were the forests,\nHundred words of evil import,\nHundred others of unkindness.\nDid not let this bring me sorrow,\nLong I sought to merit praises,\nLong I hoped to find some favor,\nStrove most earnestly for kindness;\nWhen they led me to the cottage,\nThere I tried some chips to gather,\nKnocked my head against the portals\nOf my husband\u2019s lowly dwelling.\n\n\u201cAt the door were eyes of strangers,\nSable eyes at the partition,\nGreen with envy in his cabin,\nEvil heroes in the back-ground,\nFrom each mouth the fire was streaming,\nFrom each tongue the sparks out-flying,\nFlying from my second father,\nFrom his eyeballs of unkindness.\nDid not let this bring me trouble,\nTried to live in peace and pleasure,\nIn the homestead of my husband;\nIn humility I suffered,\nSkipped about with feet of rabbit,\nFlew along with steps of ermine,\nLate I laid my head to slumber,\nEarly rose as if a servant,\nCould not win a touch of kindness,\nCould not merit love nor honor,\nThough I had dislodged the mountains,\nThough the rocks had I torn open.\n\n\u201cThen I turned the heavy millstone,\nGround the flour with care and trouble,\nGround the barley-grains in patience,\nThat the mother might be nourished,\nThat her fury-throat might swallow\nWhat might please her taste and fancy,\nFrom her gold-enamelled platters,\nFrom the corner of her table.\n\n\u201cAs for me, the hapless daughter,\nAll my flour was from the siftings\nOn the table near the oven,\nAte I from the birchen ladle;\nOftentimes I brought the mosses\nGathered in the lowland meadows,\nBaked them into loaves for eating;\nBrought the water from the river,\nThirsty, sipped it from the dipper,\nAte of fish the worst in Northland,\nOnly smelts, and worthless swimmers,\nRocking in my boat of birch-bark;\nNever ate I fish or biscuit\nFrom my second mother\u2019s fingers.\n\n\u201cBlades I gathered in the summers,\nTwisted barley-stalks in winter,\nLike the laborers of heroes,\nLike the servants sold in bondage.\nIn the thresh-house of my husband,\nEvermore to me was given\nFlail the heaviest and longest,\nAnd to me the longest lever,\nOn the shore the strongest beater,\nAnd the largest rake in haying;\nNo one thought my burden heavy,\nNo one thought that I could suffer,\nThough the best of heroes faltered,\nAnd the strongest women weakened.\n\n\u201cThus did I, a youthful housewife,\nAt the right time, all my duties,\nDrenched myself in perspiration,\nHoped for better times to follow;\nBut I only rose to labor,\nKnowing neither rest nor pleasure.\nI was blamed by all the household,\nWith ungrateful tongues derided,\nNow about my awkward manners,\nNow about my reputation,\nCensuring my name and station.\nWords unkind were heaped upon me,\nFell like hail on me unhappy,\nLike the frightful flash of lightning,\nLike the heavy hail of spring-time.\nI did not despair entirely,\nWould have lived to labor longer\nUnderneath the tongue of malice,\nBut the old-one spoiled my temper,\nRoused my deepest ire and hatred;\nThen my husband grew a wild-bear,\nGrew a savage wolf of Hisi.\n\n\u201cOnly then I turned to weeping,\nAnd reflected in my chamber,\nThought of all my former pleasures\nOf the happy days of childhood,\nOf my father\u2019s joyful firesides,\nOf my mother\u2019s peaceful cottage,\nThen began I thus to murmur:\n\u2018Well thou knowest, ancient mother,\nHow to make thy sweet bud blossom,\nHow to train thy tender shootlet;\nDid not know where to ingraft it,\nPlaced, alas! the little scion\nIn the very worst of places,\nOn an unproductive hillock,\nIn the hardest limb of cherry,\nWhere it could not grow and flourish,\nThere to waste its life, in weeping,\nHapless in her lasting sorrow.\nWorthier had been my conduct,\nIn the regions that are better,\nIn the court-yards that are wider,\nIn compartments that are larger,\nLiving with a loving husband,\nLiving with a stronger hero.\nShoe of birch-bark was my suitor,\nShoe of Laplanders, my husband;\nHad the body of a raven,\nVoice and visage like the jackdaw,\nMouth and claws were from the black-wolf,\nThe remainder from the wild-bear.\nHad I known that mine affianced\nWas a fount of pain and evil,\nTo the hill-side I had wandered,\nBeen a pine-tree on the highway,\nBeen a linden on the border,\nLike the black-earth made my visage,\nGrown a beard of ugly bristles,\nHead of loam and eyes of lightning,\nFor my ears the knots of birches,\nFor my limbs the trunks of aspens.\u2019\n\n\u201cThis the manner of my singing\nIn the hearing of my husband,\nThus I sang my cares and murmurs\nThus my hero near the portals\nHeard the wail of my displeasure,\nThen he hastened to my chamber;\nStraightway knew I by his footsteps,\nWell concluded he was angry,\nKnew it by his steps implanted;\nAll the winds were still in slumber,\nYet his sable locks stood endwise,\nFluttered round his head in fury,\nWhile his horrid mouth stood open;\nTo and fro his eyes were rolling,\nIn one hand a branch of willow,\nIn the other, club of alder;\nStruck at me with might of malice,\nAimed the cudgel at my forehead.\n\n\u201cWhen the evening had descended,\nWhen my husband thought of slumber\nTook he in his hand a whip-stalk,\nWith a whip-lash made of deer-skin,\nWas not made for any other,\nOnly made for me unhappy.\n\n\u201cWhen at last I begged for mercy,\nWhen I sought a place for resting,\nBy his side I courted slumber,\nMerciless, my husband seized me,\nStruck me with his arm of envy,\nBeat me with the whip of torture,\nDeer-skin-lash and stalk of birch-wood.\nFrom his couch I leaped impulsive,\nIn the coldest night of winter,\nBut the husband fleetly followed,\nCaught me at the outer portals,\nGrasped me by my streaming tresses,\nTore my ringlets from my forehead,\nCast in curls upon the night-winds\nTo the freezing winds of winter.\nWhat the aid that I could ask for,\nWho could free me from my torment?\nMade I shoes of magic metals,\nMade the straps of steel and copper,\nWaited long without the dwelling,\nLong I listened at the portals,\nHoping he would end his ravings,\nHoping he would sink to slumber,\nBut he did not seek for resting,\nDid not wish to still his fury.\nFinally the cold benumbed me;\nAs an outcast from his cabin,\nI was forced to walk and wander,\nWhen I, freezing, well reflected,\nThis the substance of my thinking:\n\u2018I will not endure this torture,\nWill not bear this thing forever,\nWill not bear this cruel treatment,\nSuch contempt I will not suffer\nIn the wicked tribe of Hisi,\nIn this nest of evil Piru.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen I said, \u2018Farewell forever!\u2019\nTo my husband\u2019s home and kindred,\nTo my much-loved home and husband;\nStarted forth upon a journey\nTo my father\u2019s distant hamlet,\nOver swamps and over snow-fields,\nWandered over towering mountains,\nOver hills and through the valleys,\nTo my brother\u2019s welcome meadows,\nTo my sister\u2019s home and birthplace.\n\n\u201cThere were rustling withered pine-trees,\nFinely-feathered firs were fading,\nCountless ravens there were cawing,\nAll the jackdaws harshly singing,\nThis the chorus of the ravens:\n\u2018Thou hast here a home no longer,\nThis is not the happy homestead\nOf thy merry days of childhood.\u2019\n\n\u201cHeeding not this woodland chorus,\nStraight I journeyed to the dwelling\nOf my childhood\u2019s friend and brother,\nWhere the portals spake in concord,\nAnd the hills and valleys answered,\nThis their saddened song and echo:\n\u2018Wherefore dost thou journey hither,\nComest thou for joy or sorrow,\nTo thy father\u2019s old dominions?\nHere unhappiness awaits thee,\nLong departed is thy father,\nDead and gone to visit Ukko,\nDead and gone thy faithful mother,\nAnd thy brother is a stranger,\nWhile his wife is chill and heartless!\u2019\n\n\u201cHeeding not these many warnings,\nStraightway to my brother\u2019s cottage\nWere my weary feet directed,\nLaid my hand upon the door-latch\nOf my brother\u2019s dismal cottage,\nBut the latch was cold and lifeless.\nWhen I wandered to the chamber,\nWhen I waited at the doorway,\nThere I saw the heartless hostess,\nBut she did not give me greeting,\nDid not give her hand in welcome;\nProud, alas! was I unhappy,\nDid not make the first advances,\nDid not offer her my friendship,\nAnd my hand I did not proffer;\nLaid my hand upon the oven,\nAll its former warmth departed!\nOn the coal I laid my fingers,\nAll the latent heat had left it.\nOn the rest-bench lay my brother,\nLay outstretched before the fire-place,\nHeaps of soot upon his shoulders,\nHeaps of ashes on his forehead.\nThus the brother asked the stranger,\nQuestioned thus his guest politely:\n\u2018Tell me what thy name and station,\nWhence thou comest o\u2019er the waters!\u2019\n\u201cThis the answer that I gave him:\n\u2018Hast thou then forgot thy sister,\nDoes my brother not remember,\nNot recall his mother\u2019s daughter?\nWe are children of one mother,\nOf one bird were we the fledgelings,\nIn one nest were hatched and nurtured.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cThen the brother fell to weeping,\nFrom his eyes great tear-drops flowing,\nTo his wife the brother whispered,\nWhispered thus unto the housewife:\n\u2018Bring thou beer to give my sister,\nQuench her thirst and cheer her spirits.\u2019\n\n\u201cFull of envy, brought the sister\nOnly water filled with evil,\nWater for the infant\u2019s eyelids,\nSoap and water from the bath-room.\n\n\u201cTo his wife the brother whispered,\nWhispered thus unto the housewife:\n\u2018Bring thou salmon for my sister,\nFor my sister so long absent,\nThus to still her pangs of hunger.\u2019\n\n\u201cThereupon the wife obeying,\nBrought, in envy, only cabbage\nThat the children had been eating,\nAnd the house-dogs had been licking,\nLeavings of the black-dog\u2019s breakfast.\n\n\u201cThen I left my brother\u2019s dwelling,\nHastened to the ancient homestead,\nTo my mother\u2019s home deserted;\nOnward, onward did I wander,\nHastened onward by the cold-sea,\nDragged my body on in anguish,\nTo the cottage-doors of strangers,\nTo the unfamiliar portals,\nFor the care of the neglected,\nFor the needy of the village,\nFor the children poor and orphaned.\n\n\u201cThere are many wicked people,\nMany slanderers of women,\nMany women evil-minded,\nThat malign their sex through envy.\nMany they with lips of evil,\nThat belie the best of maidens,\nProve the innocent are guilty\nOf the worst of misdemeanors,\nSpeak aloud in tones unceasing,\nSpeak, alas! with wicked motives,\nSpread the follies of their neighbors\nThrough the tongues of self-pollution.\nVery few, indeed, the people\nThat will feed the poor and hungry,\nThat will bid the stranger welcome;\nVery few to treat her kindly,\nInnocent, and lone, and needy,\nFew to offer her a shelter\nFrom the chilling storms of winter,\nWhen her skirts with ice are stiffened,\nCoats of ice her only raiment!\n\n\u201cNever in my days of childhood,\nNever in my maiden life-time,\nNever would believe the story,\nThough a hundred tongues had told it,\nThough a thousand voices sang it,\nThat such evil things could happen,\nThat such misery could follow,\nSuch misfortune could befall one\nWho has tried to do her duty,\nWho has tried to live uprightly,\nTried to make her people happy.\u201d\n\nThus the young bride was instructed,\nBeauteous Maiden of the Rainbow,\nThus by Osmotar, the teacher.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXIV.\nTHE BRIDE\u2019S FAREWELL.\n\n\nOsmotar, the bride-instructor,\nGives the wedding-guests this counsel,\nSpeaks these measures to the bridegroom:\n\u201cIlmarinen, artist-brother,\nBest of all my hero-brothers,\nOf my mother\u2019s sons the dearest,\nGentlest, truest, bravest, grandest,\nListen well to what I tell thee\nOf the Maiden of the Rainbow,\nOf thy beauteous life-companion:\nBridegroom, praise thy fate hereafter,\nPraise forever thy good fortune;\nIf thou praisest, praise sincerely,\nGood the maiden thou hast wedded,\nGood the bride that Ukko gives thee,\nGraciously has God bestowed her.\nSound her praises to thy father,\nPraise her virtues to thy mother,\nLet thy heart rejoice in secret,\nThat thou hast the Bride of Beauty,\nLovely Maiden of the Rainbow!\n\n\u201cBrilliant near thee stands the maiden,\nAt thy shoulder thy companion,\nHappy under thy protection,\nBeautiful as golden moonlight,\nBeautiful upon thy bosom,\nStrong to do thy kindly bidding,\nLabor with thee as thou wishest,\nRake the hay upon thy meadows,\nKeep thy home in full perfection,\nSpin for thee the finest linen,\nWeave for thee the richest fabrics,\nMake for thee the softest raiment,\nMake thy weaver\u2019s loom as merry\nAs the cuckoo of the forest;\nMake the shuttle glide in beauty\nLike the ermine of the woodlands;\nMake the spindle twirl as deftly\nAs the squirrel spins the acorn;\nVillage-maidens will not slumber\nWhile thy young bride\u2019s loom is humming,\nWhile she plies the graceful shuttle.\n\n\u201cBridegroom of the Bride of Beauty,\nNoblest of the Northland heroes,\nForge thyself a scythe for mowing,\nFurnish it with oaken handle,\nCarve it in thine ancient smithy,\nHammer it upon thine anvil,\nHave it ready for the summer,\nFor the merry days of sunshine;\nTake thy bride then to the lowlands,\nMow the grass upon thy meadows,\nRake the hay when it is ready,\nMake the reeds and grasses rustle,\nToss the fragrant heads of clover,\nMake thy hay in Kalevala\nWhen the silver sun is shining.\n\n\u201cWhen the time has come for weaving,\nTo the loom attract the weaver,\nGive to her the spools and shuttles,\nLet the willing loom be worthy,\nBeautiful the frame and settle;\nGive to her what may be needed,\nThat the weaver\u2019s song may echo,\nThat the lathe may swing and rattle,\nMay be heard within the village,\nThat the aged may remark it,\nAnd the village-maidens question:\n\u2018Who is she that now is weaving,\nWhat new power now plies the shuttle?\u2019\n\u201cMake this answer to the question:\n\u2018It is my beloved weaving,\nMy young bride that plies the shuttle.\u2019\n\n\u201cShall the weaver\u2019s weft be loosened,\nShall the young bride\u2019s loom be tightened?\nDo not let the weft be loosened,\nNor the weaver\u2019s loom be tightened;\nSuch the weaving of the daughters\nOf the Moon beyond the cloudlets;\nSuch the spinning of the maidens\nOf the Sun in high Jumala,\nOf the daughters of the Great Bear,\nOf the daughters of the Evening.\n\n\u201cBridegroom, thou beloved hero,\nBrave descendant of thy fathers,\nWhen thou goest on a journey,\nWhen thou drivest on the highway,\nDriving with the Rainbow-daughter,\nFairest bride of Sariola,\nDo not lead her as a titmouse,\nAs a cuckoo of the forest,\nInto unfrequented places,\nInto copses of the borders,\nInto brier-fields and brambles,\nInto unproductive marshes;\nLet her wander not, nor stumble\nOn opposing rocks and rubbish.\nNever in her father\u2019s dwelling,\nNever in her mother\u2019s court-yard,\nHas she fallen into ditches,\nStumbled hard against the fences,\nRun through brier-fields, nor brambles,\nFallen over rocks, nor rubbish.\n\n\u201cMagic bridegroom of Wainola,\nWise descendant of the heroes,\nNever let thy young wife suffer,\nNever let her be neglected,\nNever let her sit in darkness,\nNever leave her unattended.\nNever in her father\u2019s mansion,\nIn the chambers of her mother,\nHas she sat alone in darkness,\nHas she suffered for attention;\nSat she by the crystal window,\nSat and rocked, in peace and plenty,\nEvenings for her father\u2019s pleasure,\nMornings for her mother\u2019s sunshine.\nNever mayest thou, O bridegroom,\nLead the Maiden of the Rainbow\nTo the mortar filled with sea-grass,\nThere to grind the bark for cooking,\nThere to bake her bread from stubble,\nThere to knead her dough from tan-bark\nNever in her father\u2019s dwelling,\nNever in her mother\u2019s mansion,\nWas she taken to the mortar,\nThere to bake her bread from sea-grass.\nThou shouldst lead the Bride of Beauty\nTo the garner\u2019s rich abundance,\nThere to draw the till of barley,\nGrind the flour and knead for baking,\nThere to brew the beer for drinking,\nWheaten flour for honey-biscuits.\n\n\u201cHero-bridegroom of Wainola,\nNever cause thy Bride of Beauty\nTo regret her day of marriage;\nNever make her shed a tear-drop,\nNever fill her cup with sorrow.\nShould there ever come an evening\nWhen thy wife shall feel unhappy,\nPut the harness on thy racer,\nHitch the fleet-foot to the snow-sledge,\nTake her to her father\u2019s dwelling,\nTo the household of her mother;\nNever in thy hero-lifetime,\nNever while the moonbeams glimmer,\nGive thy fair spouse evil treatment,\nNever treat her as thy servant;\nDo not bar her from the cellar,\nDo not lock thy best provisions;\nNever in her father\u2019s mansion,\nNever by her faithful mother\nWas she treated as a hireling.\n\n\u201cHonored bridegroom of the Northland,\nProud descendant of the fathers,\nIf thou treatest well thy young wife,\nWorthily wilt thou be treated;\nWhen thou goest to her homestead,\nWhen thou visitest her father,\nThou shalt meet a cordial welcome.\n\n\u201cCensure not the Bride of Beauty,\nNever grieve thy Rainbow-maiden,\nNever say in tones reproachful,\nShe was born in lowly station,\nThat her father was unworthy;\nHonored are thy bride\u2019s relations,\nFrom an old-time tribe, her kindred;\nWhen of corn they sowed a measure,\nEach one\u2019s portion was a kernel;\nWhen they sowed a cask of flax-seed,\nEach received a thread of linen.\nNever, never, magic husband,\nTreat thy beauty-bride unkindly,\nTeach her not with lash of servants,\nStrike her not with thongs of leather;\nNever has she wept in anguish\nFrom the birch-whip of her mother.\nStand before her like a rampart,\nBe to her a strong protection,\nDo not let thy mother chide her,\nLet thy father not upbraid her,\nNever let thy guests offend her;\nShould thy servants bring annoyance,\nThey may need the master\u2019s censure;\nDo not harm the Bride of Beauty,\nNever injure her thou lovest;\nThree long years hast thou been wooing,\nHoping every mouth to win her.\n\n\u201cCounsel with the bride of heaven,\nTo thy young wife give instruction,\nKindly teach thy bride in secret,\nIn the long and dreary evenings,\nWhen thou sittest at the fireside;\nTeach one year, in words of kindness,\nTeach with eyes of love a second,\nIn the third year teach with firmness.\nIf she should not heed thy teaching,\nShould not hear thy kindly counsel\nAfter three long years of effort,\nCut a reed upon the lowlands,\nCut a nettle from the border,\nTeach thy wife with harder measures.\nIn the fourth year, if she heed not,\nThreaten her with sterner treatment,\nWith the stalks of rougher edges,\nUse not yet the thongs of leather,\nDo not touch her with the birch-whip.\nIf she does not heed this warning,\nShould she pay thee no attention,\nCut a rod upon the mountains,\nOr a willow in the valleys,\nHide it underneath thy mantle,\nThat the stranger may not see it,\nShow it to thy wife in secret,\nShame her thus to do her duty,\nStrike not yet, though disobeying.\nShould she disregard this warning,\nStill refuse to heed thy wishes,\nThen instruct her with the willow,\nUse the birch-rod from the mountains\nIn the closet of thy dwelling,\nIn the attic of thy mansion;\nStrike, her not upon the common,\nDo not conquer her in public,\nLest the villagers should see thee,\nLest the neighbors hear her weeping,\nAnd the forests learn thy troubles.\nTouch thy wife upon the shoulders,\nLet her stiffened back be softened.\nDo not touch her on the forehead,\nNor upon the ears, nor visage;\nIf a ridge be on her forehead,\nOr a blue mark on her eyelids,\nThen her mother would perceive it,\nAnd her father would take notice,\nAll the village-workmen see it,\nAnd the village-women ask her\n\u2018Hast thou been in heat of battle,\nHast thou struggled in a conflict,\nOr perchance the wolves have torn thee,\nOr the forest-bears embraced thee,\nOr the black-wolf be thy husband,\nAnd the bear be thy protector?\u2019\u201d\n\nBy the fire-place lay a gray-beard,\nOn the hearth-stone lay a beggar,\nAnd the old man spake as follows:\n\u201cNever, never, hero-husband,\nFollow thou thy young wife\u2019s wishes,\nFollow not her inclinations,\nAs, alas! I did, regretful;\nBought my bride the bread of barley,\nVeal, and beer, and best of butter,\nFish and fowl of all descriptions,\nBeer I bought, home-brewed and sparkling,\nWheat from all the distant nations,\nAll the dainties of the Northland;\nAll of this was unavailing,\nGave my wife no satisfaction,\nOften came she to my chamber,\nTore my sable locks in frenzy,\nWith a visage fierce and frightful,\nWith her eyeballs flashing anger,\nScolding on and scolding ever,\nEver speaking words of evil,\nUsing epithets the vilest,\nThought me but a block for chopping.\nThen I sought for other measures,\nUsed on her my last resources,\nCut a birch-whip in the forest,\nAnd she spake in tones endearing;\nCut a juniper or willow,\nAnd she called me \u2018hero-darling\u2019;\nWhen with lash my wife I threatened,\nHung she on my neck with kisses.\u201d\n\nThus the bridegroom was instructed,\nThus the last advices given.\n\nThen the Maiden of the Rainbow,\nBeauteous bride of Ilmarinen,\nSighing heavily and moaning,\nFell to weeping, heavy-hearted,\nSpake these words from depths of sorrow:\n\u201cNear, indeed, the separation,\nNear, alas! the time for parting,\nNear the time for my departure;\nO the anguish of the parting,\nO the pain of separation,\nFrom these walls renowned and ancient,\nFrom this village of the Northland,\nFrom these scenes of peace and plenty,\nWhere my faithful mother taught me,\nWhere my father gave instruction\nTo me in my happy childhood,\nWhen my years were few and tender!\nAs a child I did not fancy,\nNever thought of separation\nFrom the confines of this cottage,\nFrom these dear old hills and mountains,\nBut, alas! I now must journey,\nSince I now cannot escape it;\nEmpty is the bowl of parting,\nAll the farewell-beer is taken,\nAnd my husband\u2019s sledge is waiting,\nWith the break-board looking southward,\nLooking from my father\u2019s dwelling.\n\n\u201cHow shall I give compensation,\nHow repay, on my departure,\nAll the kindness of my mother,\nAll the counsel of my father,\nAll the friendship of my brother,\nAll my sister\u2019s warm affection?\nGratitude to thee, dear father,\nFor my former-life and blessings,\nFor the comforts of thy table,\nFor the pleasures of my childhood!\nGratitude to thee, dear mother,\nFor thy tender care and guidance,\nFor my birth and for my culture,\nNurtured by thy purest life-blood!\nGratitude to thee, dear brother,\nGratitude to thee, sweet sister,\nTo the servants of my childhood,\nTo my many friends and playmates!\n\n\u201cNever, never, aged father,\nNever, thou, beloved mother,\nNever, ye, my kindred spirits,\nNever harbor care, nor sorrow,\nNever fall to bitter weeping,\nSince thy child has gone to others,\nTo the distant home of strangers,\nTo the meadows of Wainola,\nFrom her father\u2019s fields and firesides.\nShines the Sun of the Creator,\nShines the golden Moon of Ukko,\nGlitter all the stars of heaven,\nIn the firmament of ether,\nFull as bright on other homesteads;\nNot upon my father\u2019s uplands,\nNot upon my home in childhood,\nShines the Star of Joyance only.\n\n\u201cNow the time has come for parting\nFrom my father\u2019s golden firesides,\nFrom my brother\u2019s welcome hearth-stone,\nFrom the chambers of my sister,\nFrom my mother\u2019s happy dwelling;\nNow I leave the swamps and lowlands,\nLeave the grassy vales and mountains,\nLeave the crystal lakes and rivers,\nLeave the shores and sandy shallows,\nLeave the white-capped surging billows,\nWhere the maidens swim and linger,\nWhere the mermaids sing and frolic;\nLeave the swamps to those that wander,\nLeave the corn-fields to the plowman,\nLeave the forests to the weary,\nLeave the heather to the rover,\nLeave the copses to the stranger,\nLeave the alleys to the beggar,\nLeave the court-yards to the rambler,\nLeave the portals to the servant,\nLeave the matting to the sweeper,\nLeave the highways to the roebuck,\nLeave the woodland-glens to lynxes,\nLeave the lowlands to the wild-geese,\nAnd the birch-tree to the cuckoo.\nNow I leave these friends of childhood,\nJourney southward with my husband,\nTo the arms of Night and Winter,\nO\u2019er the ice-grown seas of Northland.\n\n\u201cShould I once again, returning,\nPay a visit to my tribe-folk,\nMother would not hear me calling,\nFather would not see me weeping,\nCalling at my mother\u2019s grave-stone,\nWeeping o\u2019er my buried father,\nOn their graves the fragrant flowers,\nJunipers and mournful willows,\nVerdure from my mother\u2019s tresses,\nFrom the gray-beard of my father.\n\n\u201cShould I visit Sariola,\nVisit once again these borders,\nNo one here would bid me welcome.\nNothing in these hills would greet me,\nSave perchance a few things only,\nBy the fence a clump of osiers,\nAnd a land-mark at the corner,\nWhich in early youth I planted,\nWhen a child of little stature.\n\n\u201cMother\u2019s kine perhaps will know me,\nWhich so often I have watered,\nWhich I oft have fed and tended,\nLowing now at my departure,\nIn the pasture cold and cheerless;\nSure my mother\u2019s kine will welcome\nNorthland\u2019s daughter home returning.\nFather\u2019s steeds may not forget me,\nSteeds that I have often ridden,\nWhen a maiden free and happy,\nNeighing now for me departing,\nIn the pasture of my brother,\nIn the stable of my father;\nSure my father\u2019s steeds will know me,\nBid Pohyola\u2019s daughter welcome.\nBrother\u2019s faithful dogs may know me,\nThat I oft have fed and petted,\nDogs that I have taught to frolic,\nThat now mourn for me departing,\nIn their kennels in the court-yard,\nIn their kennels cold and cheerless;\nSure my brother\u2019s dogs will welcome\nPohya\u2019s daughter home returning.\nBut the people will not know me,\nWhen I come these scenes to visit,\nThough the fords remain as ever,\nThough unchanged remain the rivers,\nThough untouched the flaxen fish-nets\nOn the shores await my coming.\n\n\u201cFare thou well, my dear old homestead,\nFare ye well, my native bowers;\nIt would give me joy unceasing\nCould I linger here forever.\nNow farewell, ye halls and portals,\nLeading to my father\u2019s mansion;\nIt would give me joy unceasing\nCould I linger here forever.\nFare ye well, familiar gardens\nFilled with trees and fragrant flowers;\nIt would give me joy unceasing,\nCould I linger here forever.\nSend to all my farewell greetings,\nTo the fields, and groves, and berries;\nGreet the meadows with their daisies,\nGreet the borders with their fences,\nGreet the lakelets with their islands,\nGreet the streams with trout disporting,\nGreet the hills with stately pine-trees,\nAnd the valleys with their birches.\nFare ye well, ye streams and lakelets,\nFertile fields, and shores of ocean,\nAll ye aspens on the mountains,\nAll ye lindens of the valleys,\nAll ye beautiful stone-lindens,\nAll ye shade-trees by the cottage,\nAll ye junipers and willows,\nAll ye shrubs with berries laden,\nWaving grass and fields of barley,\nArms of elms, and oaks, and alders,\nFare ye well, dear scenes of childhood,\nHappiness of days departed!\u201d\n\nEnding thus, Pohyola\u2019s daughter\nLeft her native fields and fallows,\nLeft the darksome Sariola,\nWith her husband, Ilmarinen,\nFamous son of Kalevala.\n\nBut the youth remained for singing,\nThis the chorus of the children:\n\u201cHither came a bird of evil,\nFlew in fleetness from the forest,\nCame to steal away our virgin,\nCame to win the Maid of Beauty;\nTook away our fairest flower,\nTook our mermaid from the waters,\nWon her with his youth and beauty,\nWith his keys of ancient wisdom.\nWho will lead us to the sea-beach,\nWho conduct us to the rivers?\nNow the buckets will be idle,\nOn the hooks will rest the fish-poles,\nNow unswept will lie the matting,\nAnd unswept the halls of birch-wood,\nCopper goblets be unburnished,\nDark the handles of the pitchers,\nFare thou well, dear Rainbow Maiden.\u201d\n\nIlmarinen, happy bridegroom,\nHastened homeward with the daughter\nOf the hostess of Pohyola,\nWith the beauty of the Northland;\nFleetly flew the hero\u2019s snow-sledge,\nLoudly creaked, and roared, and rattled\nDown the banks of Northland waters,\nBy the side of Honey-inlet,\nOn the back of Sandy Mountain.\nStones went rolling from the highway,\nLike the winds the sledge flew onward,\nOn the yoke rang hoops of iron,\nLoud the spotted wood resounded,\nLoudly creaked the bands of willow,\nAll the birchen cross-bars trembled,\nAnd the copper-bells rang music,\nIn the racing of the fleet-foot,\nIn the courser\u2019s gallop homeward;\nJourneyed one day, then a second,\nJourneyed still the third day onward,\nIn one hand the reins of magic,\nWhile the other grasped the maiden,\nOne foot resting on the cross-bar,\nAnd the other in the fur-robes.\nMerrily the steed flew homeward,\nQuickly did the highways shorten,\nTill at last upon the third day,\nAs the sun was fast declining,\nThere appeared the blacksmith\u2019s furnace,\nNearer, Ilmarinen\u2019s dwelling,\nSmoke arising high in ether,\nClouds of smoke to lofty heaven,\nFrom the village of Wainola,\nFrom the suitor\u2019s forge and smithy,\nFrom the chimneys of the hero,\nFrom the home of the successful.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXV.\nWAINAMOINEN\u2019S WEDDING-SONGS.\n\n\nAt the home of Ilmarinen\nLong had they been watching, waiting,\nFor the coming of the blacksmith,\nWith his bride from Sariola.\nWeary were the eyes of watchers,\nWaiting from the father\u2019s portals,\nLooking from the mother\u2019s windows;\nWeary were the young knees standing\nAt the gates of the magician;\nWeary grew the feet of children,\nTramping to the walls and watching;\nWorn and torn, the shoes of heroes,\nRunning on the shore to meet him.\n\nNow at last upon a morning\nOf a lovely day in winter,\nHeard they from the woods the rumble\nOf a snow-sledge swiftly bounding.\nLakko, hostess of Wainola,\nShe the lovely Kalew-daughter,\nSpake these words in great excitement:\n\u201c\u2019Tis the sledge of the magician,\nComes at last the metal-worker\nFrom the dismal Sariola,\nBy his side the Bride of Beauty!\nWelcome, welcome, to this hamlet,\nWelcome to thy mother\u2019s hearth-stone,\nTo the dwelling of thy father,\nBy thine ancestors erected!\u201d\n\nStraightway came great Ilmarinen\nTo his cottage drove the blacksmith,\nTo the fireside of his father,\nTo his mother\u2019s ancient dwelling.\nHazel-birds were sweetly singing\nOn the newly-bended collar;\nSweetly called the sacred cuckoos\nFrom the summit of the break-board;\nMerry, jumped the graceful squirrel\nOn the oaken shafts and cross-bar.\n\nLakko, Kalew\u2019s fairest hostess,\nBeauteous daughter of Wainola,\nSpake these words of hearty welcome:\n\u201cFor the new moon hopes the village,\nFor the sun, the happy maidens,\nFor the boat, the swelling water;\nI have not the moon expected,\nFor the sun have not been waiting,\nI have waited for my hero,\nWaited for the Bride of Beauty;\nWatched at morning, watched at evening,\nDid not know but some misfortune,\nSome sad fate had overtaken\nBride and bridegroom on their journey;\nThought the maiden growing weary,\nWeary of my son\u2019s attentions,\nSince he faithfully had promised\nTo return to Kalevala,\nEre his foot-prints had departed\nFrom the snow-fields of his father.\nEvery morn I looked and listened,\nConstantly I thought and wondered\nWhen his sledge would rumble homeward,\nWhen it would return triumphant\nTo his home, renowned and ancient.\nHad a blind and beggared straw-horse\nHobbled to these shores awaiting,\nWith a sledge of but two pieces,\nWell the steed would have been lauded,\nHad it brought my son beloved,\nHad it brought the Bride of Beauty.\nThus I waited long, impatient,\nLooking out from morn till even,\nWatching with my head extended,\nWith my tresses streaming southward,\nWith my eyelids widely opened,\nWaiting for my son\u2019s returning\nTo this modest home of heroes,\nTo this narrow place of resting.\nFinally am I rewarded,\nFor the sledge has come triumphant,\nBringing home my son and hero,\nBy his side the Rainbow maiden,\nRed her cheeks, her visage winsome,\nPride and joy of Sariola.\n\n\u201cWizard-bridegroom of Wainola,\nTake thy courser to the stable,\nLead him to the well-filled manger,\nTo the best of grain and clover;\nGive to us thy friendly greetings,\nGreetings send to all thy people.\nWhen thy greetings thou hast ended,\nThen relate what has befallen\nTo our hero in his absence.\nHast thou gone without adventure\nTo the dark fields of Pohyola,\nSearching for the Maid of Beauty?\nDidst thou scale the hostile ramparts,\nDidst thou take the virgin\u2019s mansion,\nPassing o\u2019er her mother\u2019s threshold,\nVisiting the halls of Louhi?\n\n\u201cBut I know without the asking,\nSee the answer to my question:\nComest from the North a victor,\nOn thy journey well contented;\nThou hast brought the Northland daughter,\nThou hast razed the hostile portals,\nThou hast stormed the forts of Louhi,\nStormed the mighty walls opposing,\nOn thy journey to Pohyola,\nTo the village of the father.\nIn thy care the bride is sitting,\nIn thine arms, the Rainbow-maiden,\nAt thy side, the pride of Northland,\nMated to the highly-gifted.\nWho has told the cruel story,\nWho the worst of news has scattered,\nThat thy suit was unsuccessful,\nThat in vain thy steed had journeyed?\nNot in vain has been thy wooing,\nNot in vain thy steed has travelled\nTo the dismal homes of Lapland;\nHe has journeyed heavy laden,\nShaken mane, and tail, and forelock,\nDripping foam from lips and nostrils,\nThrough the bringing of the maiden,\nWith the burden of the husband.\n\n\u201cCome, thou beauty, from the snow-sledge,\nCome, descend thou from the cross-bench,\nDo not linger for assistance,\nDo not tarry to be carried;\nIf too young the one that lifts thee,\nIf too proud the one in waiting,\nRise thou, graceful, like a young bird,\nHither glide along the pathway,\nOn the tan-bark scarlet-colored,\nThat the herds of kine have evened,\nThat the gentle lambs have trodden,\nSmoothened by the tails of horses.\nHaste thou here with gentle footsteps,\nThrough the pathway smooth and tidy,\nOn the tiles of even surface,\nOn thy second father\u2019s court-yard,\nTo thy second mother\u2019s dwelling,\nTo thy brother\u2019s place of resting,\nTo thy sister\u2019s silent chambers.\nPlace thy foot within these portals,\nStep across this waiting threshold,\nEnter thou these halls of joyance,\nUnderneath these painted rafters,\nUnderneath this roof of ages.\nDuring all the winter evenings,\nThrough the summer gone forever,\nSang the tiling made of ivory,\nWishing thou wouldst walk upon it;\nOften sang the golden ceiling,\nHoping thou wouldst walk beneath it,\nAnd the windows often whistled,\nAsking thee to sit beside them;\nEven on this merry morning,\nEven on the recent evening,\nSat the aged at their windows,\nOn the sea-shore ran the children,\nNear the walls the maidens waited,\nRan the boys upon the highway,\nThere to watch the young bride\u2019s coming,\nComing with her hero-husband.\n\n\u201cHail, ye courtiers of Wainola,\nWith the heroes of the fathers,\nHail to thee, Wainola\u2019s hamlet,\nHail, ye halls with heroes peopled,\nHail, ye rooms with all your inmates,\nHail to thee, sweet golden moonlight,\nHail to thee, benignant Ukko,\nHail companions of the bridegroom!\nNever has there been in Northland\nSuch a wedding-train of honor,\nNever such a bride of beauty.\n\n\u201cBridegroom, thou beloved hero,\nNow untie the scarlet ribbons,\nAnd remove the silken muffler,\nLet us see the honey-maiden,\nSee the Daughter of the Rainbow.\nSeven years hast thou been wooing,\nHast thou brought the maid affianced,\nHast thou sought a sweeter cuckoo,\nSought one fairer than the moonlight,\nSought a mermaid from the ocean?\nBut I know without the asking,\nSee the answer to my question:\nThou hast brought the sweet-voiced cuckoo,\nThou hast found the swan of beauty,\nPlucked the sweetest flower of Northland,\nCulled the fairest of the jewels,\nGathered Pohya\u2019s sweetest berry!\u201d\n\nSat a babe upon the matting,\nAnd the young child spake as follows:\n\u201cBrother, what is this thou bringest,\nAspen-log or trunk of willow,\nSlender as the mountain-linden?\nBridegroom, well dost thou remember,\nThou hast hoped it all thy life-time,\nHoped to bring the Maid of Beauty,\nThou a thousand times hast said it,\nBetter far than any other,\nNot one like the croaking raven,\nNor the magpie from the border,\nNor the scarecrow from the corn-fields,\nNor the vulture from the desert.\nWhat has this one done of credit,\nIn the summer that has ended?\nWhere the gloves that she has knitted,\nWhere the mittens she has woven?\nThou hast brought her empty-handed,\nNot a gift she brings thy father;\nIn thy chests the mice are nesting,\nLong-tails feeding on thy vestments,\nAnd thy bride cannot repair them.\u201d\n\nLakko, hostess of Wainola,\nShe the faithful Kalew-daughter,\nHears the young child\u2019s speech in wonder,\nSpeaks these words of disapproval:\n\u201cSilly prattler, cease thy talking,\nThou hast spoken in dishonor;\nLet all others be astonished,\nHeap thy malice on thy kindred,\nmust not harm the Bride of Beauty,\nRainbow-daughter of the Northland.\nFalse indeed is this thy prattle,\nAll thy words are full of evil,\nFallen from thy tongue of mischief,\nFrom the lips of one unworthy.\nExcellent the hero\u2019s young bride,\nBest of all in Sariola,\nLike the strawberry in summer,\nLike the daisy from the meadow,\nLike the cuckoo from the forest,\nLike the bluebird from the aspen,\nLike the redbreast from the heather,\nLike the martin from the linden;\nNever couldst thou find in Ehstland\nSuch a virgin as this daughter,\nSuch a graceful beauteous maiden,\nWith such dignity of carriage,\nWith such arms of pearly whiteness,\nWith a neck so fair and lovely.\nNeither is she empty-handed,\nShe has brought us furs abundant,\nBrought us many silken garments,\nRichest weavings of Pohyola.\nMany beauteous things the maiden,\nWith the spindle has accomplished,\nSpun and woven with her fingers;\nDresses of the finest texture\nShe in winter has upfolded,\nBleached them in the days of spring-time,\nDried them at the hour of noon-day,\nFor our couches finest linen,\nFor our heads the softest pillows,\nFor our comfort woollen blankets,\nFor our necks the silken ribbons.\u201d\nTo the bride speaks gracious Lakko:\n\u201cGoodly wife, thou Maid of Beauty,\nHighly wert thou praised as daughter,\nIn thy father\u2019s distant country;\nHere thou shalt be praised forever\nBy the kindred of thy husband;\nThou shalt never suffer sorrow,\nNever give thy heart to grieving;\nIn the swamps thou wert not nurtured,\nWert not fed beside the brooklets;\nThou wert born \u2019neath stars auspicious,\nNurtured from the richest garners,\nThou wert taken to the brewing\nOf the sweetest beer in Northland.\n\n\u201cBeauteous bride from Sariola,\nShouldst thou see me bringing hither\nCasks of corn, or wheat, or barley,\nBringing rye in great abundance,\nThey belong to this thy household;\nGood the plowing of thy husband,\nGood his sowing and his reaping.\n\n\u201cBride of Beauty from the Northland,\nThou wilt learn this home to manage,\nLearn to labor with thy kindred;\nGood the home for thee to dwell in,\nGood enough for bride and daughter.\nAt thy hand will rest the milk-pail,\nAnd the churn awaits thine order;\nIt is well here for the maiden,\nHappy will the young bride labor,\nEasy are the resting-benches;\nHere the host is like thy father,\nLike thy mother is the hostess,\nAll the sons are like thy brothers,\nLike thy sisters are the daughters.\n\n\u201cShouldst thou ever have a longing\nFor the whiting of the ocean,\nFor thy father\u2019s Northland salmon,\nFor thy brother\u2019s hazel-chickens,\nAsk them only of thy husband,\nLet thy hero-husband bring them.\nThere is not in all of Northland,\nNot a creature of the forest,\nNot a bird beneath the ether,\nNot a fish within the waters,\nNot the largest, nor the smallest,\nThat thy husband cannot capture.\nIt is well here for the maiden,\nHere the bride may live in freedom,\nNeed not turn the heavy millstone,\nNeed not move the iron pestle;\nHere the wheat is ground by water,\nFor the rye, the swifter current,\nWhile the billows wash the vessels\nAnd the surging waters rinse them.\nThou hast here a lovely village,\nFinest spot in all of Northland,\nIn the lowlands sweet the verdure,\nIn the uplands, fields of beauty,\nWith the lake-shore near the hamlet,\nNear thy home the running water,\nWhere the goslings swim and frolic,\nWater-birds disport in numbers.\u201d\n\nThereupon the bride and bridegroom\nWere refreshed with richest viands,\nGiven food and drink abundant,\nFed on choicest bits of reindeer,\nOn the sweetest loaves of barley,\nOn the best of wheaten biscuits,\nOn the richest beer of Northland.\nMany things were on the table,\nMany dainties of Wainola,\nIn the bowls of scarlet color,\nIn the platters deftly painted,\nMany cakes with honey sweetened,\nTo each guest was butter given,\nMany bits of trout and whiting,\nLarger salmon carved in slices,\nWith the knives of molten silver,\nRimmed with gold the silver handles,\nBeer of barley ceaseless flowing,\nHoney-drink that was not purchased,\nIn the cellar flows profusely,\nBeer for all, the tongues to quicken,\nMead and beer the minds to freshen.\nWho is there to lead the singing,\nLead the songs of Kalevala?\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nThe eternal, wise enchanter,\nQuick begins his incantations,\nStraightway sings the songs that follow.\n\u201cGolden brethren, dearest kindred,\nYe, my loved ones, wise and worthy\nYe companions, highly-gifted,\nListen to my simple sayings:\nRarely stand the geese together,\nSisters do not mate each other,\nNot together stand the brothers,\nNor the children of one mother,\nIn the countries of the Northland.\n\n\u201cShall we now begin the singing,\nSing the songs of old tradition?\nSingers can but sing their wisdom,\nAnd the cuckoo call the spring-time,\nAnd the goddess of the heavens\nOnly dyes the earth in beauty;\nSo the goddesses of weaving\nCan but weave from dawn till twilight,\nEver sing the youth of Lapland\nIn their straw-shoes full of gladness,\nWhen the coarse-meat of the roebuck,\nOr of blue-moose they have eaten.\nWherefore should I not be singing,\nAnd the children not be chanting\nOf the biscuits of Wainola,\nOf the bread of Kalew-waters?\nEven sing the lads of Lapland\nIn their straw-shoes filled with joyance,\nDrinking but a cup of water,\nEating but the bitter tan-bark.\nWherefore should I not be singing,\nAnd the children not be chanting\nOf the beer of Kalevala,\nBrewed from barley in perfection,\nDressed in quaint and homely costume,\nAs they sit beside their hearth-stones.\nWherefore should I not be singing,\nAnd the children too be chanting\nUnderneath these painted rafters,\nIn these halls renowned and ancient?\nThis the place for men to linger,\nThis the court-room for the maidens,\nNear the foaming beer of barley,\nHoney-brewed in great abundance,\nVery near, the salmon-waters,\nNear, the nets for trout and whiting,\nHere where food is never wanting,\nWhere the beer is ever brewing.\nHere Wainola\u2019s sons assemble,\nHere Wainola\u2019s daughters gather,\nHere they never eat in trouble,\nHere they live without regretting,\nIn the life-time of the landlord,\nWhile the hostess lives and prospers.\n\n\u201cWho shall first be sung and lauded?\nShall it be the bride or bridegroom?\nLet us praise the bridegroom\u2019s father,\nLet the hero-host be chanted,\nHim whose home is in the forest,\nHim who built upon the mountains,\nHim who brought the trunks of lindens,\nWith their tops and slender branches,\nBrought them to the best of places,\nJoined them skilfully together,\nFor the mansion of the nation,\nFor this famous hero-dwelling,\nWalls procured upon the lowlands,\nRafters from the pine and fir-tree,\nFrom the woodlands beams of oak-wood,\nFrom the berry-plains the studding,\nBark was furnished by the aspen,\nAnd the mosses from the fenlands.\nTrimly builded is this mansion,\nIn a haven warmly sheltered;\nHere a hundred men have labored,\nOn the roof have stood a thousand,\nAs this spacious house was building,\nAs this roof was tightly jointed.\nHere the ancient mansion-builder,\nWhen these rafters were erected,\nLost in storms his locks of sable,\nScattered by the winds of heaven.\nOften has the hero-landlord\nOn the rocks his gloves forgotten,\nLeft his hat upon the willows,\nLost his mittens in the marshes;\nOftentimes the mansion-builder,\nIn the early hours of morning,\nEre his workmen had awakened,\nUnperceived by all the village,\nHas arisen from his slumber,\nLeft his cabin the snow-fields,\nCombed his locks among the branches,\nBathed his eyes in dews of morning.\n\n\u201cThus obtained the pleasant landlord\nFriends to fill his spacious dwelling,\nFill his benches with magicians,\nFill his windows with enchanters,\nFill his halls with wizard-singers,\nFill his floors with ancient speakers,\nFill his ancient court with strangers,\nFill his hurdles with the needy;\nThus the Kalew-host is lauded.\n\n\u201cNow I praise the genial hostess,\nWho prepares the toothsome dinner,\nFills with plenty all her tables,\nBakes the honeyed loaves of barley,\nKneads the dough with magic fingers,\nWith her arms of strength and beauty,\nBakes her bread in copper ovens,\nFeeds her guests and bids them welcome,\nFeeds them on the toothsome bacon,\nOn the trout, and pike, and whiting,\nOn the rarest fish in ocean,\nOn the dainties of Wainola.\n\n\u201cOften has the faithful hostess\nRisen from her couch in silence,\nEre the crowing of the watcher,\nTo prepare the wedding-banquet,\nMake her tables look attractive,\nBrew the honey-beer of wedlock.\nExcellently has the housewife,\nHas the hostess filled with wisdom,\nBrewed the beer from hops and barley,\nFrom the corn of Kalevala,\nFrom the wheat-malt honey-seasoned,\nStirred the beer with graceful fingers,\nAt the oven in the penthouse,\nIn the chamber swept and polished.\nNeither did the prudent hostess,\nBeautiful, and full of wisdom,\nLet the barley sprout too freely,\nLest the beer should taste of black-earth,\nBe too bitter in the brewing;\nOften went she to the garners,\nWent alone at hour of midnight,\nWas not frightened by the black-wolf,\nDid not fear the beasts of woodlands.\n\n\u201cNow the hostess I have lauded,\nLet me praise the favored suitor,\nNow the honored hero-bridegroom,\nBest of all the village-masters.\nClothed in purple is the hero,\nRaiment brought from distant nations,\nTightly fitting to his body;\nSnugly sets his coat of ermine,\nTo the floor it hangs in beauty,\nTrailing from his neck and shoulders,\nLittle of his vest appearing,\nPeeping through his outer raiment,\nWoven by the Moon\u2019s fair daughters,\nAnd his vestment silver-tinselled.\nDressed in neatness is the suitor,\nRound his waist a belt of copper,\nHammered by the Sun\u2019s sweet maidens,\nEre the early fires were lighted,\nEre the fire had been discovered.\nDressed in richness is the bridegroom,\nOn his feet are silken stockings,\nSilken ribbons on his ankles,\nGold and silver interwoven.\nDressed in beauty is the bridegroom,\nOn his feet are shoes of deer-skin,\nLike the swans upon the water,\nLike the blue-duck on the sea-waves,\nLike the thrush among the willows,\nLike the water-birds of Northland.\nWell adorned the hero-suitor,\nWith his locks of golden color,\nWith his gold-beard finely braided,\nHero-hat upon his forehead,\nPiercing through the forest branches,\nReaching to the clouds of heaven,\nBought with countless gold and silver,\nPriceless is the suitor\u2019s head-gear.\n\n\u201cNow the bridegroom has been lauded,\nI will praise the young bride\u2019s playmate,\nDay-companion in her childhood,\nIn the maiden\u2019s magic mansion.\nWhence was brought the merry maiden,\nFrom the village of Tanikka?\nThence was never brought the playmate,\nPlaymate of the bride in childhood.\nHas she come from distant nations,\nFrom the waters of the Dwina,\nO\u2019er the ocean far-outstretching?\nNot from Dwina came the maiden,\nDid not sail across the waters;\nGrew as berry in the mountains,\nAs a strawberry of sweetness,\nOn the fields the child of beauty,\nIn the glens the golden flower.\nThence has come the young bride\u2019s playmate,\nThence arose her fair companion.\nTiny are her feet and fingers,\nSmall her lips of scarlet color,\nLike the maiden\u2019s loom of Suomi;\nEyes that shine in kindly beauty\nLike the twinkling stars of heaven;\nBeam the playmate\u2019s throbbing temples\nLike the moonlight on the waters.\nTrinkets has the bride\u2019s companion,\nOn her neck a golden necklace,\nIn her tresses, silken ribbons,\nOn her arms are golden bracelets,\nGolden rings upon her fingers,\nPearls are set in golden ear-rings,\nLoops of gold upon her temples,\nAnd with pearls her brow is studded.\nNorthland thought the Moon was shining\nWhen her jeweled ear-rings glistened;\nThought the Sun had left his station\nWhen her girdle shone in beauty;\nThought a ship was homeward sailing\nWhen her colored head-gear fluttered.\nThus is praised the bride\u2019s companion,\nPlaymate of the Rainbow-maiden.\n\n\u201cNow I praise the friends assembled,\nAll appear in graceful manners;\nIf the old are wise and silent,\nAll the youth are free and merry,\nAll the guests are fair and worthy.\nNever was there in Wainola,\nNever will there be in Northland,\nSuch a company assembled;\nAll the children speak in joyance,\nAll the aged move sedately;\nDressed in white are all the maidens,\nLike the hoar-frost of the morning,\nLike the welcome dawn of spring-time,\nLike the rising of the daylight.\nSilver then was more abundant,\nGold among the guests in plenty,\nOn the hills were money-pockets,\nMoney-bags along the valleys,\nFor the friends that were invited,\nFor the guests in joy assembled.\nAll the friends have now been lauded,\nEach has gained his meed of honor.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nSong-deliverer of Northland,\nSwung himself upon the fur-bench\nOf his magic sledge of copper,\nStraightway hastened to his hamlet,\nSinging as he journeyed onward,\nSinging charms and incantations,\nSinging one day, then a second,\nAll the third day chanting legends.\nOn the rocks the runners rattled,\nHung the sledge upon a birch-stump,\nBroke it into many pieces,\nWith the magic of his singing;\nDouble were the runners bended,\nAll the parts were torn asunder,\nAnd his magic sledge was ruined.\n\nThen the good, old Wainamoinen\nSpake these words in meditation:\n\u201cIs there one among this number,\nIn this rising generation,\nOr perchance among the aged,\nIn the passing generation,\nThat will go to Mana\u2019s kingdom,\nTo the empire of Tuoni,\nThere to get the magic auger\nFrom the master of Manala,\nThat I may repair my snow-sledge,\nOr a second sledge may fashion?\u201d\n\nWhat the younger people answered\nWas the answer of the aged:\n\u201cNot among the youth of Northland,\nNor among the aged heroes,\nIs there one of ample courage,\nThat has bravery sufficient,\nTo attempt the reckless journey\nTo the kingdom of Tuoni,\nTo Manala\u2019s fields and castles,\nThence to bring Tuoni\u2019s auger,\nWherewithal to mend thy snow-sledge,\nBuild anew thy sledge of magic.\u201d\n\nThereupon old Wainamoinen,\nThe eternal wisdom-singer,\nWent again to Mana\u2019s empire,\nTo the kingdom of Tuoni,\nCrossed the sable stream of Deathland,\nTo the castles of Manala,\nFound the auger of Tuoni,\nBrought the instrument in safety.\nStraightway sings old Wainamoinen,\nSings to life a purple forest,\nIn the forest, slender birches,\nAnd beside them, mighty oak-trees,\nShapes them into shafts and runners,\nMoulds them by his will and power,\nMakes anew his sledge of magic.\n\nOn his steed he lays the harness,\nBinds him to his sledge securely,\nSeats himself upon the cross-bench,\nAnd the racer gallops homeward,\nTo the manger filled and waiting,\nTo the stable of his master;\nBrings the ancient Wainamoinen,\nFamous bard and wise enchanter,\nTo the threshold of his dwelling,\nTo his home in Kalevala.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXVI.\nORIGIN OF THE SERPENT.\n\n\nAhti, living on the island,\nNear the Kauko-point and harbor,\nPlowed his fields for rye and barley,\nFurrowed his extensive pastures,\nHeard with quickened ears an uproar,\nHeard the village in commotion,\nHeard a noise along the sea-shore,\nHeard the foot-steps on the ice-plain,\nHeard the rattle of the sledges;\nQuick his mind divined the reason,\nKnew it was Pohyola\u2019s wedding,\nWedding of the Rainbow-virgin.\nQuick he stopped in disappointment,\nShook his sable locks in envy,\nTurned his hero-head in anger,\nWhile the scarlet blood ceased flowing\nThrough his pallid face and temples;\nCeased his plowing and his sowing,\nOn the field he left the furrows;\nOn his steed he lightly mounted,\nStraightway galloped fleetly homeward\nTo his well-beloved mother,\nTo his mother old and golden,\nGave his mother these directions,\nThese the words of Lemminkainen:\n\u201cMy beloved, faithful mother,\nQuickly bring me beer and viands,\nBring me food for I am hungry,\nFood and drink for me abundant,\nHave my bath-room quickly heated,\nQuickly set the room in order,\nThat I may refresh my body,\nDress myself in hero-raiment.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen\u2019s aged mother\nBrings her hero food in plenty,\nBeer and viands for the hungry,\nFor her thirsting son and hero;\nQuick she heats the ancient bath-room,\nQuickly sets his bath in order.\n\nThen the reckless Lemminkainen\nAte his meat with beer inspiring,\nHastened to his bath awaiting;\nOnly was the bullfinch bathing,\nWith the many-colored bunting;\nQuick the hero laved his temples,\nLaved himself to flaxen whiteness,\nQuick returning to his mother,\nSpake in haste the words that follow:\n\u201cMy beloved, helpful mother,\nGo at once to yonder mountain,\nTo the store-house on the hill-top,\nBring my vest of finest texture,\nBring my hero-coat of purple,\nBring my suit of magic colors,\nThus to make me look attractive,\nThus to robe myself in beauty.\u201d\n\nFirst the ancient mother asked him,\nAsked her son this simple question:\n\u201cWhither dost thou go, my hero?\nDost thou go to hunt the roebuck,\nChase the lynx upon the mountains,\nShoot the squirrel in the woodlands?\u201d\n\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen,\nAlso known as Kaukomieli:\n\u201cWorthy mother of my being,\nGo I not to hunt the roebuck,\nChase the lynx upon the mountains,\nShoot the squirrel on the tree-tops;\nI am going to Pohyola,\nTo the feasting of her people.\nBring at once my purple vestments,\nStraightway bring my nuptial outfit,\nLet me don it for the marriage\nOf the maiden of the Northland.\u201d\n\nBut the ancient dame dissented,\nAnd the wife forebade the husband;\nTwo of all the best of heroes,\nThree of nature\u2019s fairest daughters,\nStrongly urged wild Lemminkainen\nNot to go to Sariola,\nTo Pohyola\u2019s great carousal,\nTo the marriage-feast of Northland,\n\u201cSince thou hast not been invited,\nSince they do not wish thy presence.\u201d\n\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen.\nThese the words of Kaukomieli:\n\u201cWhere the wicked are invited,\nThere the good are always welcome,\nHerein lies my invitation;\nI am constantly reminded\nBy this sword of sharpened edges,\nBy this magic blade and scabbard,\nThat Pohyola needs my presence.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen\u2019s aged mother\nSought again to stay her hero:\n\u201cDo not go, my son beloved,\nTo the feasting in Pohyola;\nFull of horrors are the highways,\nOn the road are many wonders,\nThree times Death appears to frighten,\nThrice destruction hovers over!\u201d\n\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen,\nThese the words of Kaukomieli:\n\u201cDeath is seen by aged people,\nEverywhere they see perdition,\nDeath can never frighten heroes,\nHeroes do not fear the spectre;\nBe that as it may, dear mother,\nTell that I may understand thee,\nName the first of all destructions,\nName the first and last destroyers!\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answered:\n\u201cI will tell thee, son and hero,\nNot because I wish to speak it,\nBut because the truth is worthy;\nI will name the chief destruction,\nName the first of the destroyers.\nWhen thou hast a distance journeyed,\nOnly one day hast thou travelled,\nComes a stream along the highway,\nStream of fire of wondrous beauty,\nIn the stream a mighty fire-spout,\nIn the spout a rock uprising,\nOn the rock a fiery hillock,\nOn the top a flaming eagle,\nAnd his crooked beak he sharpens,\nSharpens too his bloody talons,\nFor the coming of the stranger,\nFor the people that approach him.\u201d\n\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli:\n\u201cWomen die beneath the eagle,\nSuch is not the death of heroes;\nKnow I well a magic lotion,\nThat will heal the wounds of eagles;\nMake myself a steed of alders,\nThat will walk as my companion,\nThat will stride ahead majestic;\nAs a duck I\u2019ll drive behind him,\nDrive him o\u2019er the fatal waters,\nUnderneath the flaming eagle,\nWith his bloody beak and talons.\nWorthy mother of my being,\nName the second of destroyers.\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answered:\n\u201cThis the second of destroyers:\nWhen thou hast a distance wandered,\nOnly two days hast thou travelled,\nComes a pit of fire to meet thee,\nIn the centre of the highway,\nEastward far the pit extending,\nStretches endless to the westward,\nFilled with burning coals and pebbles,\nGlowing with the heat of ages;\nHundreds has this monster swallowed,\nIn his jaws have thousands perished,\nHundreds with their trusty broadswords,\nThousands on their fiery chargers.\u201d\n\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli:\n\u201cNever will the hero perish\nIn the jaws of such a monster;\nKnow I well the means of safety,\nKnow a remedy efficient:\nI will make of snow a master,\nOn the snow-clad fields, a hero,\nDrive the snow-man on before me,\nDrive him through the flaming vortex,\nDrive him through the fiery furnace,\nWith my magic broom of copper;\nI will follow in his shadow,\nFollow close the magic image,\nThus escape the frightful monster,\nWith my golden locks uninjured,\nWith my flowing beard untangled.\nAncient mother of my being,\nName the last of the destructions,\nName the third of the destroyers.\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answered:\n\u201cThis the third of fatal dangers:\nHast thou gone a greater distance,\nHast thou travelled one day longer,\nTo the portals of Pohyola,\nTo the narrowest of gate-ways,\nThere a wolf will rise to meet thee,\nThere the black-bear sneak upon thee;\nIn Pohyola\u2019s darksome portals,\nHundreds in their jaws have perished,\nHave devoured a thousand heroes;\nWherefore will they not destroy thee,\nSince thy form is unprotected?\u201d\n\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli:\n\u201cLet them eat the gentle lambkins,\nFeed upon their tender tissues,\nThey cannot devour this hero;\nI am girded with my buckler,\nGirded with my belt of copper,\nArmlets wear I of the master,\nFrom the wolf and bear protected,\nWill not hasten to Untamo.\nI can meet the wolf of Lempo,\nFor the bear I have a balsam,\nFor his mouth I conjure bridles,\nFor the wolf, forge chains of iron;\nI will smite them as the willow,\nChop them into little fragments,\nThus I\u2019ll gain the open court-yard,\nThus triumphant end my journey.\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answered:\n\u201cThen thy journey is not ended,\nGreater dangers still await thee,\nGreat the wonders yet before thee,\nHorrors three within thy pathway;\nThree great dangers of the hero\nStill await thy reckless footsteps,\nThese the worst of all thy dangers:\nWhen thou hast still farther wandered,\nThou wilt reach the Court of Pohya,\nWhere the walls are forged from iron,\nAnd from steel the outer bulwark;\nRises from the earth to heaven,\nBack again to earth returning;\nDouble spears are used for railings,\nOn each spear are serpents winding,\nOn each rail are stinging adders;\nLizards too adorn the bulwarks,\nPlay their long tails in the sunlight,\nHissing lizards, venomed serpents,\nJump and writhe upon the rampart,\nTurn their horrid heads to meet thee;\nOn the greensward lie the monsters,\nOn the ground the things of evil,\nWith their pliant tongues of venom,\nHissing, striking, crawling, writhing;\nOne more horrid than the others,\nLies before the fatal gate-way,\nLonger than the longest rafters,\nLarger than the largest portals;\nHisses with the tongue of anger,\nLifts his head in awful menace,\nRaises it to strike none other\nThan the hero of the islands.\u201d\n\nSpake the warlike Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli:\n\u201cBy such things the children perish,\nSuch is not the death of heroes;\nKnow I well the fire to manage,\nI can quench the flames of passion,\nI can meet the prowling wild-beasts,\nCan appease the wrath of serpents,\nI can heal the sting of adders,\nI have plowed the serpent-pastures,\nPlowed the adder-fields of Northland;\nWhile my hands were unprotected,\nHeld the serpents in my fingers,\nDrove the adders to Manala,\nOn my hands the blood of serpents,\nOn my feet the fat of adders.\nNever will thy hero stumble\nOn the serpents of the Northland;\nWith my heel I\u2019ll crush the monsters,\nStamp the horrid things to atoms;\nI will banish them from Pohya,\nDrive them to Manala\u2019s kingdom,\nStep within Pohyola\u2019s mansion,\nWalk the halls of Sariola!\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answered:\n\u201cDo not go, my son beloved,\nTo the firesides of Pohyola,\nThrough the Northland fields and fallows;\nThere are warriors with broadswords,\nHeroes clad in mail of copper,\nAre on beer intoxicated,\nBy the beer are much embittered;\nThey will charm thee, hapless creature,\nOn the tips of swords of magic;\nGreater heroes have been conjured,\nStronger ones have been outwitted.\u201d\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cFormerly thy son resided\nIn the hamlets of Pohyola;\nLaplanders cannot enchant me,\nNor the Turyalanders harm me;\nI the Laplander will conjure,\nCharm him with my magic powers,\nSing his shoulders wide asunder,\nIn his chin I\u2019ll sing a fissure,\nSing his collar-bone to pieces,\nSing his breast to thousand fragments.\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answered:\n\u201cFoolish son, ungrateful wizard,\nBoasting of thy former visit,\nBoasting of thy fatal journey!\nOnce in Northland thou wert living,\nIn the homesteads of Pohyola;\nThere thou tried to swim the whirlpool,\nTasted there the dog-tongue waters,\nFloated down the fatal current,\nSank beneath its angry billows;\nThou hast seen Tuoni\u2019s river,\nThou hast measured Mana\u2019s waters,\nThere to-day thou wouldst be sleeping,\nHad it not been for thy mother!\nWhat I tell thee well remember,\nShouldst thou gain Pohyola\u2019s chambers,\nFilled with stakes thou\u2019lt find the court-yard,\nThese to hold the heads of heroes;\nThere thy head will rest forever,\nShouldst thou go to Sariola.\u201d\nSpake the warlike Lemminkainen:\n\u201cFools indeed may heed thy counsel,\nCowards too may give attention;\nThose of seven conquest-summers\nCannot heed such weak advising.\nBring to me my battle-armor,\nBring my magic mail of copper,\nBring me too my father\u2019s broadsword,\nKeep the old man\u2019s blade from rusting;\nLong it has been cold and idle,\nLong has lain in secret places,\nLong and constantly been weeping,\nLong been asking for a bearer.\u201d\n\nThen he took his mail of copper,\nTook his ancient battle-armor,\nTook his father\u2019s sword of magic,\nTried its point against the oak-wood,\nTried its edge upon the sorb-tree;\nIn his hand the blade was bended,\nLike the limber boughs of willow,\nLike the juniper in summer.\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cThere is none in Pohya\u2019s hamlets,\nIn the courts of Sariola,\nThat with me can measure broadswords,\nThat can meet this blade ancestral.\u201d\n\nFrom the nail he took a cross-bow,\nTook the strongest from the rafters,\nSpake these words in meditation:\n\u201cI shall recognize as worthy,\nRecognize that one a hero\nThat can bend this mighty cross-bow,\nThat can break its magic sinews,\nIn the hamlets of Pohyola.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen, filled with courage,\nGirds himself in suit of battle,\nDons his mighty mail of copper,\nTo his servant speaks as follows:\n\u201cTrusty slave, and whom I purchased,\nWhom I bought with gold and silver,\nQuick prepare my fiery charger,\nHarness well my steed of battle;\nI am going to the feasting,\nTo the banquet-fields of Lempo.\u201d\n\nQuick obeys the faithful servant,\nHitches well the noble war-horse,\nQuick prepares the fire-red stallion,\nSpeaks these words when all is ready:\n\u201cI have done what thou hast hidden,\nReady harnessed is the charger,\nWaiting to obey his master.\u201d\n\nComes the hour of the departing\nOf the hero, Lemminkainen,\nRight hand ready, left unwilling,\nAll his anxious fingers pain him,\nTill at last in full obedience,\nAll his members give permission;\nStarts the hero on his journey,\nWhile the mother gives him counsel,\nAt the threshold of the dwelling,\nAt the highway of the court-yard:\n\u201cChild of courage, my beloved,\nSon of strength, my wisdom-hero,\nIf thou goest to the feasting,\nShouldst thou reach the great carousal,\nDrink thou only a half a cupful,\nDrink the goblet to the middle,\nAlways give the half remaining,\nGive the worse half to another,\nTo another more unworthy;\nIn the lower half are serpents,\nWorms, and frogs, and hissing lizards,\nFeeding on the slimy bottom.\u201d\n\nFurthermore she tells her hero,\nGives her son these sage directions,\nOn the border of the court-yard,\nAt the portals farthest distant:\n\u201cIf thou goest to the banquet,\nShouldst thou reach the great carousal,\nOccupy but half the settle,\nTake but half a stride in walking,\nGive the second half to others,\nTo another less deserving;\nOnly thus thou\u2019lt be a hero,\nThus become a son immortal;\nIn the guest-rooms look courageous,\nBravely move about the chambers,\nIn the gatherings of heroes,\nWith the hosts of magic valor.\u201d\n\nThereupon wild Lemminkainen\nQuickly leaped upon the cross-bench\nOf his battle-sledge of wonder,\nRaised his pearl-enamelled birch-rod,\nSnapped his whip above his charger,\nAnd the steed flew onward fleetly,\nGalloped on his distant journey.\n\nHe had travelled little distance,\nWhen a flight of hazel-chickens\nQuick arose before his coming,\nFlew before the foaming racer.\nThere were left some feathers lying,\nFeathers of the hazel-chickens,\nLying in the hero\u2019s pathway.\nThese the reckless Lemminkainen\nGathered for their magic virtues,\nPut them in his pouch of leather,\nDid not know what things might happen\nOn his journey to Pohyola;\nAll things have some little value,\nIn a strait all things are useful.\n\nThen he drove a little distance,\nGalloped farther on the highway,\nWhen his courser neighed in danger,\nAnd the fleet-foot ceased his running.\nThen the stout-heart, Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli,\nRose upon his seat in wonder,\nCraned his neck and looked about him.\nFound it as his mother told him,\nFound a stream of fire opposing;\nRan the fire-stream like a river,\nRan across the hero\u2019s pathway.\nIn the river was a fire-fall,\nIn the cataract a fire-rock,\nOn the rock a fiery hillock,\nOn its summit perched an eagle,\nFrom his throat the fire was streaming\nTo the crater far below him,\nFire out-shooting from his feathers,\nGlowing with a fiery splendor;\nLong he looked upon the hero,\nLong he gazed on Lemminkainen,\nThen the eagle thus addressed him:\n\u201cWhither art thou driving, Ahti,\nWhither going, Lemminkainen?\u201d\nKaukomieli spake in answer:\n\u201cTo the feastings of Pohyola,\nTo the drinking-halls of Louhi,\nTo the banquet of her people;\nMove aside and let me journey,\nMove a little from my pathway,\nLet this wanderer pass by thee,\nI am warlike Lemminkainen.\u201d\n\nThis the answer of the eagle,\nScreaming from his throat of splendor:\n\u201cThough thou art wild Lemminkainen,\nI shall let thee wander onward,\nThrough my fire-throat let thee journey,\nThrough these flames shall be thy passage\nTo the banquet-halls of Louhi,\nTo Pohyola\u2019s great carousal!\u201d\n\nLittle heeding, Kaukomieli\nThinks himself in little trouble,\nThrusts his fingers in his pockets,\nSearches in his pouch of leather,\nQuickly takes the magic feathers,\nFeathers from the hazel-chickens,\nRubs them into finest powder,\nRubs them with his magic fingers,\nWhence a flight of birds arises,\nHazel-chickens from the feathers,\nLarge the bevy of the young birds.\nQuick the wizard, Lemminkainen,\nDrives them to the eagle\u2019s fire-mouth,\nThus to satisfy his hunger,\nThus to quench the fire out-streaming.\nThus escapes the reckless hero,\nThus escapes the first of dangers,\nPasses thus the first destroyer,\nOn his journey to Pohyola.\n\nWith his whip he strikes his courser,\nWith his birch-whip, pearl-enamelled;\nStraightway speeds the fiery charger,\nNoiselessly upon his journey,\nGallops fast and gallops faster,\nTill the flying steed in terror\nNeighs again and ceases running.\nLemminkainen, quickly rising,\nCranes his neck and looks about him,\nSees his mother\u2019s words were truthful,\nSees her augury well-taken.\nLo! before him yawned a fire-gulf,\nStretching crosswise through his pathway;\nFar to east the gulf extending,\nTo the west an endless distance,\nFilled with stones and burning pebbles,\nRunning streams of burning matter.\n\nLittle heeding, Lemminkainen\nCries aloud in prayer to Ukko:\n\u201cUkko, thou O God above me,\nDear Creator, omnipresent,\nFrom the north-west send a storm-cloud,\nFrom the east, dispatch a second,\nFrom the south send forth a third one;\nLet them gather from the south-west,\nSew their edges well together,\nFill thou well the interspaces,\nSend a snow-fall high as heaven,\nLet it fall from upper ether,\nFall upon the flaming fire-pit,\nOn the cataract and whirlpool!\u201d\n\nMighty Ukko, the Creator,\nUkko, father omnipresent,\nDwelling in the courts of heaven,\nSent a storm-cloud from the north-west,\nFrom the east he sent a second,\nFrom the south despatched a third one,\nLet them gather from the south-west,\nSewed their edges well together,\nFilled their many interspaces,\nSent a snow-fall high as heaven,\nFrom the giddy heights of ether,\nSent it seething to the fire-pit,\nOn the streams of burning matter;\nFrom the snow-fall in the fire-pond,\nGrows a lake with rolling billows.\nQuick the hero, Lemminkainen,\nConjures there of ice a passage\nFrom one border to the other,\nThus escapes his second danger,\nThus his second trouble passes.\n\nThen the reckless Lemminkainen\nRaised his pearl-enamelled birch-rod,\nSnapped his whip above his racer,\nAnd the steed flew onward swiftly,\nGalloped on his distant journey\nO\u2019er the highway to Pohyola;\nGalloped fast and galloped faster,\nGalloped on a greater distance,\nWhen the stallion loudly neighing,\nStopped and trembled on the highway.\nThen the lively Lemminkainen\nRaised himself upon the cross-bench,\nLooked to see what else had happened;\nLo! a wolf stands at the portals,\nIn the passage-way a black-bear,\nAt the high-gate of Pohyola,\nAt the ending of the journey.\n\nThereupon young Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli,\nThrusts his fingers in his pockets,\nSeeks his magic pouch of leather,\nPulls therefrom a lock of ewe-wool,\nRubs it firmly in his fingers,\nIn his hands it falls to powder;\nBreathes the breath of life upon it,\nWhen a flock of sheep arises,\nGoats and sheep of sable color;\nOn the flock the black-wolf pounces,\nAnd the wild-bear aids the slaughter,\nWhile the reckless Lemminkainen\nRushes by them on his journey;\nGallops on a little distance,\nTo the court of Sariola,\nFinds the fence of molten iron,\nAnd of steel the rods and pickets,\nIn the earth a hundred fathoms,\nTo the azure sky, a thousand,\nDouble-pointed spears projecting;\nOn each spear were serpents twisted,\nAdders coiled in countless numbers,\nLizards mingled with the serpents,\nTails entangled pointing earthward,\nWhile their heads were skyward whirling,\nWrithing, hissing mass of evil.\n\nThen the stout-heart, Kaukomieli,\nDeeply thought and long considered:\n\u201cIt is as my mother told me,\nThis the wall that she predicted,\nStretching from the earth to heaven;\nDownward deep are serpents creeping,\nDeeper still the rails extending;\nHigh as highest flight of eagles,\nHigher still the wall shoots upward.\u201d\n\nBut the hero, Lemminkainen,\nLittle cares, nor feels disheartened,\nDraws his broadsword from its scabbard,\nDraws his mighty blade ancestral,\nHews the wall with might of magic,\nBreaks the palisade in pieces,\nHews to atoms seven pickets,\nChops the serpent-wall to fragments;\nThrough the breach he quickly passes\nTo the portals of Pohyola.\n\nIn the way, a serpent lying,\nLying crosswise in the entry,\nLonger than the longest rafters,\nLarger than the posts of oak-wood;\nHundred-eyed, the heinous serpent,\nAnd a thousand tongues, the monster,\nEyes as large as sifting vessels,\nTongues as long as shafts of javelins,\nTeeth as large as hatchet-handles,\nBack as broad as skiffs of ocean.\nLemminkainen does not venture\nStraightway through this host opposing,\nThrough the hundred heads of adders,\nThrough the thousand tongues of serpents.\nSpake the magic Lemminkainen:\n\u201cVenomed viper, thing of evil,\nAncient adder of Tuoni,\nThou that crawlest in the stubble,\nThrough the flower-roots of Lempo,\nWho has sent thee from thy kingdom,\nSent thee from thine evil coverts,\nSent thee hither, crawling, writhing,\nIn the pathway I would travel?\nWho bestowed thy mouth of venom,\nWho insisted, who commanded,\nThou shouldst raise thy head toward heaven,\nWho thy tail has given action?\nWas this given by the father,\nDid the mother give this power,\nOr the eldest of the brothers,\nOr the youngest of the sisters,\nOr some other of thy kindred?\n\n\u201cClose thy mouth, thou thing of evil,\nHide thy pliant tongue of venom,\nIn a circle wrap thy body,\nCoil thou like a shield in silence,\nGive to me one-half the pathway,\nLet this wanderer pass by thee,\nOr remove thyself entirely;\nGet thee hence to yonder heather,\nQuick retreat to bog and stubble,\nHide thyself in reeds and rushes,\nIn the brambles of the lowlands.\nLike a ball of flax enfolding,\nLike a sphere of aspen-branches,\nWith thy head and tail together,\nRoll thyself to yonder mountain;\nIn the heather is thy dwelling,\nUnderneath the sod thy caverns.\nShouldst thou raise thy head in anger,\nMighty Ukko will destroy it,\nPierce it with his steel-tipped arrows,\nWith his death-balls made of iron!\u201d\n\nHardly had the hero ended,\nWhen the monster, little heeding,\nHissing with his tongue in anger,\nPlying like the forked lightning,\nPounces with his mouth of venom\nAt the head of Lemminkainen;\nBut the hero, quick recalling,\nSpeaks the master-words of knowledge,\nWords that came from distant ages,\nWords his ancestors had taught him,\nWords his mother learned in childhood,\nThese the words of Lemminkainen:\n\u201cSince thou wilt not heed mine order,\nSince thou wilt not leave the highway,\nPuffed with pride of thine own greatness,\nThou shall burst in triple pieces.\nLeave thy station for the borders,\nI will hunt thine ancient mother,\nSing thine origin of evil,\nHow arose thy head of horror;\nSuoyatar, thine ancient mother,\nThing of evil, thy creator!\n\n\u201cSuoyatar once let her spittle\nFall upon the waves of ocean;\nThis was rocked by winds and waters,\nShaken by the ocean-currents,\nSix years rocked upon the billows,\nRocked in water seven summers,\nOn the blue-back of the ocean,\nOn the billows high as heaven;\nLengthwise did the billows draw it,\nAnd the sunshine gave it softness,\nTo the shore the billows washed it,\nOn the coast the waters left it.\n\n\u201cThen appeared Creation\u2019s daughters,\nThree the daughters thus appearing,\nOn the roaring shore of ocean,\nThere beheld the spittle lying,\nAnd the daughters spake as follows:\n\u2018What would happen from this spittle,\nShould the breath of the Creator\nFall upon the writhing matter,\nBreathe the breath of life upon it,\nGive the thing the sense of vision?\u2019\n\n\u201cThe Creator heard these measures,\nSpake himself the words that follow:\n\u2018Evil only comes from evil,\nThis is the expectoration\nOf fell Suoyatar, its mother;\nTherefore would the thing be evil,\nShould I breathe a soul within it,\nShould I give it sense of vision.\u2019\n\n\u201cHisi heard this conversation,\nEver ready with his mischief,\nMade himself to be creator,\nBreathed a soul into the spittle,\nTo fell Suoyatar\u2019s fierce anger.\nThus arose the poison-monster,\nThus was born the evil serpent,\nThis the origin of evil.\n\n\u201cWhence the life that gave her action?\nFrom the carbon-pile of Hisi.\nWhence then was her heart created?\nFrom the heart-throbs of her mother.\nWhence arose her brain of evil?\nFrom the foam of rolling waters.\nWhence was consciousness awakened?\nFrom the waterfall\u2019s commotion.\nWhence arose her head of venom?\nFrom the seed-germs of the ivy.\nWhence then came her eyes of fury?\nFrom the flaxen seeds of Lempo.\nWhence the evil ears for hearing?\nFrom the foliage of Hisi.\nWhence then was her mouth created?\nThis from Suoyatar\u2019s foam-currents.\nWhence arose thy tongue of anger?\nFrom the spear of Keitolainen.\nWhence arose thy fangs of poison?\nFrom the teeth of Mana\u2019s daughter.\nWhence then was thy back created?\nFrom the carbon-posts of Piru.\nHow then was thy tail created?\nFrom the brain of the hobgoblin.\nWhence arose thy writhing entrails?\nFrom the death-belt of Tuoni.\n\n\u201cThis thine origin, O Serpent,\nThis thy charm of evil import,\nVilest thing of God\u2019s creation,\nWrithing, hissing thing of evil,\nWith the color of Tuoni,\nWith the shade of earth and heaven,\nWith the darkness of the storm-cloud.\nGet thee hence, thou loathsome monster,\nClear the pathway of this hero.\nI am mighty Lemminkainen,\nOn my journey to Pohyola,\nTo the feastings and carousals,\nIn the halls of darksome Northland.\u201d\n\nThereupon the snake uncoiling,\nHundred-eyed and heinous monster,\nCrawled away to other portals,\nThat the hero, Kaukomieli,\nMight proceed upon his errand,\nTo the dismal Sariola,\nTo the feastings and carousals\nIn the banquet-halls of Pohya.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXVII.\nTHE UNWELCOME GUEST.\n\n\nI have brought young Kaukomieli,\nBrought the Islander and hero,\nAlso known as Lemminkainen,\nThrough the jaws of death and ruin,\nThrough the darkling deeps of Kalma,\nTo the homesteads of Pohyola,\nTo the dismal courts of Louhi;\nNow must I relate his doings,\nMust relate to all my hearers,\nHow the merry Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli,\nWandered through Pohyola\u2019s chambers,\nThrough the halls of Sariola,\nHow the hero went unbidden\nTo the feasting and carousal,\nUninvited to the banquet.\n\nLemminkainen full of courage,\nFull of life, and strength, and magic,\nStepped across the ancient threshold,\nTo the centre of the court-room,\nAnd the floors of linwood trembled,\nWalls and ceilings creaked and murmured.\n\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen,\nThese the words that Ahti uttered:\n\u201cBe ye greeted on my coming,\nYe that greet, be likewise greeted!\nListen, all ye hosts of Pohya;\nIs there food about this homestead,\nBarley for my hungry courser,\nBeer to give a thirsty stranger?\u201d\n\nSat the host of Sariola\nAt the east end of the table,\nGave this answer to the questions:\n\u201cSurely is there in this homestead,\nFor thy steed an open stable,\nNever will this host refuse thee,\nShouldst thou act a part becoming,\nWorthy, coming to these portals,\nWaiting near the birchen rafters,\nIn the spaces by the kettles,\nBy the triple hooks of iron.\u201d\n\nThen the reckless Lemminkainen\nShook his sable locks and answered:\n\u201cLempo may perchance come hither,\nLet him fill this lowly station,\nLet him stand between the kettles,\nThat with soot he may be blackened.\nNever has my ancient father,\nNever has the dear old hero,\nStood upon a spot unworthy,\nAt the portals near the rafters;\nFor his steed the best of stables,\nFood and shelter gladly furnished,\nAnd a room for his attendants,\nCorners furnished for his mittens,\nHooks provided for his snow-shoes,\nHalls in waiting for his helmet.\nWherefore then should I not find here\nWhat my father found before me?\u201d\n\nTo the centre walked the hero,\nWalked around the dining table,\nSat upon a bench and waited,\nOn a bench of polished fir-wood,\nAnd the kettle creaked beneath him.\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cAs a guest am I unwelcome,\nSince the waiters bring no viands,\nBring no dishes to the stranger?\u201d\n\nIlpotar, the Northland hostess,\nThen addressed the words that follow:\n\u201cLemminkainen, thou art evil,\nThou art here, but not invited,\nThou hast not the look of kindness,\nThou wilt give me throbbing temples,\nThou art bringing pain and sorrow.\nAll our beer is in the barley,\nAll the malt is in the kernel,\nAll our grain is still ungarnered,\nAnd our dinner has been eaten;\nYesterday thou shouldst have been here,\nCome again some future season.\u201d\n\nWhereupon wild Lemminkainen\nPulled his mouth awry in anger,\nShook his coal-black locks and answered:\n\u201cAll the tables here are empty,\nAnd the feasting-time is over;\nAll the beer has left the goblets,\nEmpty too are all the pitchers,\nEmpty are the larger vessels.\nO thou hostess of Pohyola,\nToothless dame of dismal Northland,\nBadly managed is thy wedding,\nAnd thy feast is ill-conducted,\nLike the dogs hast thou invited;\nThou hast baked the honey-biscuit,\nWheaten loaves of greatest virtue,\nBrewed thy beer from hops and barley,\nSent abroad thine invitations,\nSix the hamlets thou hast honored,\nNine the villages invited\nBy thy merry wedding-callers.\nThou hast asked the poor and lowly,\nAsked the hosts of common people,\nAsked the blind, and deaf, and crippled,\nAsked a multitude of beggars,\nToilers by the day, and hirelings;\nAsked the men of evil habits,\nAsked the maids with braided tresses,\nI alone was not invited.\nHow could such a slight be given,\nSince I sent thee kegs of barley?\nOthers sent thee grain in cupfuls,\nBrought it sparingly in dippers,\nWhile I sent thee fullest measure,\nSent the half of all my garners,\nOf the richest of my harvest,\nOf the grain that I had gathered.\nEven now young Lemminkainen,\nThough a guest of name and station,\nHas no beer, no food, no welcome,\nNaught for him art thou preparing,\nNothing cooking in thy kettles,\nNothing brewing in thy cellars\nFor the hero of the Islands,\nAt the closing of his journey.\u201d\n\nIlpotar, the ancient hostess,\nGave this order to her servants:\n\u201cCome, my pretty maiden-waiter,\nServant-girl to me belonging,\nLay some salmon to the broiling,\nBring some beer to give the stranger!\u201d\n\nSmall of stature was the maiden,\nWasher of the banquet-platters,\nRinser of the dinner-ladles,\nPolisher of spoons of silver,\nAnd she laid some food in kettles,\nOnly bones and heads of whiting,\nTurnip-stalks and withered cabbage,\nCrusts of bread and bits of biscuit.\nThen she brought some beer in pitchers,\nBrought of common drink the vilest,\nThat the stranger, Lemminkainen,\nMight have drink, and meat in welcome,\nThus to still his thirst and hunger.\nThen the maiden spake as follows:\n\u201cThou art sure a mighty hero,\nHere to drink the beer of Pohya,\nHere to empty all our vessels!\u201d\n\nThen the minstrel, Lemminkainen,\nClosely handled all the pitchers,\nLooking to the very bottoms;\nThere beheld he writhing serpents,\nIn the centre adders swimming,\nOn the borders worms and lizards.\nThen the hero, Lemminkainen,\nFilled with anger, spake as follows:\n\u201cGet ye hence, ye things of evil,\nGet ye hence to Tuonela,\nWith the bearer of these pitchers,\nWith the maid that brought ye hither,\nEre the evening moon has risen,\nEre the day-star seeks the ocean!\nO thou wretched beer of barley,\nThou hast met with great dishonor,\nInto disrepute hast fallen,\nBut I\u2019ll drink thee, notwithstanding,\nAnd the rubbish cast far from me.\u201d\n\nThen the hero to his pockets\nThrust his first and unnamed finger,\nSearching in his pouch of leather;\nQuick withdraws a hook for fishing,\nDrops it to the pitcher\u2019s bottom,\nThrough the worthless beer of barley;\nOn his fish-book hang the serpents,\nCatches many hissing adders,\nCatches frogs in magic numbers,\nCatches blackened worms in thousands,\nCasts them to the floor before him,\nQuickly draws his heavy broad sword,\nAnd decapitates the serpents.\n\nNow he drinks the beer remaining,\nWhen the wizard speaks as follows:\n\u201cAs a guest am I unwelcome,\nSince no beer to me is given\nThat is worthy of a hero;\nNeither has a ram been butchered,\nNor a fattened calf been slaughtered,\nWorthy food for Lemminkainen.\u201d\n\nThen the landlord of Pohyola\nAnswered thus the Island-minstrel:\n\u201cWherefore hast thou journeyed hither,\nWho has asked thee for thy presence?\u201d\nSpake in answer Lemminkainen:\n\u201cHappy is the guest invited,\nHappier when not expected;\nListen, son of Pohylander,\nHost of Sariola, listen:\nGive me beer for ready payment,\nGive me worthy drink for money!\u201d\n\nThen the landlord of Pohyola,\nIn bad humor, full of anger,\nConjured in the earth a lakelet,\nAt the feet of Kaukomieli,\nThus addressed the Island-hero:\n\u201cQuench thy thirst from yonder lakelet,\nThere, the beer that thou deservest!\u201d\n\nLittle heeding, Lemminkainen\nTo this insolence made answer:\n\u201cI am neither bear nor roebuck,\nThat should drink this filthy water,\nDrink the water of this lakelet.\u201d\n\nAhti then began to conjure,\nConjured he a bull before him,\nBull with horns of gold and silver,\nAnd the bull drank from the lakelet,\nDrank he from the pool in pleasure.\nThen the landlord of Pohyola\nThere a savage wolf created,\nSet him on the floor before him\nTo destroy the bull of magic.\nLemminkainen, full of courage,\nConjured up a snow-white rabbit,\nSet him on the floor before him\nTo attract the wolf\u2019s attention.\nThen the landlord of Pohyola\nConjured there a dog of Lempo,\nSet him on the floor before him\nTo destroy the magic rabbit.\nLemminkainen, full of mischief,\nConjured on the roof a squirrel,\nThat by jumping on the rafters\nHe might catch the dog\u2019s attention.\nBut the master of the Northland\nConjured there a golden marten,\nAnd he drove the magic squirrel\nFrom his seat upon the rafters.\nLemminkainen, full of mischief,\nMade a fox of scarlet color,\nAnd it ate the golden marten.\nThen the master of Pohyola\nConjured there a hen to flutter\nNear the fox of scarlet color.\nLemminkainen, full of mischief,\nThereupon a hawk created,\nThat with beak and crooked talons\nHe might tear the hen to pieces.\n\nSpake the landlord of Pohyola,\nThese the words the tall man uttered:\n\u201cNever will this feast be bettered\nTill the guests are less in number;\nI must do my work as landlord,\nGet thee hence, thou evil stranger,\nCease thy conjurings of evil,\nLeave this banquet of my people,\nHaste away, thou wicked wizard,\nTo thine Island-home and people!\u201d\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cThus no hero will be driven,\nNot a son of any courage\nWill be frightened by thy presence,\nWill be driven from thy banquet.\u201d\n\nThen the landlord of Pohyola\nSnatched his broadsword from the rafters,\nDrew it rashly from the scabbard,\nThus addressing Lemminkainen:\n\u201cAhti, Islander of evil,\nThou the handsome Kaukomieli,\nLet us measure then our broadswords,\nLet our skill be fully tested;\nSurely is my broadsword better\nThan the blade within thy scabbard.\u201d\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cThat my blade is good and trusty,\nHas been proved on heads of heroes,\nHas on many bones been tested;\nBe that as it may, my fellow,\nSince thine order is commanding,\nLet our swords be fully tested,\nLet us see whose blade is better.\nLong ago my hero-father\nTested well this sword in battle,\nNever failing in a conflict.\nShould his son be found less worthy?\u201d\n\nThen he grasped his mighty broadsword,\nDrew the fire-blade from the scabbard\nHanging from his belt of copper.\nStanding on their hilts their broadswords,\nCarefully their blades were measured,\nFound the sword of Northland\u2019s master\nLonger than the sword of Ahti\nBy the half-link of a finger.\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen.\n\u201cSince thou hast the longer broadsword,\nThou shalt make the first advances,\nI am ready for thy weapon.\u201d\n\nThereupon Pohyola\u2019s landlord\nWith the wondrous strength of anger,\nTried in vain to slay the hero,\nStrike the crown of Lemminkainen;\nChipped the splinters from the rafters,\nCut the ceiling into fragments,\nCould not touch the Island-hero.\n\nThereupon brave Kaukomieli,\nThus addressed Pohyola\u2019s master:\n\u201cHave the rafters thee offended?\nWhat the crimes they have committed,\nSince thou hewest them in pieces?\nListen now, thou host of Northland,\nReckless landlord of Pohyola,\nLittle room there is for swordsmen\nIn these chambers filled with women;\nWe shall stain these painted rafters,\nStain with blood these floors and ceilings;\nLet us go without the mansion,\nIn the field is room for combat,\nOn the plain is space sufficient;\nBlood looks fairer in the court-yard,\nBetter in the open spaces,\nLet it dye the snow-fields scarlet.\u201d\n\nTo the yard the heroes hasten,\nThere they find a monstrous ox-skin,\nSpread it on the field of battle;\nOn the ox-skin stand the swordsmen.\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cListen well, thou host of Northland,\nThough thy broadsword is the longer,\nThough thy blade is full of horror,\nThou shalt have the first advantage;\nUse with skill thy boasted broadsword\nEre the final bout is given,\nEre thy head be chopped in pieces;\nStrike with skill, or thou wilt perish,\nStrike, and do thy best for Northland.\u201d\n\nThereupon Pohyola\u2019s landlord\nRaised on high his blade of battle,\nStruck a heavy blow in anger,\nStruck a second, then a third time,\nBut he could not touch his rival,\nCould not draw a single blood-drop\nFrom the veins of Lemminkainen,\nSkillful Islander and hero.\nSpake the handsome Kaukomieli:\n\u201cLet me try my skill at fencing,\nLet me swing my father\u2019s broadsword,\nLet my honored blade be tested!\u201d\nBut the landlord of Pohyola,\nDoes not heed the words of Ahti,\nStrikes in fury, strikes unceasing,\nEver aiming, ever missing.\nWhen the skillful Lemminkainen\nSwings his mighty blade of magic,\nFire disports along his weapon,\nFlashes from his sword of honor,\nGlistens from the hero\u2019s broadsword,\nBalls of fire disporting, dancing,\nOn the blade of mighty Ahti,\nOverflow upon the shoulders\nOf the landlord of Pohyola.\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cO thou son of Sariola,\nSee! indeed thy neck is glowing\nLike the dawning of the morning,\nLike the rising Sun in ocean!\u201d\n\nQuickly turned Pohyola\u2019s landlord,\nThoughtless host of darksome Northland,\nTo behold the fiery splendor\nPlaying on his neck and shoulders.\nQuick as lightning, Lemminkainen,\nWith his father\u2019s blade of battle,\nWith a single blow of broadsword,\nWith united skill and power,\nLopped the head of Pohya\u2019s master;\nAs one cleaves the stalks of turnips,\nAs the ear falls from the corn-stalk,\nAs one strikes the fins from salmon,\nThus the head rolled from the shoulders\nOf the landlord of Pohyola,\nLike a ball it rolled and circled.\n\nIn the yard were pickets standing,\nHundreds were the sharpened pillars,\nAnd a head on every picket,\nOnly one was left un-headed.\nQuick the victor, Lemminkainen,\nTook the head of Pohya\u2019s landlord,\nSpiked it on the empty picket.\n\nThen the Islander, rejoicing,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli,\nQuick returning to the chambers,\nGave this order to the hostess:\n\u201cEvil maiden, bring me water,\nWherewithal to cleanse my fingers\nFrom the blood of Northland\u2019s master,\nWicked host of Sariola.\u201d\n\nIlpotar, the Northland hostess,\nFired with anger, threatened vengeance,\nConjured men with heavy broadswords,\nHeroes clad in copper-armor,\nHundred warriors with their javelins,\nAnd a thousand bearing cross-bows,\nTo destroy the Island-hero,\nFor the death of Lemminkainen.\nKaukomieli soon discovered\nThat the time had come for leaving,\nThat his presence was unwelcome\nAt the feasting of Pohyola,\nAt the banquet of her people.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXVIII.\nTHE MOTHER\u2019S COUNSEL.\n\n\nAhti, hero of the Islands,\nWild magician, Lemminkainen,\nAlso known as Kaukomieli,\nHastened from the great carousal,\nFrom the banquet-halls of Louhi,\nFrom the ever-darksome Northland,\nFrom the dismal Sariola.\nStormful strode he from the mansion,\nHastened like the smoke of battle,\nFrom the court-yard of Pohyola,\nLeft his crimes and misdemeanors\nIn the halls of ancient Louhi.\nThen he looked in all directions,\nSeeking for his tethered courser,\nAnxious looked in field and stable,\nBut he did not find his racer;\nFound a black thing in the fallow,\nProved to be a clump of willows.\nWho will well advise the hero,\nWho will give him wise directions,\nGuide the wizard out of trouble,\nGive his hero-locks protection,\nKeep his magic head from danger\nFrom the warriors of Northland?\n\nNoise is heard within the village,\nAnd a din from other homesteads,\nFrom the battle-hosts of Louhi,\nStreaming from the doors and window,\nOf the homesteads of Pohyola.\n\nThereupon young Lemminkainen,\nHandsome Islander and hero,\nChanging both his form and features,\nClad himself in other raiment,\nChanging to another body,\nQuick became a mighty eagle,\nSoared aloft on wings of magic,\nTried to fly to highest heaven,\nBut the moonlight burned his temples,\nAnd the sunshine singed his feathers.\n\nThen entreating, Lemminkainen,\nIsland-hero, turned to Ukko,\nThis the prayer that Ahti uttered:\n\u201cUkko, God of love and mercy,\nThou the Wisdom of the heavens,\nWise Director of the lightning,\nThou the Author of the thunder,\nThou the Guide of all the cloudlets,\nGive to me thy cloak of vapor,\nThrow a silver cloud around me,\nThat I may in its protection\nHasten to my native country,\nTo my mother\u2019s Island-dwelling,\nFly to her that waits my coming,\nWith a mother\u2019s grave forebodings.\u201d\n\nFarther, farther, Lemminkainen\nFlew and soared on eagle-pinions,\nLooked about him, backwards, forwards,\nSpied a gray-hawk soaring near him,\nIn his eyes the fire of splendor,\nLike the eyes of Pohyalanders,\nLike the eyes of Pohya\u2019s spearmen,\nAnd the gray-hawk thus addressed him:\n\u201cHo! there! hero, Lemminkainen,\nArt thou thinking of our combat\nWith the hero-heads of Northland?\u201d\n\nThus the Islander made answer,\nThese the words of Kaukomieli:\n\u201cO thou gray-hawk, bird of beauty,\nFly direct to Sariola,\nFly as fast as wings can bear thee;\nWhen thou hast arrived in safety,\nOn the plains of darksome Northland,\nTell the archers and the spearmen,\nThey will never catch the eagle,\nIn his journey from Pohyola,\nTo his Island-home and fortress.\u201d\n\nThen the Ahti-eagle hastened\nStraightway to his mother\u2019s cottage,\nIn his face the look of trouble,\nIn his heart the pangs of sorrow.\nAhti\u2019s mother ran to meet him,\nWhen she spied him in the pathway,\nWalking toward her island-dwelling;\nThese the words the mother uttered:\n\u201cOf my sons thou art the bravest,\nArt the strongest of my children;\nWherefore then comes thine annoyance,\nOn returning from Pohyola?\nWert thou worsted at the banquet,\nAt the feast and great carousal?\nAt thy cups, if thou wert injured,\nThou shalt here have better treatment,\nThou shalt have the cup thy father\nBrought me from the hero-castle.\u201d\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cWorthy mother, thou that nursed me,\nIf I had been maimed at drinking,\nI the landlord would have worsted,\nWould have slain a thousand heroes,\nWould have taught them useful lessons.\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answered:\n\u201cWherefore then art thou indignant,\nDidst thou meet disgrace and insult,\nDid they rob thee of thy courser?\nBuy thou then a better courser\nWith the riches of thy mother,\nWith thy father\u2019s horded treasures.\u201d\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cFaithful mother of my being,\nIf my steed had been insulted,\nIf for him my heart was injured,\nI the landlord would have punished,\nWould have punished all the horsemen,\nAll of Pohya\u2019s strongest riders.\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answered:\n\u201cTell me then thy dire misfortune,\nWhat has happened to my hero,\nOn his journey to Pohyola?\nHave the Northland maidens scorned thee,\nHave the women ridiculed thee?\nIf the maidens scorned thy presence,\nIf the women gave derision,\nThere are others thou canst laugh at,\nThou canst scorn a thousand women.\u201d\nSaid the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cHonored mother, fond and faithful,\nIf the Northland dames had scorned me\nOr the maidens laughed derision,\nI the maidens would have punished,\nWould have scorned a thousand women.\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answered:\n\u201cWherefore then are thou indignant,\nThus annoyed, and heavy-hearted,\nOn returning from Pohyola?\nWas thy feasting out of season,\nWas the banquet-beer unworthy,\nWere thy dreams of evil import\nWhen asleep in darksome Northland?\u201d\nThis is Lemminkainen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cAged women may remember\nWhat they dream on beds of trouble;\nI have seen some wondrous visions,\nSince I left my Island-cottage.\nMy beloved, helpful mother,\nFill my bag with good provisions,\nFlour and salt in great abundance,\nFarther must thy hero wander,\nHe must leave his home behind him,\nLeave his pleasant Island-dwelling,\nJourney from this home of ages;\nMen are sharpening their broadswords,\nSharpening their spears and lances,\nFor the death of Lemminkainen.\u201d\n\nThen again the mother questioned,\nHurriedly she asked the reason:\n\u201cWhy the men their swords were whetting,\nWhy their spears are being sharpened.\u201d\n\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli:\n\u201cTherefore do they whet their broadswords,\nTherefore sharpen they their lances:\nIt is for thy son\u2019s destruction,\nAt his heart are aimed their lances.\nIn the court-yard of Pohyola,\nThere arose a great contention,\nFierce the battle waged against me;\nBut I slew the Northland hero,\nKilled the host of Sariola;\nQuick to arms rose Louhi\u2019s people,\nAll the spears and swords of Northland\nWere directed at thy hero;\nAll of Pohya turned against me,\nTurned against a single foeman.\u201d\nThis the answer of the mother:\n\u201cI had told thee this beforehand,\nI had warned thee of this danger,\nAnd forbidden thee to journey\nTo the hostile fields of Northland.\nHere my hero could have lingered,\nPassed his life in full contentment,\nLived forever with his mother,\nWith his mother for protection,\nIn the court-yard with his kindred;\nHere no war would have arisen,\nNo contention would have followed.\nWhither wilt thou go, my hero,\nWhither will my loved one hasten,\nTo escape thy fierce pursuers,\nTo escape from thy misdoings,\nFrom thy sins to hide in safety,\nFrom thy crimes and misdemeanors,\nThat thy head be not endangered,\nThat thy body be not mangled,\nThat thy locks be not outrooted?\u201d\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cKnow I not a spot befitting,\nDo not know a place of safety,\nWhere to hide from my pursuers,\nThat will give me sure protection\nFrom the crimes by me committed.\nHelpful mother of my being,\nWhere to flee wilt thou advise me?\u201d\nThis the answer of the mother:\n\u201cI do not know where I can send thee;\nBe a pine-tree on the mountain,\nOr a juniper in lowlands?\nThen misfortune may befall thee;\nOften is the mountain pine-tree\nCut in splints for candle-lighters;\nAnd the juniper is often\nPeeled for fence-posts for the pastures.\nGo a birch-tree to the valleys,\nOr an elm-tree to the glenwood?\nEven then may trouble find thee,\nMisery may overtake thee;\nOften is the lowland birch-tree\nCut to pieces in the ware-house;\nOften is the elm-wood forest\nCleared away for other plantings.\nBe a berry on the highlands,\nCranberry upon the heather,\nStrawberry upon the mountains,\nBlackberry along the fences?\nEven there will trouble find thee,\nThere misfortune overtake thee,\nFor the berry-maids would pluck thee,\nSilver-tinselled girls would get thee.\nBe a pike then in the ocean,\nOr a troutlet in the rivers?\nThen would trouble overtake thee,\nWould become thy life-companion;\nThen the fisherman would catch thee,\nCatch thee in his net of flax-thread,\nCatch thee with his cruel fish-hook.\nBe a wolf then in the forest,\nOr a black-bear in the thickets?\nEven then would trouble find thee,\nAnd disaster cross thy pathway;\nSable hunters of the Northland\nHave their spears and cross-bows ready\nTo destroy the wolf and black-bear.\u201d\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cKnow I well the worst of places,\nKnow where Death will surely follow,\nWhere misfortune\u2019s eye would find me;\nSince thou gavest me existence,\nGavest nourishment in childhood,\nWhither shall I flee for safety,\nWhither hide from death and danger?\nIn my view is fell destruction,\nDire misfortune hovers o\u2019er me;\nOn the morrow come the spearmen,\nCountless warriors from Pohya,\nAhti\u2019s head their satisfaction.\u201d\nThis the answer of the mother:\n\u201cI can name a goodly refuge,\nName a land of small dimensions,\nName a distant ocean-island,\nWhere my son may live in safety.\nThither archers never wander,\nThere thy head cannot be severed;\nBut an oath as strong as heaven,\nThou must swear before thy mother;\nThou wilt not for sixty summers\nJoin in war or deadly combat,\nEven though thou wishest silver,\nWishest gold and silver treasures.\u201d\nSpake the grateful Lemminkainen:\n\u201cI will swear an oath of honor,\nThat I\u2019ll not in sixty summers\nDraw my sword in the arena,\nTest the warrior in battle;\nI have wounds upon my shoulders,\nOn my breast two scars of broadsword,\nOf my former battles, relics,\nRelics of my last encounters,\nOn the battle-fields of Northland,\nIn the wars with men and heroes.\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answered:\n\u201cGo thou, take thy father\u2019s vessel,\nGo and hide thyself in safety,\nTravel far across nine oceans;\nIn the tenth, sail to the centre,\nTo the island, forest-covered,\nTo the cliffs above the waters,\nWhere thy father went before thee,\nWhere he hid from his pursuers,\nIn the times of summer conquests,\nIn the darksome days of battle;\nGood the isle for thee to dwell in,\nGoodly place to live and linger;\nHide one year, and then a second,\nIn the third return in safety\nTo thy mother\u2019s island dwelling,\nTo thy father\u2019s ancient mansion,\nTo my hero\u2019s place of resting.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXIX.\nTHE ISLE OF REFUGE.\n\n\nLemminkainen, full of joyance,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli,\nTook provisions in abundance,\nFish and butter, bread and bacon,\nHastened to the Isle of Refuge,\nSailed away across the oceans,\nSpake these measures on departing:\n\u201cFare thee well, mine Island-dwelling,\nI must sail to other borders,\nTo an island more protective,\nTill the second summer passes;\nLet the serpents keep the island,\nLynxes rest within the glen-wood,\nLet the blue-moose roam the mountains,\nLet the wild-geese eat the barley.\nFare thee well, my helpful mother!\nWhen the warriors of the Northland,\nFrom the dismal Sariola,\nCome with swords, and spears, and cross-bows,\nAsking for my head in vengeance,\nSay that I have long departed,\nLeft my mother\u2019s Island-dwelling,\nWhen the barley had been garnered.\u201d\n\nThen he launched his boat of copper,\nThrew the vessel to the waters,\nFrom the iron-banded rollers,\nFrom the cylinders of oak-wood,\nOn the masts the sails he hoisted,\nSpread the magic sails of linen,\nIn the stern the hero settled\nAnd prepared to sail his vessel,\nOne hand resting on the rudder.\n\nThen the sailor spake as follows,\nThese the words of Lemminkainen:\n\u201cBlow, ye winds, and drive me onward,\nBlow ye steady, winds of heaven,\nToward the island in the ocean,\nThat my bark may fly in safety\nTo my father\u2019s place of refuge,\nTo the far and nameless island!\u201d\n\nSoon the winds arose as bidden,\nRocked the vessel o\u2019er the billows,\nO\u2019er the blue-back of the waters,\nO\u2019er the vast expanse of ocean;\nBlew two months and blew unceasing,\nBlew a third month toward the island,\nToward his father\u2019s Isle of Refuge.\n\nSat some maidens on the seaside,\nOn the sandy beach of ocean,\nTurned about in all directions,\nLooking out upon the billows;\nOne was waiting for her brother,\nAnd a second for her father,\nAnd a third one, anxious, waited\nFor the coming of her suitor;\nThere they spied young Lemminkainen,\nThere perceived the hero\u2019s vessel\nSailing o\u2019er the bounding billows;\nIt was like a hanging cloudlet,\nHanging twixt the earth and heaven.\n\nThus the island-maidens wondered,\nThus they spake to one another:\n\u201cWhat this stranger on the ocean,\nWhat is this upon the waters?\nArt thou one of our sea-vessels?\nWert thou builded on this island?\nSail thou straightway to the harbor,\nTo the island-point of landing\nThat thy tribe may be discovered.\u201d\n\nOnward did the waves propel it,\nRocked his vessel o\u2019er the billows,\nDrove it to the magic island,\nSafely landed Lemminkainen\nOn the sandy shore and harbor.\n\nSpake he thus when he had landed,\nThese the words that Ahti uttered:\n\u201cIs there room upon this island,\nIs there space within this harbor,\nWhere my bark may lie at anchor,\nWhere the sun may dry my vessel?\u201d\n\nThis the answer of the virgins,\nDwellers on the Isle of Refuge:\n\u201cThere is room within this harbor,\nOn this island, space abundant,\nWhere thy bark may lie at anchor,\nWhere the sun may dry thy vessel;\nLying ready are the rollers,\nCylinders adorned with copper;\nIf thou hadst a hundred vessels,\nShouldst thou come with boats a thousand,\nWe would give them room in welcome.\u201d\n\nThereupon wild Lemminkainen\nRolled his vessel in the harbor,\nOn the cylinders of copper,\nSpake these words when he had ended:\n\u201cIs there room upon this island,\nOr a spot within these forests,\nWhere a hero may be hidden\nFrom the coming din of battle,\nFrom the play of spears and arrows?\u201d\nThus replied the Island-maidens:\n\u201cThere are places on this island,\nOn these plains a spot befitting,\nWhere to hide thyself in safety,\nHero-son of little valor.\nHere are many, many castles,\nMany courts upon this island;\nThough there come a thousand heroes,\nThough a thousand spearmen follow,\nThou canst hide thyself in safety.\u201d\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cIs there room upon this island,\nWhere the birch-tree grows abundant,\nWhere this son may fell the forest,\nAnd may cultivate the fallow?\u201d\nAnswered thus the Island-maidens:\n\u201cThere is not a spot befitting,\nNot a place upon the island,\nWhere to rest thy wearied members,\nNot the smallest patch of birch-wood,\nThou canst bring to cultivation.\nAll our fields have been divided,\nAll these woods have been apportioned,\nFields and forests have their owners.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen asked this question,\nThese the words of Kaukomieli:\n\u201cIs there room upon this island,\nWorthy spot in field or forest,\nWhere to sing my songs of magic,\nChant my gathered store of wisdom,\nSing mine ancient songs and legends?\u201d\nAnswered thus the Island-maidens:\n\u201cThere is room upon this island,\nWorthy place in these dominions,\nThou canst sing thy garnered wisdom,\nThou canst chant thine ancient legends,\nLegends of the times primeval,\nIn the forest, in the castle,\nOn the island-plains and pastures.\u201d\n\nThen began the reckless minstrel\nTo intone his wizard-sayings;\nSang he alders to the waysides,\nSang the oaks upon the mountains,\nOn the oak-trees sang he branches,\nOn each branch he sang an acorn,\nOn the acorns, golden rollers,\nOn each roller, sang a cuckoo;\nThen began the cuckoos, calling,\nGold from every throat came streaming,\nCopper fell from every feather,\nAnd each wing emitted silver,\nFilled the isle with precious metals.\nSang again young Lemminkainen,\nConjured on, and sang, and chanted,\nSang to precious stones the sea-sands,\nSang the stones to pearls resplendent,\nRobed the groves in iridescence,\nSang the island full of flowers,\nMany-colored as the rainbow.\nSang again the magic minstrel,\nIn the court a well he conjured,\nOn the well a golden cover,\nOn the lid a silver dipper,\nThat the boys might drink the water,\nThat the maids might lave their eyelids.\nOn the plains he conjured lakelets,\nSang the duck upon the waters,\nGolden-cheeked and silver-headed,\nSang the feet from shining copper;\nAnd the Island-maidens wondered,\nStood entranced at Ahti\u2019s wisdom,\nAt the songs of Lemminkainen,\nAt the hero\u2019s magic power.\n\nSpake the singer, Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli:\n\u201cI would sing a wondrous legend,\nSing in miracles of sweetness,\nIf within some hall or chamber,\nI were seated at the table.\nIf I sing not in the castle,\nIn some spot by walls surrounded,\nThen I sing my songs to zephyrs,\nFling them to the fields and forests.\u201d\nAnswered thus the Island-maidens:\n\u201cOn this isle are castle-chambers,\nHalls for use of magic singers,\nCourts complete for chanting legends,\nWhere thy singing will be welcome,\nWhere thy songs will not be scattered\nTo the forests of the island,\nNor thy wisdom lost in ether.\u201d\n\nStraightway Lemminkainen journeyed\nWith the maidens to the castle;\nThere he sang and conjured pitchers\nOn the borders of the tables,\nSang and conjured golden goblets\nFoaming with the beer of barley;\nSang he many well-filled vessels,\nBowls of honey-drink abundant,\nSweetest butter, toothsome biscuit,\nBacon, fish, and veal, and venison,\nAll the dainties of the Northland,\nWherewithal to still his hunger.\nBut the proud-heart, Lemminkainen,\nWas not ready for the banquet,\nDid not yet begin his feasting,\nWaited for a knife of silver,\nFor a knife of golden handle;\nQuick he sang the precious metals,\nSang a blade from purest silver,\nTo the blade a golden handle,\nStraightway then began his feasting,\nQuenched his thirst and stilled his hunger,\nCharmed the maidens on the island.\n\nThen the minstrel, Lemminkainen,\nRoamed throughout the island-hamlets,\nTo the joy of all the virgins,\nAll the maids of braided tresses;\nWheresoe\u2019er he turned his footsteps,\nThere appeared a maid to greet him;\nWhen his hand was kindly offered,\nThere his hand was kindly taken;\nWhen he wandered out at evening,\nEven in the darksome places,\nThere the maidens bade him welcome;\nThere was not an island-village\nWhere there were not seven castles,\nIn each castle seven daughters,\nAnd the daughters stood in waiting,\nGave the hero joyful greetings,\nOnly one of all the maidens\nWhom he did not greet with pleasure.\n\nThus the merry Lemminkainen\nSpent three summers in the ocean,\nSpent a merry time in refuge,\nIn the hamlets on the island,\nTo the pleasure of the maidens,\nTo the joy of all the daughters;\nOnly one was left neglected,\nShe a poor and graceless spinster,\nOn the isle\u2019s remotest border,\nIn the smallest of the hamlets.\n\nThen he thought about his journey\nO\u2019er the ocean to his mother,\nTo the cottage of his father.\nThere appeared the slighted spinster,\nTo the Northland son departing,\nSpake these words to Lemminkainen:\n\u201cO, thou handsome Kaukomieli,\nWisdom-bard, and magic singer,\nSince this maiden thou hast slighted,\nMay the winds destroy thy vessel,\nDash thy bark to countless fragments\nOn the ocean-rocks and ledges!\u201d\n\nLemminkainen\u2019s thoughts were homeward,\nDid not heed the maiden\u2019s murmurs,\nDid not rise before the dawning\nOf the morning on the island,\nTo the pleasure of the maiden\nOf the much-neglected hamlet.\nFinally at close of evening,\nHe resolved to leave the island,\nHe resolved to waken early,\nLong before the dawn of morning;\nLong before the time appointed,\nHe arose that he might wander\nThrough the hamlets of the island,\nBid adieu to all the maidens,\nOn the morn of his departure.\nAs he wandered hither, thither,\nWalking through the village path-ways\nTo the last of all the hamlets;\nSaw he none of all the castles,\nWhere three dwellings were not standing;\nSaw he none of all the dwellings\nWhere three heroes were not watching;\nSaw he none of all the heroes,\nWho was not engaged in grinding\nSwords, and spears, and battle-axes,\nFor the death of Lemminkainen.\nAnd these words the hero uttered:\n\u201cNow alas! the Sun arises\nFrom his couch within the ocean,\nOn the frailest of the heroes,\nOn the saddest child of Northland;\nOn my neck the cloak of Lempo\nMight protect me from all evil,\nThough a hundred foes assail me,\nThough a thousand archers follow.\u201d\n\nThen he left the maids ungreeted,\nLeft his longing for the daughters\nOf the nameless Isle of Refuge,\nWith his farewell-words unspoken,\nHastened toward the island-harbor,\nToward his magic bark at anchor;\nBut he found it burned to ashes,\nSweet revenge had fired his vessel,\nLighted by the slighted spinster.\nThen he saw the dawn of evil,\nSaw misfortune hanging over,\nSaw destruction round about him.\nStraightway he began rebuilding\nHim a magic sailing-vessel,\nNew and wondrous, full of beauty;\nBut the hero needed timber,\nBoards, and planks, and beams, and braces,\nFound the smallest bit of lumber,\nFound of boards but seven fragments,\nOf a spool he found three pieces,\nFound six pieces of the distaff;\nWith these fragments builds his vessel,\nBuilds a ship of magic virtue,\nBuilds the bark with secret knowledge,\nThrough the will of the magician;\nStrikes one blow, and builds the first part,\nStrikes a second, builds the centre,\nStrikes a third with wondrous power,\nAnd the vessel is completed.\n\nThereupon the ship he launches,\nSings the vessel to the ocean,\nAnd these words the hero utters:\n\u201cLike a bubble swim these waters,\nLike a flower ride the billows;\nLoan me of thy magic feathers,\nThree, O eagle, four, O raven,\nFor protection to my vessel,\nLest it flounder in the ocean!\u201d\n\nNow the sailor, Lemminkainen,\nSeats himself upon the bottom\nOf the vessel he has builded,\nHastens on his journey homeward,\nHead depressed and evil-humored,\nCap awry upon his forehead,\nMind dejected, heavy-hearted,\nThat he could not dwell forever\nIn the castles of the daughters\nOf the nameless Isle of Refuge.\n\nSpake the minstrel, Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli:\n\u201cLeave I must this merry island,\nLeave her many joys and pleasures,\nLeave her maids with braided tresses,\nLeave her dances and her daughters,\nTo the joys of other heroes;\nBut I take this comfort with me:\nAll the maidens on the island,\nSave the spinster who was slighted,\nWill bemoan my loss for ages,\nWill regret my quick departure;\nThey will miss me at the dances,\nIn the halls of mirth and joyance,\nIn the homes of merry maidens,\nOn my father\u2019s Isle of Refuge.\u201d\n\nWept the maidens on the island,\nLong lamenting, loudly calling\nTo the hero sailing homeward:\n\u201cWhither goest, Lemminkainen,\nWhy depart, thou best of heroes?\nDost thou leave from inattention,\nIs there here a dearth of maidens,\nHave our greetings been unworthy?\u201d\n\nSang the magic Lemminkainen\nTo the maids as he was sailing,\nThis in answer to their calling:\n\u201cLeaving not for want of pleasure,\nDo not go from dearth of women\nBeautiful the island-maidens,\nCountless as the sands their virtues.\nThis the reason of my going,\nI am longing for my home-land,\nLonging for my mother\u2019s cabins,\nFor the strawberries of Northland,\nFor the raspberries of Kalew,\nFor the maidens of my childhood,\nFor the children of my mother.\u201d\n\nThen the merry Lemminkainen\nBade farewell to all the island;\nWinds arose and drove his vessel\nOn the blue-back of the ocean,\nO\u2019er the far-extending waters,\nToward the island of his mother.\nOn the shore were grouped the daughters\nOf the magic Isle of Refuge,\nOn the rocks sat the forsaken,\nWeeping stood the island-maidens,\nGolden daughters, loud-lamenting.\nWeep the maidens of the island\nWhile the sail-yards greet their vision,\nWhile the copper-beltings glisten;\nDo not weep to lose the sail-yards,\nNor to lose the copper-beltings;\nWeep they for the loss of Ahti,\nFor the fleeing Kaukomieli\nGuiding the departing vessel.\nAlso weeps young Lemminkainen,\nSorely weeps, and loud-lamenting,\nWeeps while he can see the island,\nWhile the island hill-tops glisten;\nDoes not mourn the island-mountains,\nWeeps he only for the maidens,\nLeft upon the Isle of Refuge.\n\nThereupon sailed Kaukomieli\nOn the blue-back of the ocean;\nSailed one day, and then a second,\nBut, alas! upon the third day,\nThere arose a mighty storm-wind,\nAnd the sky was black with fury.\nBlew the black winds from the north-west,\nFrom the south-east came the whirlwind,\nTore away the ship\u2019s forecastle,\nTore away the vessel\u2019s rudder,\nDashed the wooden hull to pieces.\nThereupon wild Lemminkainen\nHeadlong fell upon the waters;\nWith his head he did the steering,\nWith his hands and feet, the rowing;\nSwam whole days and nights unceasing,\nSwam with hope and strength united,\nTill at last appeared a cloudlet,\nGrowing cloudlet to the westward,\nChanging to a promontory,\nInto land within the ocean.\n\nSwiftly to the shore swam Ahti,\nHastened to a magic castle,\nFound therein a hostess baking,\nAnd her daughters kneading barley,\nAnd these words the hero uttered:\n\u201cO, thou hostess, filled with kindness,\nCouldst thou know my pangs of hunger,\nCouldst thou guess my name and station,\nThou wouldst hasten to the storehouse,\nBring me beer and foaming liquor,\nBring the best of thy provisions,\nBring me fish, and veal, and bacon,\nButter, bread, and honeyed biscuits,\nSet for me a wholesome dinner,\nWherewithal to still my hunger,\nQuench the thirst of Lemminkainen.\nDays and nights have I been swimming,\nBuffeting the waves of ocean,\nSeemed as if the wind protected,\nAnd the billows gave me shelter.\u201d\n\nThen the hostess, filled with kindness,\nHastened to the mountain storehouse,\nCut some butter, veal, and bacon,\nBread, and fish, and honeyed biscuit,\nBrought the best of her provisions,\nBrought the mead and beer of barley,\nSet for him a toothsome dinner,\nWherewithal to still his hunger,\nQuench the thirst of Lemminkainen.\n\nWhen the hero\u2019s feast had ended,\nStraightway was a magic vessel\nGiven by the kindly hostess\nTo the weary Kaukomieli,\nBark of beauty, new and hardy,\nWherewithal to aid the stranger\nIn his journey to his home-land,\nTo the cottage of his mother.\n\nQuickly sailed wild Lemminkainen\nOn the blue-back of the ocean;\nSailed he days and nights unceasing,\nTill at last he reached the borders\nOf his own loved home and country;\nThere beheld he scenes familiar,\nSaw the islands, capes, and rivers,\nSaw his former shipping-stations,\nSaw he many ancient landmarks,\nSaw the mountains with their fir-trees,\nSaw the pine-trees on the hill-tops,\nSaw the willows in the lowlands;\nDid not see his father\u2019s cottage,\nNor the dwellings of his mother.\nWhere a mansion once had risen,\nThere the alder-trees were growing,\nShrubs were growing on the homestead,\nJunipers within the court-yard.\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cIn this glen I played and wandered,\nOn these stones I rocked for ages,\nOn this lawn I rolled and tumbled,\nFrolicked on these woodland-borders,\nWhen a child of little stature.\nWhere then is my mother\u2019s dwelling,\nWhere the castles of my father?\nFire, I fear, has found the hamlet,\nAnd the winds dispersed the ashes.\u201d\n\nThen he fell to bitter weeping,\nWept one day and then a second,\nWept the third day without ceasing;\nDid not mourn the ancient homestead,\nNor the dwellings of his father;\nWept he for his darling mother,\nWept he for the dear departed,\nFor the loved ones of the island.\n\nThen he saw the bird of heaven,\nSaw an eagle flying near him,\nAnd he asked the bird this question:\n\u201cMighty eagle, bird majestic,\nGrant to me the information,\nWhere my mother may have wandered,\nWhither I may go and find her!\u201d\n\nBut the eagle knew but little,\nOnly knew that Ahti\u2019s people\nLong ago together perished;\nAnd the raven also answered\nThat his people had been scattered\nBy the swords, and spears, and arrows,\nOf his enemies from Pohya.\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cFaithful mother, dear departed,\nThou who nursed me in my childhood,\nArt thou dead and turned to ashes,\nDidst thou perish for my follies,\nO\u2019er thy head are willows weeping,\nJunipers above thy body,\nAlders watching o\u2019er thy slumbers?\nThis my punishment for evil,\nThis the recompense of folly!\nFool was I, a son unworthy,\nThat I measured swords in Northland\nWith the landlord of Pohyola.\nTo my tribe came fell destruction,\nAnd the death of my dear mother,\nThrough my crimes and misdemeanors.\u201d\n\nThen the minstrel looked about him,\nAnxious, looked in all directions,\nAnd beheld some gentle foot-prints,\nSaw a pathway lightly trodden\nWhere the heather had been beaten.\nQuick as thought the path he followed,\nThrough the meadows, through the brambles,\nO\u2019er the hills, and through the valleys,\nTo a forest, vast and cheerless;\nTravelled far and travelled farther,\nStill a greater distance travelled,\nTo a dense and hidden glenwood,\nIn the middle of the island;\nFound therein a sheltered cabin,\nFound a small and darksome dwelling\nBuilt between the rocky ledges,\nIn the midst of triple pine-trees;\nAnd within he spied his mother,\nFound his gray-haired mother weeping.\n\nLemminkainen loud rejoices,\nCries in tones of joyful greetings,\nThese the words that Ahti utters:\n\u201cFaithful mother, well-beloved,\nThou that gavest me existence,\nHappy I, that thou art living,\nThat thou hast not yet departed\nTo the kingdom of Tuoni,\nTo the islands of the blessed,\nI had thought that thou hadst perished,\nHadst been murdered by my foemen,\nHadst been slain with bows and arrows.\nHeavy are mine eyes from weeping,\nAnd my cheeks are white with sorrow,\nSince I thought my mother slaughtered\nFor the sins I had committed!\u201d\nLemminkainen\u2019s mother answered:\n\u201cLong, indeed, hast thou been absent,\nLong, my son, hast thou been living\nIn thy father\u2019s Isle of Refuge,\nRoaming on the secret island,\nLiving at the doors of strangers,\nLiving in a nameless country,\nRefuge from the Northland foemen.\u201d\nSpake the hero, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cCharming is that spot for living,\nBeautiful the magic island,\nRainbow-colored was the forest,\nBlue the glimmer of the meadows,\nSilvered were the pine-tree branches,\nGolden were the heather-blossoms;\nAll the woodlands dripped with honey,\nEggs in every rock and crevice,\nHoney flowed from birch and sorb-tree,\nMilk in streams from fir and aspen,\nBeer-foam dripping from the willows,\nCharming there to live and linger,\nAll their edibles delicious.\nThis their only source of trouble:\nGreat the fear for all the maidens,\nAll the heroes filled with envy,\nFeared the coming of the stranger;\nThought that all the island-maidens,\nThought that all the wives and daughters,\nAll the good, and all the evil,\nGave thy son too much attention;\nThought the stranger, Lemminkainen,\nSaw the Island-maids too often;\nYet the virgins I avoided,\nShunned the good and shunned the evil,\nShunned the host of charming daughters,\nAs the black-wolf shuns the sheep-fold,\nAs the hawk neglects the chickens.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXX.\nTHE FROST-FIEND.\n\n\nLemminkainen, reckless minstrel,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli,\nHastens as the dawn is breaking,\nAt the dawning of the morning;,\nTo the resting-place of vessels,\nTo the harbor of the island,\nFinds the vessels sorely weeping,\nHears the wailing of the rigging,\nAnd the ships intone this chorus:\n\u201cMust we wretched lie forever\nIn the harbor of this island,\nHere to dry and fall in pieces?\nAhti wars no more in Northland,\nWars no more for sixty summers,\nEven should he thirst for silver,\nShould he wish the gold of battle.\u201d\n\nLemminkainen struck his vessels\nWith his gloves adorned with copper,\nAnd addressed the ships as follows:\n\u201cMourn no more, my ships of fir-wood,\nStrong and hardy is your rigging,\nTo the wars ye soon may hasten,\nHasten to the seas of battle;\nWarriors may swarm your cabins\nEre to-morrow\u2019s morn has risen.\u201d\n\nThen the reckless Lemminkainen\nHastened to his aged mother,\nSpake to her the words that follow:\n\u201cWeep no longer, faithful mother,\nDo not sorrow for thy hero,\nShould he leave for scenes of battle,\nFor the hostile fields of Pohya;\nSweet revenge has fired my spirit,\nAnd my soul is well determined,\nTo avenge the shameful insult\nThat the warriors of Northland\nGave to thee, defenseless woman.\u201d\n\nTo restrain him seeks his mother,\nWarns her son again of danger:\n\u201cDo not go, my son beloved,\nTo the wars in Sariola;\nThere the jaws of Death await thee,\nFell destruction lies before thee!\u201d\n\nLemminkainen, little heeding,\nStill determined, speaks as follows:\n\u201cWhere may I secure a swordsman,\nWorthy of my race of heroes,\nTo assist me in the combat?\nOften I have heard of Tiera,\nHeard of Kura of the islands,\nThis one I will take to help me,\nMagic hero of the broadsword;\nHe will aid me in the combat,\nWill protect me from destruction.\u201d\n\nThen he wandered to the islands,\nOn the way to Tiera\u2019s hamlet,\nThese the words that Ahti utters\nAs he nears the ancient dwellings:\n\u201cDearest friend, my noble Tiera,\nMy beloved hero-brother,\nDost thou other times remember,\nWhen we fought and bled together,\nOn the battle-fields of Northland?\nThere was not an island-village\nWhere there were not seven mansions,\nIn each mansion seven heroes,\nAnd not one of all these foemen\nWhom we did not slay with broadswords,\nVictims of our skill and valor.\u201d\n\nNear the window sat the father\nWhittling out a javelin-handle;\nNear the threshold sat the mother\nSkimming cream and making butter;\nNear the portal stood the brother\nWorking on a sledge of birch-wood;\nNear the bridge-pass were the sisters\nWashing out their varied garments.\n\nSpake the father from the window,\nFrom the threshold spake the mother,\nFrom the portals spake the brother,\nAnd the sisters from the bridge-pass:\n\u201cTiera has no time for combat,\nAnd his broadsword cannot battle;\nTiera is but late a bridegroom,\nStill unveiled his bride awaits him.\u201d\n\nNear the hearth was Tiera lying,\nLying by the fire was Kura,\nHastily one foot was shoeing,\nWhile the other lay in waiting.\nFrom the hook he takes his girdle,\nBuckles it around his body,\nTakes a javelin from its resting,\nNot the largest, nor the smallest,\nBuckles on his mighty scabbard,\nDons his heavy mail of copper;\nOn each javelin pranced a charger,\nWolves were howling from his helmet,\nOn the rings the bears were growling.\nTiera poised his mighty javelin,\nLaunched the spear upon its errand;\nHurled the shaft across the pasture,\nTo the border of the forest,\nO\u2019er the clay-fields of Pohyola,\nO\u2019er the green and fragrant meadows,\nThrough the distant hills of Northland.\nThen great Tiera touched his javelin\nTo the mighty spear of Ahti,\nPledged his aid to Lemminkainen,\nAs his combatant and comrade.\nThereupon wild Kaukomieli\nPushed his boat upon the waters;\nLike the serpent through the heather,\nLike the creeping of the adder,\nSails the boat away to Pohya,\nO\u2019er the seas of Sariola.\n\nQuick the wicked hostess, Louhi,\nSends the black-frost of the heavens\nTo the waters of Pohyola,\nO\u2019er the far-extending sea-plains,\nGave the black-frost these directions:\n\u201cMuch-loved Frost, my son and hero,\nWhom thy mother has instructed,\nHasten whither I may send thee,\nGo wherever I command thee,\nFreeze the vessel of this hero,\nLemminkainen\u2019s bark of magic,\nOn the broad back of the ocean,\nOn the far-extending waters;\nFreeze the wizard in his vessel,\nFreeze to ice the wicked Ahti,\nThat he never more may wander,\nNever waken while thou livest,\nOr at least till I shall free him,\nWake him from his icy slumber!\u201d\n\nFrost, the son of wicked parents,\nHero-son of evil manners,\nHastens off to freeze the ocean,\nGoes to fasten down the flood-gates,\nGoes to still the ocean-currents.\nAs he hastens on his journey,\nTakes the leaves from all the forest,\nStrips the meadows of their verdure,\nRobs the flowers of their colors.\nWhen his journey he had ended,\nGained the border of the ocean,\nGained the sea-shore curved and endless,\nOn the first night of his visit,\nFreezes he the lakes and rivers,\nFreezes too the shore of ocean,\nFreezes not the ocean-billows,\nDoes not check the ocean-currents.\nOn the sea a finch is resting,\nBird of song upon the waters,\nBut his feet are not yet frozen,\nNeither is his head endangered.\nWhen the second night Frost lingered,\nHe began to grow important,\nHe became a fierce intruder,\nFearless grew in his invasions,\nFreezes everything before him;\nSends the fiercest cold of Northland,\nTurns to ice the boundless waters.\nEver thicker, thicker, thicker,\nGrew the ice on sea and ocean,\nEver deeper, deeper, deeper,\nFell the snow on field and forest,\nFroze the hero\u2019s ship of beauty,\nCold and lifeless bark of Ahti;\nSought to freeze wild Lemminkainen,\nFreeze him lifeless as his vessel,\nAsked the minstrel for his life-blood,\nFor his ears, and feet, and fingers.\n\nThen the hero, Lemminkainen,\nAngry grew and filled with magic,\nHurled the black-frost to the fire-god,\nThrew him to the fiery furnace,\nHeld him in his forge of iron,\nThen addressed the frost as follows:\n\u201cFrost, thou evil son of Northland,\nDire and only son of Winter,\nLet my members not be stiffened,\nNeither ears, nor feet, nor fingers,\nNeither let my head be frozen.\nThou hast other things to feed on,\nMany other heads to stiffen;\nLeave in peace the flesh of heroes,\nLet this minstrel pass in safety,\nFreeze the swamps, and lakes, and rivers,\nFens and forests, hills and valleys;\nLet the cold stones grow still colder,\nFreeze the willows in the waters,\nLet the aspens freeze and suffer,\nLet the bark peel from the birch-trees,\nLet the pines burst on the mountains,\nLet this hero pass in safety,\nDo not let his locks be stiffened.\n\n\u201cIf all these prove insufficient,\nFeed on other worthy matters;\nLet the hot stones freeze asunder,\nLet the flaming rocks be frozen,\nFreeze the fiery blocks of iron,\nFreeze to ice the iron mountains;\nStiffen well the mighty Wuoksi,\nLet Imatra freeze to silence;\nFreeze the sacred stream and whirlpool,\nLet their boiling billows stiffen,\nOr thine origin I\u2019ll sing thee,\nTell thy lineage of evil.\nWell I know thine evil nature,\nKnow thine origin and power,\nWhence thou camest, where thou goest,\nKnow thine ancestry of evil.\nThou wert born upon the aspen,\nWert conceived upon the willows,\nNear the borders of Pohyola,\nIn the courts of dismal Northland;\nSin-begotten was thy father,\nAnd thy mother was Dishonor.\n\n\u201cWhile in infancy who fed thee\nWhile thy mother could not nurse thee?\nSurely thou wert fed by adders,\nNursed by foul and slimy serpents;\nNorth-winds rocked thee into slumber,\nCradled thee in roughest weather,\nIn the worst of willow-marshes,\nIn the springs forever flowing,\nEvil-born and evil-nurtured,\nGrew to be an evil genius,\nEvil was thy mind and spirit,\nAnd the infant still was nameless,\nTill the name of Frost was given\nTo the progeny of evil.\n\n\u201cThen the young lad lived in hedges,\nDwelt among the weeds and willows,\nLived in springs in days of summer,\nOn the borders of the marshes,\nTore the lindens in the winter,\nStormed among the glens and forests,\nRaged among the sacred birch-trees,\nRattled in the alder-branches,\nFroze the trees, the shoots, the grasses,\nEvened all the plains and prairies,\nAte the leaves within the woodlands,\nMade the stalks drop down their blossoms,\nPeeled the bark on weeds and willows.\n\n\u201cThou hast grown to large proportions,\nHast become too tall and mighty;\nDost thou labor to benumb me,\nDost thou wish mine ears and fingers,\nOf my feet wouldst thou deprive me?\nDo not strive to freeze this hero,\nIn his anguish and misfortune;\nIn my stockings I shall kindle\nFire to drive thee from my presence,\nIn my shoes lay flaming faggots,\nCoals of fire in every garment,\nHeated sandstones in my rigging;\nThus will hold thee at a distance.\nThen thine evil form I\u2019ll banish\nTo the farthest Northland borders;\nWhen thy journey is completed,\nWhen thy home is reached in safety,\nFreeze the caldrons in the castle,\nFreeze the coal upon the hearthstone,\nIn the dough, the hands of women,\nOn its mother\u2019s lap, the infant,\nFreeze the colt beside its mother.\n\n\u201cIf thou shouldst not heed this order,\nI shall banish thee still farther,\nTo the carbon-piles of Hisi,\nTo the chimney-hearth of Lempo,\nHurl thee to his fiery furnace,\nLay thee on the iron anvil,\nThat thy body may be hammered\nWith the sledges of the blacksmith,\nMay be pounded into atoms,\nTwixt the anvil and the hammer.\n\n\u201cIf thou shouldst not heed this order,\nShouldst not leave me to my freedom,\nKnow I still another kingdom,\nKnow another spot of resting;\nI shall drive thee to the summer,\nLead thy tongue to warmer climates,\nThere a prisoner to suffer,\nNever to obtain thy freedom\nTill thy spirit I deliver,\nTill I go myself and free thee.\u201d\n\nWicked Frost, the son of Winter,\nSaw the magic bird of evil\nHovering above his spirit,\nStraightway prayed for Ahti\u2019s mercy,\nThese the words the Frost-fiend uttered:\n\u201cLet us now agree together,\nNeither one to harm the other,\nNever in the course of ages,\nNever while the moonlight glimmers\nOn the snow-capped hills of Northland.\nIf thou hearest that I bring thee\nCold to freeze thy feet and fingers,\nHurl me to the fiery furnace,\nHammer me upon the anvil\nOf the blacksmith, Ilmarinen;\nLead my tongue to warmer climates,\nBanish me to lands of summer,\nThere a prisoner to suffer,\nNevermore to gain my freedom.\u201d\n\nThereupon wild Lemminkainen\nLeft his vessel in the ocean,\nFrozen in the ice of Northland,\nLeft his warlike boat forever,\nStarted on his cheerless journey\nTo the borders of Pohyola,\nAnd the mighty Tiera followed\nIn the tracks of his companion.\nOn the ice they journeyed northward\nBriskly walked upon the ice-plain,\nWalked one day, and then a second,\nTill the closing of the third day,\nWhen the Hunger-land approached them,\nWhen appeared Starvation-island.\n\nHere the hardy Lemminkainen\nHastened forward to the castle,\nThis the hero\u2019s prayer and question:\n\u201cIs there food within this castle,\nFish or fowl within its larders,\nTo refresh us on our journey,\nMighty heroes, cold and weary?\n\nWhen the hero, Lemminkainen,\nFound no food within the castle,\nNeither fish, nor fowl, nor bacon,\nThus he cursed it and departed:\n\u201cMay the fire destroy these chambers,\nMay the waters flood this dwelling,\nWash it to the seas of Mana!\u201d\n\nThen they hastened onward, onward,\nHastened on through field and forest,\nOver by-ways long untrodden,\nOver unknown paths and snow-fields;\nHere the hardy Lemminkainen,\nReckless hero, Kaukomieli,\nPulled the soft wool from the ledges,\nGathered lichens from the tree-trunks,\nWove them into magic stockings,\nWove them into shoes and mittens,\nOn the settles of the hoar-frost,\nIn the stinging cold of Northland.\n\nThen he sought to find some pathway,\nThat would guide their wayward footsteps,\nAnd the hero spake as follows:\n\u201cO thou Tiera, friend beloved,\nShall we reach our destination,\nWandering for days together,\nThrough these Northland fields and forests?\u201d\nKura thus replies to Ahti:\n\u201cWe, alas! have come for vengeance,\nCome for blood and retribution,\nTo the battle-fields of Northland,\nTo the dismal Sariola,\nHere to leave our souls and bodies,\nHere to starve, and freeze, and perish,\nIn the dreariest of places,\nIn this sun-forsaken country!\nNever shall we gain the knowledge,\nNever learn it, never tell it,\nWhich the pathway that can guide us\nTo the forest-beds to suffer,\nTo the Pohya-plains to perish,\nIn the home-land of the ravens,\nFitting food for crows and eagles.\nOften do the Northland vultures\nHither come to feed their fledgelings;\nHither bring the birds of heaven\nBits of flesh and blood of heroes;\nOften do the beaks of ravens\nTear the flesh of kindred corpses,\nOften do the eagle\u2019s talons\nCarry bones and trembling vitals,\nSuch as ours, to feed their nestlings,\nIn their rocky homes and ledges.\n\n\u201cOh! my mother can but wonder,\nNever can divine the answer,\nWhere her reckless son is roaming,\nWhere her hero\u2019s blood is flowing,\nWhether in the swamps and lowlands,\nWhether in the heat of battle,\nOr upon the waves of the ocean,\nOr upon the hop-field mountains,\nOr along some forest by-way.\nNothing can her mind discover\nOf the frailest of her heroes,\nOnly think that he has perished.\nThus the hoary-headed mother\nWeeps and murmurs in her chambers:\n\u2018Where is now my son beloved,\nIn the kingdom of Manala?\nSow thy crops, thou dread Tuoni,\nHarrow well the fields of Kalma!\nNow the bow receives its respite\nFrom the fingers of my Tiera;\nBow and arrow now are useless,\nNow the merry birds can fatten\nIn the fields, and fens, and forests;\nBears may live in dens of freedom,\nOn the fields may sport the elk-herds.\u2019\u201d\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cThus it is, mine aged mother,\nThou that gavest me existence!\nThou hast reared thy broods of chickens,\nHatched and reared thy flights of white-swans,\nAll of them the winds have scattered,\nOr the evil Lempo frightened;\nOne flew hither, and one thither,\nAnd a third one, lost forever!\nThink thou of our former pleasures,\nOf our better days together,\nWhen I wandered like the flowers,\nLike the berry in the meadows.\nMany saw my form majestic,\nMany thought me well-proportioned.\nNow is not as then with Ahti,\nInto evil days have fallen,\nSince I see but storms and darkness!\nThen my eyes beheld but sunshine,\nThen we did not weep and murmur,\nDid not fill our hearts with sorrow,\nWhen the maids in joy were singing,\nWhen the virgins twined their tresses;\nThen the women joined in joyance,\nWhether brides were happy-wedded,\nWhether bridegrooms choose discreetly,\nWhether they were wise or unwise.\n\n\u201cBut we must not grow disheartened,\nLet the Island-maidens cheer us;\nHere we are not yet enchanted,\nNot bewitched by magic singing,\nOn the paths not left to perish,\nSink and perish on our journey.\nFull of youth we should not suffer,\nStrong, we should not die unworthy,\nWhom the wizards have enchanted,\nHave bewitched with songs of magic;\nSorcerers may charm and conquer,\nBury them within their dungeons,\nHide them spell-bound in their cabins.\nLet the wizards charm each other,\nAnd bewitch their magic offspring,\nBring their tribes to fell destruction.\nNever did my gray-haired father\nBow submission to a wizard,\nOffer worship to magicians.\nThese the words my father uttered,\nThese the thoughts his son advances:\n\u2018Guard us, thou O great Creator,\nShield us, thou O God of mercy,\nWith thine arms of grace protect us,\nHelp us with thy strength and wisdom,\nGuide the minds of all thy heroes,\nKeep aright the thoughts of women,\nKeep the old from speaking evil,\nKeep the young from sin and folly,\nBe to us a help forever,\nBe our Guardian and our Father,\nThat our children may not wander\nFrom the ways of their Creator,\nFrom the path that God has given!\u2019\u201d\n\nThen the hero Lemminkainen,\nMade from cares the fleetest racers,\nSable racers from his sorrows,\nReins he made from days of evil,\nFrom his sacred pains made saddles.\nTo the saddle, quickly springing,\nGalloped he away from trouble,\nTo his dear and aged mother;\nAnd his comrade, faithful Tiera,\nGalloped to his Island-dwelling.\n\nNow departs wild Lemminkainen,\nBrave and reckless Kaukomieli,\nFrom these ancient songs and legends;\nOnly guides his faithful Kura\nTo his waiting bride and kindred,\nWhile these lays and incantations\nShall be turned to other heroes.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXXI.\nKULLERWOINEN SON OF EVIL.\n\n\nIn the ancient times a mother\nHatched and raised some swans and chickens,\nPlaced the chickens in the brushwood,\nPlaced her swans upon the river;\nCame an eagle, hawk, and falcon,\nScattered all her swans and chickens,\nOne was carried to Karyala,\nAnd a second into Ehstland,\nLeft a third at home in Pohya.\nAnd the one to Ehstland taken\nSoon became a thriving merchant;\nHe that journeyed to Karyala\nFlourished and was called Kalervo;\nHe that hid away in Pohya\nTook the name of Untamoinen,\nFlourished to his father\u2019s sorrow,\nTo the heart-pain of his mother.\n\nUntamoinen sets his fish-nets\nIn the waters of Kalervo;\nKullerwoinen sees the fish-nets,\nTakes the fish home in his basket.\nThen Untamo, evil-minded,\nAngry grew and sighed for vengeance,\nClutched his fingers for the combat,\nBared his mighty arms for battle,\nFor the stealing of his salmon,\nFor the robbing of his fish-nets.\nLong they battled, fierce the struggle,\nNeither one could prove the victor;\nShould one beat the other fiercely,\nHe himself was fiercely beaten.\n\nThen arose a second trouble;\nOn the second and the third days,\nKalerwoinen sowed some barley\nNear the barns of Untamoinen;\nUntamoinen\u2019s sheep in hunger\nAte the crop of Kullerwoinen;\nKullerwoinen\u2019s dog in malice\nTore Untamo\u2019s sheep in pieces;\nThen Untamo sorely threatened\nTo annihilate the people\nOf his brother, Kalerwoinen,\nTo exterminate his tribe-folk,\nTo destroy the young and aged,\nTo out-root his race and kingdom;\nConjures men with broadswords girded,\nFor the war he fashions heroes,\nFashions youth with spears adjusted,\nBearing axes on their shoulders;\nConjures thus a mighty army,\nHastens to begin a battle,\nBring a war upon his brother.\n\nKalerwoinen\u2019s wife in beauty\nSat beside her chamber-window,\nLooking out along the highway,\nSpake these words in wonder guessing:\n\u201cDo I see some smoke arising,\nOr perchance a heavy storm-cloud,\nNear the border of the forest,\nNear the ending of the prairie?\u201d\n\nIt was not some smoke arising,\nNor indeed a heavy storm-cloud,\nIt was Untamoinen\u2019s soldiers\nMarching to the place of battle.\nWarriors of Untamoinen\nCame equipped with spears and arrows,\nKilled the people of Kalervo,\nSlew his tribe and all his kindred,\nBurned to ashes many dwellings,\nLevelled many courts and cabins,\nOnly left Kalervo\u2019s daughter,\nWith her unborn child, survivors\nOf the slaughter of Untamo;\nAnd she led the hostile army\nTo her father\u2019s halls and mansion,\nSwept the rooms and made them cheery,\nGave the heroes home-attentions.\n\nTime had gone but little distance,\nEre a boy was born in magic\nOf the virgin, Untamala,\nOf a mother, trouble-laden,\nHim the mother named Kullervo,\n\u201cPearl of Combat,\u201d said Untamo.\nThen they laid the child of wonder,\nFatherless, the magic infant,\nIn the cradle of attention,\nTo be rocked, and fed, and guarded;\nBut he rocked himself at pleasure,\nRocked until his locks stood endwise;\nRocked one day, and then a second,\nRocked the third from morn till noontide;\nBut before the third day ended,\nKicks the boy with might of magic,\nForwards, backwards, upwards, downwards,\nKicks in miracles of power,\nBursts with might his swaddling garments;\nCreeping from beneath his blankets,\nKnocks his cradle into fragments,\nTears to tatters all his raiment,\nSeemed that he would grow a hero,\nAnd his mother, Untamala,\nThought that he, when full of stature,\nWhen he found his strength and reason,\nWould become a great magician,\nFirst among a thousand heroes.\n\nWhen three months the boy had thriven,\nHe began to speak as follows:\n\u201cWhen my form is full of stature,\nWhen these arms grow strong and hardy,\nThen will I avenge the murder\nOf Kalervo and his people!\u201d\n\nUntamoinen hears the saying,\nSpeaks these words to those about him:\n\u201cTo my tribe he brings destruction,\nIn him grows a new Kalervo!\u201d\n\nThen the heroes well considered,\nAnd the women gave their counsel,\nHow to kill the magic infant,\nThat their tribe may live in safety.\nIt appeared the boy would prosper;\nFinally, they all consenting,\nHe was placed within a basket,\nAnd with willows firmly fastened,\nTaken to the reeds and rushes,\nLowered to the deepest waters,\nIn his basket there to perish.\n\nWhen three nights had circled over,\nMessengers of Untamoinen\nWent to see if he had perished\nIn his basket in the waters;\nBut the prodigy was living,\nHad not perished in the rushes;\nHe had left his willow-basket,\nSat in triumph on a billow,\nIn his hand a rod of copper,\nOn the rod a golden fish-line,\nFishing for the silver whiting,\nMeasuring the deeps beneath him;\nIn the sea was little water,\nScarcely would it fill three measures.\n\nUntamoinen then reflected,\nThis the language of the wizard:\n\u201cWhither shall we take this wonder,\nLay this prodigy of evil,\nThat destruction may o\u2019ertake him,\nWhere the boy will sink and perish?\u201d\n\nThen his messengers he ordered\nTo collect dried poles of brushwood,\nBirch-trees with their hundred branches,\nPine-trees full of pitch and resin,\nOrdered that a pyre be builded,\nThat the boy might be cremated,\nThat Kullervo thus might perish.\nHigh they piled the arid branches,\nDried limbs from the sacred birch-tree,\nBranches from a hundred fir-trees,\nKnots and branches full of resign;\nFilled with bark a thousand sledges,\nSeasoned oak, a hundred measures;\nPiled the brushwood to the tree-tops,\nSet the boy upon the summit,\nSet on fire the pile of brushwood,\nBurned one day, and then a second,\nBurned the third from morn till evening.\n\nWhen Untamo sent his heralds\nTo inspect the pyre and wizard,\nThere to learn if young Kullervo\nHad been burned to dust and ashes,\nThere they saw the young boy sitting\nOn a pyramid of embers,\nIn his hand a rod of copper,\nRaking coals of fire about him,\nTo increase their heat and power;\nNot a hair was burned nor injured,\nNot a ringlet singed nor shrivelled.\n\nThen Untamo, evil-humored,\nThus addressed his trusted heralds:\n\u201cWhither shall the boy be taken,\nTo what place this thing of evil,\nThat destruction may o\u2019ertake him.\nThat the boy may sink and perish?\u201d\n\nThen they hung him to an oak-tree,\nCrucified him in the branches,\nThat the wizard there might perish.\n\nWhen three days and nights had ended,\nUntamoinen spake as follows:\n\u201cIt is time to send my heralds\nTo inspect the mighty oak-tree,\nThere to learn if young Kullervo\nLives or dies among the branches.\u201d\n\nThereupon he sent his servants,\nAnd the heralds brought this message:\n\u201cYoung Kullervo has not perished,\nHas not died among the branches\nOf the oak-tree where we hung him.\nIn the oak he maketh pictures\nWith a wand between his fingers;\nPictures hang from all the branches,\nCarved and painted by Kullervo;\nAnd the heroes, thick as acorns,\nWith their swords and spears adjusted,\nFill the branches of the oak-tree,\nEvery leaf becomes a soldier.\u201d\n\nWho can help the grave Untamo\nKill the boy that threatens evil\nTo Untamo\u2019s tribe and country,\nSince he will not die by water,\nNor by fire, nor crucifixion?\nFinally it was decided\nThat his body was immortal,\nCould not suffer death nor torture.\n\nIn despair grave Untamoinen\nThus addressed the boy, Kullervo:\n\u201cWilt thou live a life becoming,\nAlways do my people honor,\nShould I keep thee in my dwelling?\nShouldst thou render servant\u2019s duty,\nThen thou wilt receive thy wages,\nReaping whatsoe\u2019er thou sowest;\nThou canst wear the golden girdle,\nOr endure the tongue of censure.\u201d\n\nWhen the boy had grown a little,\nHad increased in strength and stature,\nHe was given occupation,\nHe was made to tend an infant,\nMade to rock the infant\u2019s cradle.\nThese the words of Untamoinen:\n\u201cOften look upon the young child,\nFeed him well and guard from danger,\nWash his linen in the river,\nGive the infant good attention.\u201d\n\nYoung Kullervo, wicked wizard,\nNurses one day then a second;\nOn the morning of the third day,\nGives the infant cruel treatment,\nBlinds its eyes and breaks its fingers;\nAnd when evening shadows gather,\nKills the young child while it slumbers,\nThrows its body to the waters,\nBreaks and burns the infant\u2019s cradle.\nUntamoinen thus reflected:\n\u201cNever will this fell Kullervo\nBe a worthy nurse for children,\nCannot rock a babe in safety;\nDo not know how I can use him,\nWhat employment I can give him!\u201d\n\nThen he told the young magician\nHe must fell the standing forest,\nAnd Kullervo gave this answer:\n\u201cOnly will I be a hero,\nWhen I wield the magic hatchet;\nI am young, and fair, and mighty,\nFar more beautiful than others,\nHave the skill of six magicians.\u201d\n\nThereupon he sought the blacksmith,\nThis the order of Kullervo:\n\u201cListen, O thou metal-artist,\nForge for me an axe of copper,\nForge the mighty axe of heroes,\nWherewith I may fell the forest,\nFell the birch, and oak, and aspen.\u201d\n\nThis behest the blacksmith honors,\nForges him an axe of copper,\nWonderful the blade he forges.\nKullerwoinen grinds his hatchet,\nGrinds his blade from morn till evening,\nAnd the next day makes the handle;\nThen he hastens to the forest,\nTo the upward-sloping mountain,\nTo the tallest of the birches,\nTo the mightiest of oak-trees;\nThere he swings his axe of copper,\nSwings his blade with might of magic,\nCuts with sharpened edge the aspen,\nWith one blow he fells the oak-tree,\nWith a second blow, the linden;\nMany trees have quickly fallen,\nBy the hatchet of Kullervo.\nThen the wizard spake as follows:\n\u201cThis the proper work of Lempo,\nLet dire Hisi fell the forest!\u201d\n\nIn the birch he sank his hatchet,\nMade an uproar in the woodlands,\nCalled aloud in tones of thunder,\nWhistled to the distant mountains,\nTill they echoed to his calling,\nWhen Kullervo spake as follows:\n\u201cMay the forest, in the circle\nWhere my voice rings, fall and perish,\nIn the earth be lost forever!\nMay no tree remain unlevelled,\nMay no saplings grow in spring-time,\nNever while the moonlight glimmers,\nWhere Kullervo\u2019s voice has echoed,\nWhere the forest hears my calling;\nWhere the ground with seed is planted,\nAnd the grain shall sprout and flourish,\nMay it never come to ripeness,\nMay the ears of corn be blasted!\u201d\n\nWhen the strong man, Untamoinen,\nWent to look at early evening,\nHow Kullervo was progressing,\nIn his labors in the forest;\nLittle was the work accomplished,\nWas not worthy of a hero;\nUntamoinen thus reflected:\n\u201cYoung Kullervo is not fitted\nFor the work of clearing forests,\nWastes the best of all the timber,\nTo my lands he brings destruction;\nI shall set him making fences.\u201d\n\nThen the youth began the building\nOf a fence for Untamoinen;\nTook the trunks of stately fir-trees,\nTrimmed them with his blade for fence-posts,\nCut the tallest in the woodlands,\nFor the railing of his fences;\nMade the smaller poles and cross-bars\nFrom the longest of the lindens;\nMade the fence without a pass-way,\nMade no wicket in his fences,\nAnd Kullervo spake these measures:\n\u201cHe that does not rise as eagles,\nDoes not sail on wings through ether,\nCannot cross Kullervo\u2019s pickets,\nNor the fences he has builded.\u201d\n\nUntamoinen left his mansion\nTo inspect the young boy\u2019s labors,\nView the fences of Kullervo;\nSaw the fence without a pass-way,\nNot a wicket in his fences;\nFrom the earth the fence extended\nTo the highest clouds of heaven.\nThese the words of Untamoinen:\n\u201cFor this work he is not fitted,\nUseless is the fence thus builded;\nIs so high that none can cross it,\nAnd there is no passage through it:\nHe shall thresh the rye and barley.\u201d\n\nYoung Kullervo, quick preparing,\nMade an oaken flail for threshing,\nThreshed the rye to finest powder,\nThreshed the barley into atoms,\nAnd the straw to worthless fragments.\n\nUntamoinen went at evening,\nWent to see Kullervo\u2019s threshing,\nView the work of Kullerwoinen;\nFound the rye was ground to powder,\nGrains of barley crushed to atoms,\nAnd the straw to worthless rubbish.\n\nUntamoinen then grew angry,\nSpake these words in bitter accents:\n\u201cKullerwoinen as a workman\nIs a miserable failure;\nWhatsoever work he touches\nIs but ruined by his witchcraft;\nI shall carry him to Ehstland,\nIn Karyala I shall sell him\nTo the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nThere to swing the heavy hammer.\u201d\n\nUntamoinen sells Kullervo,\nTrades him off in far Karyala,\nTo the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nTo the master of the metals,\nThis the sum received in payment:\nSeven worn and worthless sickles,\nThree old caldrons worse than useless,\nThree old scythes, and hoes, and axes,\nRecompense, indeed, sufficient\nFor a boy that will not labor\nFor the good of his employer.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXXII.\nKULLERVO AS A SHEPHERD.\n\n\nKullerwoinen, wizard-servant\nOf the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nPurchased slave from Untamoinen,\nMagic son with sky-blue stockings,\nWith a head of golden ringlets,\nIn his shoes of marten-leather,\nWaiting little, asked the blacksmith,\nAsked the host for work at morning,\nIn the evening asked the hostess,\nThese the words of Kullerwoinen:\n\u201cGive me work at early morning,\nIn the evening, occupation,\nLabor worthy of thy servant.\u201d\n\nThen the wife of Ilmarinen,\nOnce the Maiden of the Rainbow,\nThinking long, and long debating,\nHow to give the youth employment,\nHow the purchased slave could labor;\nFinally a shepherd made him,\nMade him keeper of her pastures;\nBut the over-scornful hostess,\nBaked a biscuit for the herdsman,\nBaked a loaf of wondrous thickness,\nBaked the lower-half of oat-meal,\nAnd the upper-half of barley,\nBaked a flint-stone in the centre,\nPoured around it liquid butter,\nThen she gave it to the shepherd,\nFood to still the herdsman\u2019s hunger;\nThus she gave the youth instructions:\n\u201cDo not eat the bread in hunger,\nTill the herd is in the woodlands!\u201d\n\nThen the wife of Ilmarinen\nSent her cattle to the pasture,\nThus addressing Kullerwoinen:\n\u201cDrive the cows to yonder bowers,\nTo the birch-trees and the aspens,\nThat they there may feed and fatten,\nFill themselves with milk and butter,\nIn the open forest-pastures,\nOn the distant hills and mountains,\nIn the glens among the birch-trees,\nIn the lowlands with the aspens,\nIn the golden pine-tree forests,\nIn the thickets silver-laden.\n\n\u201cGuard them, thou O kind Creator,\nShield them, omnipresent Ukko,\nShelter them from every danger,\nAnd protect them from all evil,\nThat they may not want, nor wander\nFrom the paths of peace and plenty.\nAs at home Thou didst protect them\nIn the shelters and the hurdles,\nGuard them now beneath the heavens,\nShelter them in woodland pastures,\nThat the herds may live and prosper\nTo the joy of Northland\u2019s hostess,\nAnd against the will of Lempo.\n\n\u201cIf my herdsman prove unworthy,\nIf the shepherd-maids seem evil,\nLet the pastures be their shepherds,\nLet the alders guard the cattle,\nMake the birch-tree their protector,\nLet the willow drive them homeward,\nEre the hostess go to seek them,\nEre the milkmaids wait and worry.\nShould the birch-tree not protect them,\nNor the aspen lend assistance,\nNor the linden be their keeper,\nNor the willow drive them homeward,\nWilt thou give them better herdsmen,\nLet Creation\u2019s beauteous daughters\nBe their kindly shepherdesses.\nThou hast many lovely maidens,\nMany hundreds that obey thee,\nIn the Ether\u2019s spacious circles,\nBeauteous daughters of creation.\n\n\u201cSummer-daughter, magic maiden,\nSouthern mother of the woodlands,\nPine-tree daughter, Kateyatar,\nPihlayatar, of the aspen,\nAlder-maiden, Tapio\u2019s daughter,\nDaughter of the glen, Millikki,\nAnd the mountain-maid, Tellervo,\nOf my herds be ye protectors,\nKeep them from the evil-minded,\nKeep them safe in days of summer,\nIn the times of fragrant flowers,\nWhile the tender leaves are whispering,\nWhile the Earth is verdure-laden.\n\n\u201cSummer-daughter, charming maiden,\nSouthern mother of the woodlands,\nSpread abroad thy robes of safety,\nSpread thine apron o\u2019er the forest,\nLet it cover all my cattle,\nAnd protect the unprotected,\nThat no evil winds may harm them,\nMay not suffer from the storm-clouds.\nGuard my flocks from every danger,\nKeep them from the hands of wild-beasts,\nFrom the swamps with sinking pathways,\nFrom the springs that bubble trouble,\nFrom the swiftly running waters,\nFrom the bottom of the whirlpool,\nThat they may not find misfortune,\nMay not wander to destruction,\nIn the marshes sink and perish,\nThough against God\u2019s best intentions,\nThough against the will of Ukko.\n\n\u201cFrom a distance bring a bugle,\nBring a shepherd\u2019s horn from heaven,\nBring the honey-flute of Ukko,\nPlay the music of creation,\nBlow the pipes of the magician,\nPlay the flowers on the highlands,\nCharm the hills, and dales, and mountains,\nCharm the borders of the forest,\nFill the forest-trees with honey,\nFill with spice the fountain-borders.\n\n\u201cFor my herds give food and shelter,\nFeed them all on honeyed pastures,\nGive them drink at honeyed fountains\nFeed them on thy golden grasses,\nOn the leaves of silver saplings,\nFrom the springs of life and beauty,\nFrom the crystal-waters flowing,\nFrom the waterfalls of Rutya,\nFrom the uplands green and golden,\nFrom the glens enriched in silver.\nDig thou also golden fountains\nOn the four sides of the willow,\nThat the cows may drink in sweetness,\nAnd their udders swell with honey,\nThat their milk may flow in streamlets;\nLet the milk be caught in vessels,\nLet the cow\u2019s gift be not wasted,\nBe not given to Manala.\n\n\u201cMany are the sons of evil,\nThat to Mana take their milkings,\nGive their milk to evil-doers,\nWaste it in Tuoni\u2019s empire;\nFew there are, and they the worthy,\nThat can get the milk from Mana;\nNever did my ancient mother\nAsk for counsel in the village,\nNever in the courts for wisdom;\nShe obtained her milk from Mana,\nTook the sour-milk from the dealers,\nSweet-milk from the greater distance,\nFrom the kingdom of Manala,\nFrom Tuoni\u2019s fields and pastures;\nBrought it in the dusk of evening,\nThrough the by-ways in the darkness,\nThat the wicked should not know it,\nThat it should not find destruction.\n\n\u201cThis the language of my mother,\nAnd these words I also echo:\n\u2018Whither does the cow\u2019s gift wander,\nWhither has the milk departed?\nHas it gone to feed the strangers,\nBanished to the distant village,\nGone to feed the hamlet-lover,\nOr perchance to feed the forest,\nDisappeared within the woodlands,\nScattered o\u2019er the hills and mountains,\nMingled with the lakes and rivers?\nIt shall never go to Mana,\nNever go to feed the stranger,\nNever to the village-lover;\nNeither shall it feed the forest,\nNor be lost upon the mountains,\nNeither sprinkled in the woodlands,\nNor be mingled with the waters;\nIt is needed for our tables,\nWorthy food for all our children.\u2019\n\n\u201cSummer-daughter, maid of beauty,\nSouthern daughter of Creation,\nGive Suotikki tender fodder,\nTo Watikki, give pure water,\nTo Hermikki milk abundant,\nFresh provisions to Tuorikki,\nFrom Mairikki let the milk flow,\nFresh milk from my cows in plenty,\nComing from the tips of grasses,\nFrom the tender herbs and leaflets,\nFrom the meadows rich in honey,\nFrom the mother of the forest,\nFrom the meadows sweetly dripping,\nFrom the berry-laden branches,\nFrom the heath of flower-maidens,\nFrom the verdure-maiden bowers,\nFrom the clouds of milk-providers,\nFrom the virgin of the heavens,\nThat the milk may flow abundant\nFrom the cows that I have given\nTo the keeping of Kullervo.\n\n\u201cRise thou virgin of the valley,\nFrom the springs arise in beauty,\nRise thou maiden of the fountain,\nBeautiful, arise in ether,\nTake the waters from the cloudlets,\nAnd my roaming herds besprinkle,\nThat my cows may drink and flourish,\nMay be ready for the coming\nOf the shepherdess of evening.\n\n\u201cO Millikki, forest-hostess,\nMother of the herds at pasture,\nSend the tallest of thy servants,\nSend the best of thine assistants,\nThat my herds may well be guarded,\nThrough the pleasant days of summer,\nGiven us by our Creator.\n\n\u201cBeauteous virgin of the woodlands,\nTapio\u2019s most charming daughter,\nFair Tellervo, forest-maiden,\nSoftly clad in silken raiment,\nBeautiful in golden ringlets,\nDo thou give my herds protection,\nIn the Metsola dominions,\nOn the hills of Tapiola;\nShield them with thy hands of beauty,\nStroke them gently with thy fingers,\nGive to them a golden lustre,\nMake them shine like fins of salmon,\nGrow them robes as soft as ermine.\n\n\u201cWhen the evening star brings darkness,\nWhen appears the hour of twilight,\nSend my lowing cattle homeward,\nMilk within their vessels coursing,\nWater on their backs in lakelets.\nWhen the Sun has set in ocean,\nWhen the evening-bird is singing,\nThus address my herds of cattle:\n\n\u201cYe that carry horns, now hasten\nTo the sheds of Ilmarinen;\nYe enriched in milk go homeward,\nTo the hostess now in waiting,\nHome, the better place for sleeping,\nForest-beds are full of danger;\nWhen the evening comes in darkness,\nStraightway journey to the milkmaids\nBuilding fires to light the pathway\nOn the turf enriched in honey,\nIn the pastures berry-laden!\n\n\u201cThou, O Tapio\u2019s son, Nyrikki,\nForest-son, enrobed in purple,\nCut the fir-trees on the mountains,\nCut the pines with cones of beauty,\nLay them o\u2019er the streams for bridges,\nCover well the sloughs of quicksand,\nIn the swamps and in the lowlands,\nThat my herd may pass in safety,\nOn their long and dismal journey,\nTo the clouds of smoke may hasten,\nWhere the milkmaids wait their coming.\nIf the cows heed not this order,\nDo not hasten home at evening,\nThen, O service-berry maiden,\nCut a birch-rod from the glenwood,\nFrom the juniper, a whip-stick,\nNear to Tapio\u2019s spacious mansion,\nStanding on the ash-tree mountain,\nDrive my wayward, lowing cattle,\nInto Metsola\u2019s wide milk-yards,\nWhen the evening-star is rising.\n\n\u201cThou, O Otso, forest-apple,\nWoodland bear, with honeyed fingers,\nLet us make a lasting treaty,\nMake a vow for future ages,\nThat thou wilt not kill my cattle,\nWilt not eat my milk-providers;\nThat I will not send my hunters\nTo destroy thee and thy kindred,\nNever in the days of summer,\nThe Creator\u2019s warmest season.\n\n\u201cDost thou hear the tones of cow-bells,\nHear the calling of the bugles,\nHide thyself within the meadow,\nSink upon the turf in slumber,\nBury both thine ears in clover,\nCrouch within some alder-thicket\nClimb between the mossy ledges,\nVisit thou some rocky cavern,\nFlee away to other mountains,\nTill thou canst not hear the cow-bells,\nNor the calling of the herdsmen.\n\n\u201cListen, Otso of the woodlands,\nSacred bear with honeyed fingers,\nTo approach the herd of cattle\nThou thyself art not forbidden,\nBut thy tongue, and teeth, and fingers,\nMust not touch my herd in summer,\nMust not harm my harmless creatures.\nGo around the scented meadows,\nAmble through the milky pastures,\nFrom the tones of bells and shepherds.\nShould the herd be on the mountain,\nGo thou quickly to the marshes;\nShould my cattle browse the lowlands,\nSleep thou then within the thicket;\nShould they feed upon the uplands,\nThou must hasten to the valley;\nShould the herd graze at the bottom,\nThou must feed upon the summit.\n\n\u201cWander like the golden cuckoo,\nLike the dove of silver brightness,\nLike a little fish in ocean;\nHide thy claws within thy hair-foot,\nShut thy wicked teeth in darkness,\nThat my herd may not be frightened,\nMay not think themselves in danger.\nLeave my cows in peace and plenty,\nLet them journey home in order,\nThrough the vales and mountain by-ways,\nOver plains and through the forest,\nHarming not my harmless creatures.\n\n\u201cCall to mind our former pledges,\nAt the river of Tuoni,\nNear the waterfall and whirlpool,\nIn the ears of our Creator.\nThrice to Otso was it granted,\nIn the circuit of the summer,\nTo approach the land of cow-bells,\nWhere the herdsmen\u2019s voices echo;\nBut to thee it was not granted,\nOtso never had permission\nTo attempt a wicked action,\nTo begin a work of evil.\nShould the blinding thing of malice\nCome upon thee in thy roamings,\nShould thy bloody teeth feel hunger,\nThrow thy malice to the mountains,\nAnd thy hunger to the pine-trees,\nSink thy teeth within the aspens,\nIn the dead limbs of the birches,\nPrune the dry stalks from the willows.\nShould thy hunger still impel thee,\nGo thou to the berry-mountain,\nEat the fungus of the forest,\nFeed thy hunger on the ant-hills,\nEat the red roots of the bear-tree,\nMetsola\u2019s rich cakes of honey,\nNot the grass my herd would feed on.\nOr if Metsola\u2019s rich honey\nShould ferment before the eating,\nOn the hills of golden color,\nOn the mountains filled with silver,\nThere is other food for hunger,\nOther drink for thirsting Otso,\nEverlasting will the food be,\nAnd the drink be never wanting.\n\n\u201cLet us now agree in honor,\nAnd conclude a lasting treaty\nThat our lives may end in pleasure,\nMay be merry in the summer,\nBoth enjoy the woods in common,\nThough our food must be distinctive.\nShouldst thou still desire to fight me,\nLet our contests be in winter,\nLet our wars be on the snow-fields.\nSwamps will thaw in days of summer,\nWarm, the water in the rivers.\nTherefore shouldst thou break this treaty,\nShouldst thou come where golden cattle\nRoam these woodland hills and valleys,\nWe will slay thee with our cross-bows;\nShould our arrow-men be absent,\nWe have here some archer-women,\nAnd among them is the hostess,\nThat can use the fatal weapon,\nThat can bring thee to destruction,\nThus will end the days of trouble\nThat thou bringest to our people,\nAnd against the will of Ukko.\n\n\u201cUkko, ruler in the heavens,\nLend an ear to my entreaty,\nMetamorphose all my cattle,\nThrough the mighty force of magic,\nInto stumps and stones convert them,\nIf the enemy should wander,\nNear my herd in days of summer.\n\n\u201cIf I had been born an Otso,\nI would never stride and amble\nAt the feet of aged women;\nElsewhere there are hills and valleys,\nFarther on are honey-pastures,\nWhere the lazy bear may wander,\nWhere the indolent may linger;\nSneak away to yonder mountain,\nThat thy tender flesh may lessen,\nIn the blue-glen\u2019s deep recesses,\nIn the bear-dens of the forest.\nThou canst move through fields of acorns,\nThrough the sand and ocean-pebbles,\nThere for thee is tracked a pathway,\nThrough the woodlands on the sea-coast,\nTo the Northland\u2019s farthest limits,\nTo the dismal plains of Lapland,\nThere \u2019tis well for thee to lumber,\nThere to live will be a pleasure.\nShoeless there to walk in summer,\nStockingless in days of autumn,\nOn the blue-back of the mountain,\nThrough the swamps and fertile lowlands.\n\n\u201cIf thou canst not journey thither,\nCanst not find the Lapland-highway,\nHasten on a little distance,\nIn the bear-path leading northward.\nTo the grove of Tuonela,\nTo the honey-plains of Kalma,\nSwamps there are in which to wander,\nHeaths in which to roam at pleasure,\nThere are Kiryos, there are Karyos,\nAnd of beasts a countless number,\nWith their fetters strong as iron,\nFattening within the forest.\nBe ye gracious, groves and mountains,\nFull of grace, ye darksome thickets,\nPeace and plenty to my cattle,\nThrough the pleasant days of summer,\nThe Creator\u2019s warmest season.\n\n\u201cKnippana, O King of forests,\nThou the gray-beard of the woodlands,\nWatch thy dogs in fen and fallow,\nLay a sponge within one nostril,\nAnd an acorn in the other,\nThat they may not scent my cattle;\nTie their eyes with silken fillets,\nThat they may not see my herdlings,\nMay not see my cattle grazing.\n\n\u201cShould all this seem inefficient,\nDrive away thy barking children,\nLet them run to other forests,\nLet them hunt in other marshes,\nFrom these verdant strips of meadow,\nFrom these far outstretching borders,\nHide thy dogs within thy caverns,\nFirmly tie thy yelping children,\nTie them with thy golden fetters,\nWith thy chains adorned with silver,\nThat they may not do me damage,\nMay not do a deed of mischief.\n\n\u201cShould all this prove inefficient,\nThou, O Ukko, King of heaven,\nWise director, full of mercy,\nHear the golden words I utter,\nHear a voice that breathes affection,\nFrom the alder make a muzzle,\nFor each dog within the kennel;\nShould the alder prove too feeble,\nCast a band of purest copper;\nShould the copper prove a failure,\nForge a band of ductile iron;\nShould the iron snap asunder,\nIn each nose a small-ring fasten,\nMade of molten gold and silver,\nChain thy dogs in forest-caverns,\nThat my herd may not be injured.\u201d\n\nThen the wife of Ilmarinen,\nLife-companion of the blacksmith,\nOpened all her yards and stables,\nLed her herd across the meadow,\nPlaced them in the herdman\u2019s keeping,\nIn the care of Kullerwoinen.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXXIII.\nKULLERVO AND THE CHEAT-CAKE.\n\n\nThereupon the lad, Kullervo,\nLaid his luncheon in his basket,\nDrove the herd to mountain-pastures,\nO\u2019er the hills and through the marshes,\nTo their grazings in the woodlands,\nSpeaking as he careless wandered:\n\u201cOf the youth am I the poorest,\nHapless lad and full of trouble,\nEvil luck to me befallen!\nI, alas! must idly wander\nO\u2019er the hills and through the valleys,\nAs a watch-dog for the cattle!\u201d\n\nThen she sat upon the greensward,\nIn a sunny spot selected,\nSinging, chanting words as follow:\n\u201cShine, O shine, thou Sun of heaven,\nCast thy rays, thou fire of Ukko,\nOn the herdsman of the blacksmith,\nOn the head of Kullerwoinen,\nOn this poor and luckless shepherd,\nNot in Ilmarinen\u2019s smithy,\nNor the dwellings of his people;\nGood the table of the hostess,\nCuts the best of wheaten biscuit,\nHoney-cakes she cuts in slices,\nSpreading each with golden butter;\nOnly dry bread has the herdsman,\nEats with pain the oaten bread-crusts,\nFilled with chaff his arid biscuit,\nFeeds upon the worst of straw-bread,\nPine-tree bark, the bread he feeds on,\nSipping water from the birch-bark,\nDrinking from the tips of grasses!\nGo, O Sun, and go, O barley,\nHaste away, thou light of Ukko,\nHide within the mountain pine-trees,\nGo, O wheat, to yonder thickets,\nTo the trees of purple berries,\nTo the junipers and alders,\nSafely lead the herdsman homeward\nTo the biscuit golden-buttered,\nTo the honeyed cakes and viands!\u201d\n\nWhile the shepherd lad was singing\nKullerwoinen\u2019s song and echo,\nIlmarinen\u2019s wife was feasting\nOn the sweetest bread of Northland,\nOn the toothsome cakes of barley,\nOn the richest of provisions;\nOnly laid aside some cabbage,\nFor the herdsman, Kullerwoinen;\nSet apart some wasted fragments,\nLeavings of the dogs at dinner,\nFor the shepherd, home returning.\n\nFrom the woods a bird came flying,\nSang this song to Kullerwoinen:\n\u201c\u2019Tis the time for forest-dinners,\nFor the fatherless companion\nOf the herds to eat his viands,\nEat the good things from his basket!\u201d\n\nKullerwoinen heard the songster,\nLooked upon the Sun\u2019s long shadow,\nStraightway spake the words that follow:\n\u201cTrue, the singing of the song-bird,\nIt is time indeed for feasting,\nTime to eat my basket-dinner.\u201d\n\nThereupon young Kullerwoinen\nCalled his herd to rest in safety,\nSat upon a grassy hillock,\nTook his basket from his shoulders,\nTook therefrom the arid oat-loaf,\nTurned it over in his fingers,\nCarefully the loaf inspected,\nSpake these words of ancient wisdom:\n\u201cMany loaves are fine to look on,\nOn the outside seem delicious,\nOn the inside, chaff and tan-bark!\u201d\n\nThen the shepherd, Kullerwoinen,\nDrew his knife to cut his oat-loaf,\nCut the hard and arid biscuit;\nCuts against a stone imprisoned,\nWell imbedded in the centre,\nBreaks his ancient knife in pieces;\nWhen the shepherd youth, Kullervo,\nSaw his magic knife had broken,\nWeeping sore, he spake as follows:\n\u201cThis, the blade that I hold sacred,\nThis the one thing that I honor,\nRelic of my mother\u2019s people!\nOn the stone within this oat-loaf,\nOn this cheat-cake of the hostess,\nI my precious knife have broken.\nHow shall I repay this insult,\nHow avenge this woman\u2019s malice,\nWhat the wages for deception?\u201d\nFrom a tree the raven answered:\n\u201cO thou little silver buckle,\nOnly son of old Kalervo,\nWhy art thou in evil humor,\nWherefore sad in thy demeanor?\nTake a young shoot from the thicket,\nTake a birch-rod from the valley,\nDrive thy herd across the lowlands,\nThrough the quicksands of the marshes;\nTo the wolves let one half wander,\nTo the bear-dens, lead the other;\nSing the forest wolves together,\nSing the bears down from the mountains,\nCall the wolves thy little children,\nAnd the bears thy standard-bearers;\nDrive them like a cow-herd homeward,\nDrive them home like spotted cattle,\nDrive them to thy master\u2019s milk-yards;\nThus thou wilt repay the hostess\nFor her malice and derision.\u201d\n\nThereupon the wizard answered,\nThese the words of Kullerwoinen:\n\u201cWait, yea wait, thou bride of Hisi!\nDo I mourn my mother\u2019s relic,\nMourn the keep-sake thou hast broken?\nThou thyself shalt mourn as sorely\nWhen thy cows come home at evening!\u201d\n\nFrom the tree he cuts a birch-wand,\nFrom the juniper a whip-stick,\nDrives the herd across the lowlands,\nThrough the quicksands of the marshes,\nTo the wolves lets one half wander,\nTo the bear-dens leads the other;\nCalls the wolves his little children,\nCalls the bears his standard-bearers,\nChanges all his herd of cattle\nInto wolves and bears by magic.\n\nIn the west the Sun is shining,\nTelling that the night is coming.\nQuick the wizard, Kullerwoinen,\nWanders o\u2019er the pine-tree mountain,\nHastens through the forest homeward,\nDrives the wolves and bears before him\nToward the milk-yards of the hostess;\nTo the herd he speaks as follows,\nAs they journey on together:\n\u201cTear and kill the wicked hostess,\nTear her guilty flesh in pieces,\nWhen she comes to view her cattle,\nWhen she stoops to do her milking!\u201d\n\nThen the wizard, Kullerwoinen,\nFrom an ox-bone makes a bugle,\nMakes it from Tuonikki\u2019s cow-horn,\nMakes a flute from Kiryo\u2019s shin-bone,\nPlays a song upon his bugle,\nPlays upon his flute of magic,\nThrice upon the home-land hill-tops,\nSix times near the coming gate-ways.\n\nIlmarinen\u2019s wife and hostess\nLong had waited for the coming\nOf her herd with Kullerwoinen,\nWaited for the milk at evening,\nWaited for the new-made butter,\nHeard the footsteps in the cow-path,\nOn the heath she beard the bustle,\nSpake these joyous words of welcome:\n\u201cBe thou praised, O gracious Ukko,\nThat my herd is home returning!\nBut I hear a bugle sounding,\n\u2019Tis the playing of my herdsman,\nPlaying on a magic cow-horn,\nBursting all our ears with music!\u201d\n\nKullerwoinen, drawing nearer,\nTo the hostess spake as follows:\n\u201cFound the bugle in the woodlands,\nAnd the flute among the rushes;\nAll thy herd are in the passage,\nAll thy cows within the hurdles,\nThis the time to build the camp-fire,\nThis the time to do the milking!\u201d\n\nIlmarinen\u2019s wife, the hostess,\nThus addressed an aged servant:\n\u201cGo, thou old one, to the milking,\nHave the care of all my cattle,\nDo not ask for mine assistance,\nSince I have to knead the biscuit.\u201d\nKullerwoinen spake as follows:\n\u201cAlways does the worthy hostess,\nEver does the wisdom-mother\nGo herself and do the milking,\nTend the cows within the hurdles!\u201d\n\nThen the wife of Ilmarinen\nBuilt a field-fire in the passage,\nWent to milk her cows awaiting,\nLooked upon her herd in wonder,\nSpake these happy words of greeting:\n\u201cBeautiful, my herd of cattle,\nGlistening like the skins of lynxes,\nHair as soft as fur of ermine,\nPeaceful waiting for the milk-pail!\u201d\n\nOn the milk-stool sits the hostess,\nMilks one moment, then a second,\nThen a third time milks and ceases;\nWhen the bloody wolves disguising,\nQuick attack the hostess milking,\nAnd the bears lend their assistance,\nTear and mutilate her body\nWith their teeth and sharpened fingers.\nKullerwoinen, cruel wizard,\nThus repaid the wicked hostess,\nThus repaid her evil treatment.\n\nQuick the wife of Ilmarinen\nCried aloud in bitter anguish,\nThus addressed the youth, Kullervo:\n\u201cEvil son, thou bloody herdsman,\nThou hast brought me wolves in malice,\nDriven bears within my hurdles!\u201d\nThese the words of Kullerwoinen:\n\u201cHave I evil done as shepherd,\nWorse the conduct of the hostess;\nBaked a stone inside my oat-cake,\nOn the inside, rock and tan-bark,\nOn the stone my knife, was broken,\nTreasure of my mother\u2019s household,\nBroken virtue of my people!\u201d\nIlmarinen\u2019s wife made answer:\n\u201cNoble herdsman, Kullerwoinen,\nChange, I pray thee, thine opinion,\nTake away thine incantations,\nFrom the bears and wolves release me,\nSave me from this spell of torture;\nI will give thee better raiment,\nGive the best of milk and butter,\nSet for thee the sweetest table;\nThou shalt live with me in welcome,\nNeed not labor for thy keeping.\nIf thou dost not free me quickly,\nDost not break this spell of magic,\nI shall sink into the Death-land,\nShall return to Tuonela.\u201d\nThis is Kullerwoinen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cIt is best that thou shouldst perish,\nLet destruction overtake thee,\nThere is ample room in Mana,\nRoom for all the dead in Kalma,\nThere the worthiest must slumber,\nThere must rest the good and evil.\u201d\nIlmarinen\u2019s wife made answer:\n\u201cUkko, thou O God in heaven,\nSpan the strongest of thy cross-bows,\nTest the weapon by thy wisdom,\nLay an arrow forged from copper,\nOn the cross-bow of thy forging;\nRightly aim thy flaming arrow,\nWith thy magic hurl the missile,\nShoot this wizard through the vitals,\nPierce the heart of Kullerwoinen\nWith the lightning of the heavens,\nWith thine arrows tipped with copper.\u201d\nKullerwoinen prays as follows:\n\u201cUkko, God of truth and justice.\nDo not slay thy magic servant,\nSlay the wife of Ilmarinen,\nKill in her the worst of women,\nIn these hurdles let her perish,\nLest she wander hence in freedom,\nTo perform some other mischief,\nDo some greater deed of malice!\u201d\n\nQuick as lightning fell the hostess,\nQuick the wife of Ilmarinen\nFell and perished in the hurdles,\nOn the ground before her cottage;\nThus the death of Northland\u2019s hostess,\nCherished wife of Ilmarinen,\nOnce the Maiden of the Rainbow,\nWooed and watched for many summers,\nPride and joy of Kalevala!\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXXIV.\nKULLERVO FINDS HIS TRIBE-FOLK.\n\n\nKullerwoinen, young magician,\nIn his beauteous, golden ringlets,\nIn his magic shoes of deer-skin,\nLeft the home of Ilmarinen\nWandered forth upon his journey,\nEre the blacksmith heard the tidings\nOf the cruel death and torture\nOf his wife and joy-companion,\nLest a bloody fight should follow.\n\nKullerwoinen left the smithy,\nBlowing on his magic bugle,\nJoyful left the lands of Ilma,\nBlowing blithely on the heather,\nMade the distant hills re-echo,\nMade the swamps and mountains tremble,\nMade the heather-blossoms answer\nTo the music of his cow-horn,\nIn its wild reverberations,\nTo the magic of his playing.\nSongs were heard within the smithy,\nAnd the blacksmith stopped and listened,\nHastened to the door and window,\nHastened to the open court-yard,\nIf perchance he might discover\nWhat was playing on the heather,\nWhat was sounding through the forest.\nQuick he learned the cruel story,\nLearned the cause of the rejoicing,\nSaw the hostess dead before him,\nKnew his beauteous wife had perished,\nSaw the lifeless form extended,\nIn the court-yard of his dwelling.\nThereupon the metal-artist\nFell to bitter tears and wailings,\nWept through all the dreary night-time,\nDeep the grief that settled o\u2019er him,\nBlack as night his darkened future,\nCould not stay his tears of sorrow.\n\nKullerwoinen hastened onward,\nStraying, roaming, hither, thither,\nWandered on through field and forest,\nO\u2019er the Hisi-plains and woodlands.\nWhen the darkness settled o\u2019er him,\nWhen the bird of night was flitting,\nSat the fatherless at evening,\nThe forsaken sat and rested\nOn a hillock of the forest.\nThus he murmured, heavy-hearted:\n\u201cWhy was I, alas! created,\nWhy was I so ill-begotten,\nSince for months and years I wander,\nLost among the ether-spaces?\nOthers have their homes to dwell in,\nOthers hasten to their firesides\nAs the evening gathers round them:\nBut my home is in the forest,\nAnd my bed upon the heather,\nAnd my bath-room is the rain-cloud.\n\n\u201cNever didst thou, God of mercy,\nNever in the course of ages,\nGive an infant birth unwisely;\nWherefore then was I created,\nFatherless to roam in ether,\nMotherless and lone to wander?\nThou, O Ukko, art my father,\nThou hast given me form and feature;\nAs the sea-gull on the ocean,\nAs the duck upon the waters,\nShines the Sun upon the swallow,\nShines as bright upon the sparrow,\nGives the joy-birds song and gladness,\nDoes not shine on me unhappy;\nNevermore will shine the sunlight,\nNever will the moonlight glimmer\nOn this hapless son and orphan;\nDo not know my hero-father,\nCannot tell who was my mother;\nOn the shore, perhaps the gray-duck\nLeft me in the sand to perish.\nYoung was I and small of stature,\nWhen my mother left me orphaned;\nDead, my father and my mother,\nDead, my honored tribe of heroes;\nShoes they left me that are icy,\nStockings filled with frosts of ages,\nLet me on the freezing ice-plains\nFall to perish in the rushes;\nFrom the giddy heights of mountains\nLet me tumble to destruction.\n\n\u201cO, thou wise and good Creator,\nWhy my birth and what my service?\nI shall never fall and perish\nOn the ice-plains, in the marshes,\nNever be a bridge in swamp-land,\nNot while I have arms of virtue\nThat can serve my honored kindred!\u201d\n\nThen Kullervo thought to journey\nTo the village of Untamo,\nTo avenge his father\u2019s murder,\nTo avenge his mother\u2019s tortures,\nAnd the troubles of his tribe-folk.\nThese the words of Kullerwoinen:\n\u201cWait, yea wait, thou Untamoinen,\nThou destroyer of my people;\nWhen I meet thee in the combat,\nI will slay thee and thy kindred,\nI will burn thy homes to ashes!\u201d\n\nCame a woman on the highway,\nDressed in blue, the aged mother,\nTo Kullervo spake as follows:\n\u201cWhither goest, Kullerwoinen,\nWhither hastes the wayward hero?\u201d\nKullerwoinen gave this answer:\n\u201cI have thought that I would journey\nTo the far-off land of strangers,\nTo the village of Untamo,\nTo avenge my father\u2019s murder,\nTo avenge my mother\u2019s tortures,\nAnd the troubles of my tribe-folk.\u201d\nThus the gray-haired woman answered:\n\u201cSurely thou dost rest in error,\nFor thy tribe has never perished,\nAnd thy mother still is living\nWith thy father in the Northland,\nLiving with the old Kalervo.\u201d\n\n\u201cO, thou ancient dame beloved,\nWorthy mother of the woodlands,\nTell me where my father liveth,\nWhere my loving mother lingers!\u201d\n\n\u201cYonder lives thine aged father,\nAnd thy loving mother with him,\nOn the farthest shore of Northland,\nOn the long-point of the fish-lake!\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me, O thou woodland-mother,\nHow to journey to my people,\nHow to find mine honored tribe-folk.\u201d\n\n\u201cEasy is the way for strangers:\nThou must journey through the forest,\nHasten to the river-border,\nTravel one day, then a second,\nAnd the third from morn till even,\nTo the north-west, thou must journey.\nIf a mountain comes to meet thee,\nGo around the nearing mountain,\nWestward hold thy weary journey,\nTill thou comest to a river,\nOn thy right hand flowing eastward;\nTravel to the river border,\nWhere three water-falls will greet thee;\nWhen thou comest to a headland,\nOn the point thou\u2019lt see a cottage\nWhere the fishermen assemble;\nIn this cottage is thy father,\nWith thy mother and her daughters,\nBeautiful thy maiden sisters.\u201d\n\nKullerwoinen, the magician,\nHastens northward on his journey,\nWalks one day, and then a second,\nWalks the third from morn till evening;\nTo the north-west walks Kullervo,\nTill a mountain comes to meet him,\nWalks around the nearing mountain;\nWestward, westward, holds his journey,\nTill he sees a river coming;\nHastens to the river border,\nWalks along the streams and rapids\nTill three waterfalls accost him;\nTravels till he meets a headland,\nOn the point he spies a cottage,\nWhere the fishermen assemble.\n\nQuick he journeys to the cabin,\nQuick he passes through the portals\nOf the cottage on the headland,\nWhere he finds his long-lost kindred;\nNo one knows the youth, Kullervo,\nNo one knows whence comes the stranger,\nWhere his home, nor where he goeth.\nThese the words of young Kullervo:\n\u201cDost thou know me not, my mother,\nDost thou know me not, my father?\nI am hapless Kullerwoinen,\nWhom the heroes of Untamo\nCarried to their distant country,\nWhen my height was but a hand-breadth.\u201d\nQuick the hopeful mother answers:\n\u201cO my worthy son, beloved,\nO my precious silver-buckle,\nHast thou with thy mind of magic,\nWandered through the fields of Northland\nSearching for thy home and kindred?\nAs one dead I long have mourned thee,\nHad supposed thee in Manala.\nOnce I had two sons and heroes,\nHad two good and beauteous daughters,\nTwo of these have long been absent,\nElder son and elder daughter;\nFor the wars my son departed,\nWhile my daughter strayed and perished;\nIf my son is home returning,\nYet my daughter still is absent.\u201d\nKullerwoinen asked his mother:\n\u201cWhither did my sister wander,\nWhat direction did she journey?\u201d\nThis the answer of the mother:\n\u201cThis the story of thy sister:\nWent for berries to the woodlands,\nTo the mountains went my daughter,\nWhere the lovely maiden vanished,\nWhere my pretty berry perished,\nDied some death beyond my knowledge,\nNameless is the death she suffered.\nWho is mourning for the daughter?\nNo one mourns her as her mother,\nWalks and wanders, mourns and searches,\nFor her fairest child and daughter;\nTherefore did the mother wander,\nSearching for thy lovely sister,\nLike the bear she roamed the forest,\nRan the glenways like the adder,\nSearched one day and then a second,\nSearched the third from morn till even,\nTill she reached the mountain-summit,\nThere she called and called her daughter,\nTill the distant mountains answered,\nCalled to her who had departed:\n\u2018Where art thou, my lovely maiden,\nCome my daughter to thy mother!\u2019\n\n\u201cThus I called, and sought thy sister,\nThis the answer of the mountains,\nThus the hills and valleys echoed:\n\u2018Call no more, thou weeping mother,\nWeep no more for the departed;\nNevermore in all thy lifetime,\nNever in the course of ages,\nWill she join again her kindred,\nAt her brother\u2019s landing-places,\nIn her father\u2019s humble dwelling.\u2019\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXXV.\nKULLERVO\u2019S EVIL DEEDS.\n\n\nKullerwoinen, youthful wizard,\nIn his blue and scarlet stockings,\nHenceforth lingered with his parents;\nBut he could not change his nature,\nCould not gain a higher wisdom,\nCould not win a better judgment;\nAs a child he was ill-nurtured,\nEarly rocked in stupid cradles,\nBy a nurse of many follies,\nBy a minister of evil.\n\nTo his work went Kullerwoinen,\nStrove to make his labors worthy;\nFirst, Kullervo went a-fishing,\nSet his fishing-nets in ocean;\nWith his hands upon the row-locks,\nKullerwoinen spake as follows:\n\u201cShall I pull with all my forces,\nPull with strength of youthful heroes,\nOr with weakness of the aged?\u201d\n\nFrom the stern arose a gray-beard,\nAnd he answered thus Kullervo:\n\u201cPull with all thy youthful vigor;\nShouldst thou row with magic power,\nThou couldst not destroy this vessel,\nCouldst not row this boat to fragments.\u201d\n\nThereupon the youth, Kullervo,\nRowed with all his youthful vigor,\nWith the mighty force of magic,\nRowed the bindings from the vessel,\nRibs of juniper he shattered,\nRowed the aspen-oars to pieces.\n\nWhen the aged sire, Kalervo,\nSaw the work of Kullerwoinen,\nHe addressed his son as follows:\n\u201cDost not understand the rowing;\nThou hast burst the bands asunder,\nBands of juniper and willow,\nRowed my aspen-boat to pieces;\nTo the fish-nets drive the salmon,\nThis, perchance, will suit thee better.\u201d\n\nThereupon the son, Kullervo,\nHastened to his work as bidden,\nDrove the salmon to the fish-nets,\nSpake in innocence as follows:\n\u201cShall I with my youthful vigor\nScare the salmon to the fish-nets,\nOr with little magic vigor\nShall I drive them to their capture?\u201d\nSpake the master of the fish-nets:\n\u201cThat would be but work of women,\nShouldst thou use but little power\nIn the frighting of the salmon!\u201d\n\nKullerwoinen does as bidden,\nScares the salmon with the forces\nOf his mighty arms and shoulders,\nWith the strength of youth and magic,\nStirs the water thick with black-earth,\nBeats the scare-net into pieces,\nInto pulp he beats the salmon.\n\nWhen the aged sire, Kalervo,\nSaw the work of Kullerwoinen,\nTo his son these words he uttered:\n\u201cDost not understand this labor,\nFor this work thou art not suited,\nCanst not scare the perch and salmon\nTo the fish-nets of thy father;\nThou hast ruined all my fish-nets,\nTorn my scare-net into tatters,\nBeaten into pulp the whiting,\nTorn my net-props into fragments,\nBeaten into bits my wedges.\nLeave the fishing to another;\nSee if thou canst pay the tribute,\nPay my yearly contribution;\nSee if thou canst better travel,\nOn the way show better judgment!\u201d\n\nThereupon the son, Kullervo,\nHapless youth in purple vestments,\nIn his magic shoes of deer-skin,\nIn his locks of golden color,\nSallied forth to pay the taxes,\nPay the tribute for his people.\nWhen the youth had paid the tribute,\nPaid the yearly contribution,\nHe returned to join the snow-sledge,\nTook his place upon the cross-bench,\nSnapped his whip above the courser,\nAnd began his journey homeward;\nRattled on along the highway,\nMeasured as he galloped onward\nWainamoinen\u2019s hills and valleys,\nAnd his fields in cultivation.\n\nCame a golden maid to meet him,\nOn her snow-shoes came a virgin,\nO\u2019er the hills of Wainamoinen,\nO\u2019er his cultivated lowlands.\n\nQuick the wizard-son, Kullervo,\nChecked the motion of his racer,\nThus addressed the charming maiden:\n\u201cCome, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge,\nIn my fur-robes rest and linger!\u201d\nAs she ran, the maiden answered:\n\u201cLet the Death-maid sit beside thee,\nRest and linger in thy fur-robes!\u201d\n\nThereupon the youth, Kullervo,\nSnapped his whip above the courser;\nFleet as wind he gallops homeward,\nDashes down along the highway;\nWith the roar of falling waters,\nGallops onward, onward, onward,\nO\u2019er the broad-back of the ocean,\nO\u2019er the icy plains of Lapland.\n\nComes a winsome maid to meet him,\nGolden-haired, and wearing snow-shoes,\nOn the far outstretching ice-plains;\nQuick the wizard checks his racer,\nCharmingly accosts the maiden,\nChanting carefully these measures:\n\u201cCome, thou beauty, to my snow-sledge,\nHither come, and rest, and linger!\u201d\nTauntingly the maiden answered:\n\u201cTake Tuoni to thy snow-sledge,\nAt thy side let Manalainen\nSit with thee, and rest, and linger!\u201d\n\nQuick the wizard, Kullerwoinen,\nStruck his fiery, prancing racer,\nWith the birch-whip of his father.\nLike the lightning flew the fleet-foot,\nGalloped on the highway homeward;\nO\u2019er the hills the snow-sledge bounded,\nAnd the coming mountains trembled.\nKullerwoinen, wild magician,\nMeasures, on his journey homeward,\nNorthland\u2019s far-extending borders,\nAnd the fertile plains of Pohya.\nComes a beauteous maid to meet him,\nWith a tin-pin on her bosom,\nOn the heather of Pohyola,\nO\u2019er the Pohya-hills and moorlands.\n\nQuick the wizard son, Kullervo,\nHolds the bridle of his courser,\nCharmingly intones these measures:\n\u201cCome, fair maiden, to my snow-sledge,\nIn these fur-robes rest, and linger;\nEat with me the golden apples,\nEat the hazel-nut in joyance,\nDrink with me the beer delicious,\nEat the dainties that I give thee.\u201d\n\nThis the answer of the maiden\nWith the tin-pin on her bosom:\n\u201cI have scorn to give thy snow-sledge,\nScorn for thee, thou wicked wizard;\nCold is it beneath thy fur-robes,\nAnd thy sledge is chill and cheerless.\n\nThereupon the youth, Kullervo,\nWicked wizard of the Northland,\nDrew the maiden to his snow-sledge,\nDrew her to a seat beside him,\nQuickly in his furs enwrapped her;\nAnd the tin-adorned made answer,\nThese the accents of the maiden:\n\u201cLoose me from thy magic power,\nLet me leave at once thy presence,\nLest I speak in wicked accents,\nLest I say the prayer of evil;\nFree me now as I command thee,\nOr I\u2019ll tear thy sledge to pieces,\nThrow these fur-robes to the north-winds.\u201d\n\nStraightway wicked Kullerwoinen,\nEvil wizard and magician,\nOpens all his treasure-boxes,\nShows the maiden gold and silver,\nShows her silken wraps of beauty,\nSilken hose with golden borders,\nGolden belts with silver buckles,\nJewelry that dims the vision,\nBlunts the conscience of the virgin.\nSilver leads one to destruction,\nGold entices from uprightness.\nKullerwoinen, wicked wizard,\nFlatters lovingly the maiden,\nOne hand on the reins of leather,\nOne upon the maiden\u2019s shoulder;\nThus they journey through the evening,\nPass the night in merry-making.\n\nWhen the day-star led the morning,\nWhen the second day was dawning,\nThen the maid addressed Kullervo,\nQuestioned thus the wicked wizard:\n\u201cOf what tribe art thou descended,\nOf what race thy hero-father?\nTell thy lineage and kindred.\u201d\nThis, Kullervo\u2019s truthful answer:\n\u201cAm not from a mighty nation,\nNot the greatest, nor the smallest,\nBut my lineage is worthy:\nAm Kalervo\u2019s son of folly,\nAm a child of contradictions,\nHapless son of cold misfortune.\nTell me of thy race of heroes,\nTell thine origin and kindred.\u201d\nThis the answer of the maiden:\n\u201cCame not from a race primeval,\nNot the largest, nor the smallest,\nBut my lineage is worthy;\nAm Kalervo\u2019s wretched daughter,\nAm his long-lost child of error,\nAm a maid of contradictions,\nHapless daughter of misfortune.\n\n\u201cWhen a child I lived in plenty\nIn the dwellings of my mother;\nTo the woods I went for berries,\nWent for raspberries to uplands,\nGathered strawberries on mountains,\nGathered one day then a second;\nBut, alas! upon the third day,\nCould not find the pathway homeward,\nForestward the highways led me,\nAll the footpaths, to the woodlands.\nLong I sat in bitter weeping,\nWept one day and then a second,\nWept the third from morn till even.\nThen I climbed a lofty mountain,\nThere I called in wailing accents,\nAnd the woodlands gave this answer,\nThus the distant hills re-echoed:\n\u2018Call no longer, foolish virgin,\nAll thy calls and tears are useless;\nThere is none to give thee answer,\nFar away, thy home and people.\u2019\n\n\u201cOn the third and on the fourth days,\nOn the fifth, and sixth, and seventh,\nConstantly I sought to perish;\nBut in vain were all my efforts,\nCould not die upon the mountains.\nIf this wretched maid had perished,\nIn the summer of the third year,\nShe had fed earth\u2019s vegetation,\nShe had blossomed as a flower,\nKnowing neither pain nor sorrow.\u201d\n\nScarcely had the maiden spoken,\nWhen she bounded from the snow-sledge,\nRushed upon the rolling river,\nTo the cataract\u2019s commotion,\nTo the fiery stream and whirlpool.\nThus Kullervo\u2019s lovely sister\nHastened to her own destruction,\nTo her death by fire and water,\nFound her peace in Tuonela,\nIn the sacred stream of Mana.\n\nThen the wicked Kullerwoinen\nFell to weeping, sorely troubled,\nWailed, and wept, and heavy-hearted,\nSpake these words in bitter sorrow:\n\u201cWoe is me, my life hard-fated!\nI have slain my virgin-sister,\nShamed the daughter of my mother;\nWoe to thee, my ancient father!\nWoe to thee, my gray-haired mother!\nWherefore was I born and nurtured,\nWhy this hapless child\u2019s existence?\nBetter fate to Kullerwoinen,\nHad he never seen the daylight,\nOr, if born, had never thriven\nIn these mournful days of evil!\nDeath has failed to do his duty,\nSickness sinned in passing by me,\nShould have slain me in the cradle,\nWhen the seventh day had ended!\u201d\n\nThereupon he slips the collar\nOf his prancing royal racer,\nMounts the silver-headed fleet-foot,\nGallops like the lightning homeward;\nGallops only for a moment,\nWhen he halts his foaming courser\nAt the cabin of his father.\nIn the court-yard stood the mother,\nThus the wicked son addressed her:\n\u201cFaithful mother, fond and tender,\nHadst thou slain me when an infant,\nSmoked my life out in the chamber,\nIn a winding-sheet hadst thrown me\nTo the cataract and whirlpool,\nIn the fire hadst set my cradle,\nAfter seven nights had ended,\nWorthy would have been thy service.\nHad the village-maidens asked thee:\n\u2018Where is now the little cradle,\nWherefore is the bath-room empty?\u2019\nThis had been a worthy answer:\n\u2018I have burned the wizard\u2019s cradle,\nCast the infant to the fire-dogs;\nIn the bath-room corn is sprouting,\nFrom the barley malt is brewing.\u2019\u201d\n\nThereupon the aged mother\nAsks her wizard-son these questions:\n\u201cWhat has happened to my hero,\nWhat new fate has overcome thee?\nComest thou as from Tuoni,\nFrom the castles of Manala?\u201d\nThis, Kullervo\u2019s frank confession:\n\u201cInfamous the tale I bring thee,\nMy confession is dishonor:\nOn the way I met a maiden,\nMet thy long-lost, wayward daughter,\nDid not recognize my sister,\nFatal was the sin committed!\nWhen the taxes had been settled,\nWhen the tribute had been gathered,\nCame a matchless maid to meet me,\nWhom I witless led to sorrow,\nThis my mother\u2019s long-lost daughter.\nWhen she saw in me her brother,\nQuick she bounded from the snow-sledge,\nHastened to the roaring waters,\nTo the cataract\u2019s commotion,\nTo the fiery stream and whirlpool,\nHastened to her full destruction.\n\n\u201cNow, alas! must I determine,\nNow must find a spot befitting,\nWhere thy sinful son may perish;\nTell me, all-forgiving mother,\nWhere to end my life of trouble;\nLet me stop the black-wolf\u2019s howling,\nLet me satisfy the hunger\nOf the vicious bear of Northland;\nLet the shark or hungry sea-dog\nBe my dwelling-place hereafter!\u201d\nThis the answer of the mother:\n\u201cDo not go to stop the howling\nOf the hungry wolf of Northland;\nDo not haste to still the black-bear\nGrowling in his forest-cavern;\nLet not shark, nor vicious sea-dog\nBe thy dwelling-place hereafter.\nSpacious are the rooms of Suomi,\nLimitless the Sawa-borders,\nLarge enough to hide transgression,\nMan\u2019s misdeeds to hide for ages,\nWith his sins and evil actions.\nSix long years man\u2019s sins lie hidden\nIn the border-land of Kalma,\nEven nine for magic heroes,\nTill the years bring consolation,\nTill they quiet all his mourning.\u201d\n\nKullerwoinen, wicked wizard,\nAnswers thus his grieving mother:\n\u201cShall not haste to hide from sorrow,\nShall not flee from my misconduct;\nTo the jaws of death I hasten,\nTo the open courts of Kalma,\nTo the hunting-grounds of Pohya,\nTo the battle-fields of heroes.\nUntamoinen still is living,\nUnmolested roams the wicked,\nUnavenged my father\u2019s grievance,\nUnavenged my mother\u2019s tortures,\nUnavenged the wrongs I suffer!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXXVI.\nKULLERWOINEN\u2019S VICTORY AND DEATH.\n\n\nKullerwoinen, wicked wizard,\nIn his purple-colored stockings,\nNow prepares himself for battle;\nGrinds a long time on his broadsword,\nSharpens well his trusty weapon,\nAnd his mother speaks as follows:\n\u201cDo not go, my son beloved,\nGo not to the wars, my hero,\nStruggle not with hostile spearsmen.\nWhoso goes to war for nothing,\nUndertakes a fearful combat,\nUndertakes a fatal issue;\nThose that war without a reason\nWill be slaughtered for their folly,\nEasy prey to bows and arrows.\nGo thou with a goat to battle,\nShouldst thou go to fight the roebuck,\n\u2019Tis the goat that will be vanquished,\nAnd the roebuck will be slaughtered;\nWith a frog thou\u2019lt journey homeward,\nVictor, with but little honor!\u201d\nThese the words of Kullerwoinen:\n\u201cShall not journey through the marshes,\nShall not sink upon the heather,\nOn the home-land of the raven,\nWhere the eagles scream at day-break.\nWhen I yield my life forever,\nBravely will I fall in battle,\nFall upon the field of glory,\nBeautiful to die in armor,\nAnd the clang and clash of armies,\nBeautiful the strife for conquest!\nThus Kullervo soon will hasten\nTo the kingdom of Tuoni,\nTo the realm of the departed,\nUndeformed by wasting sickness.\u201d\nThis the answer of the mother:\n\u201cIf thou diest in the conflict,\nWho will stay to guard thy father,\nWho will give thy sire protection?\u201d\nThese the words of Kullerwoinen:\n\u201cLet him die upon the court-yard,\nSleeping out his life of sorrow!\u201d\n\n\u201cWho then will protect thy mother,\nBe her shield in times of danger?\u201d\n\n\u201cLet her die within the stable,\nOr the cabin where she lingers!\u201d\n\n\u201cWho then will defend thy brother,\nGive him aid in times of trouble?\u201d\n\n\u201cLet him die within the forest,\nSleep his life away unheeded!\u201d\n\n\u201cWho will comfort then thy sister,\nWho will aid her in affliction?\u201d\n\n\u201cLet her sink beneath the waters,\nPerish in the crystal fountain,\nWhere the brook flows on in beauty,\nLike a silver serpent winding\nThrough the valley to the ocean!\u201d\n\nThereupon the wild Kullervo\nHastens from his home to battle,\nTo his father speaks, departing:\n\u201cFare thou well, my aged father!\nWilt thou weep for me, thy hero,\nWhen thou hearest I have perished,\nFallen from thy tribe forever,\nPerished on the field of glory?\u201d\nThus the father speaks in answer:\n\u201cI shall never mourn the downfall\nOf my evil son, Kullervo;\nShall not weep when thou hast perished;\nShall beget a second hero\nThat will do me better service,\nThat will think and act in wisdom.\u201d\nKullerwoinen gives this answer:\n\u201cNeither shall I mourn thy downfall,\nShall not weep when thou hast perished;\nI shall make a second father,\nMake the head from loam and sandstone,\nMake the eyes from swamp-land berries,\nMake the beard from withered sea-grass,\nMake the feet from roots of willow,\nMake the form from birch-wood fungus.\u201d\n\nThereupon the youth, Kullervo,\nTo his brother speaks as follows:\n\u201cFare thou well, beloved brother!\nWilt thou weep for me departed,\nShouldst thou hear that I have perished,\nFallen on the field of battle?\u201d\nThis the answer of the brother:\n\u201cI shall never mourn the downfall\nOf my brother, Kullerwoinen,\nShall not weep when thou hast perished;\nI shall find a second brother,\nFind one worthier and wiser!\u201d\nThis is Kullerwoinen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cNeither shall I mourn thy downfall,\nShall not weep when thou hast perished;\nI shall form a second brother,\nMake the head from dust and ashes,\nMake the eyes from pearls of ocean,\nMake the beard from withered verdure,\nMake the form from pulp of birch-wood.\u201d\nTo his sister speaks Kullervo:\n\u201cFare thou well, beloved sister!\nSurely thou wilt mourn my downfall,\nWeep for me when I have perished,\nWhen thou hearest I have fallen\nIn the heat and din of battle,\nFallen from thy race forever!\u201d\nBut the sister makes this answer:\n\u201cNever shall I mourn thy downfall,\nShall not weep when thou hast perished;\nI shall seek a second brother,\nSeek a brother, purer, better,\nOne that will not shame his sister!\u201d\nKullerwoinen thus makes answer:\n\u201cNeither shall I mourn thee fallen,\nShall not weep when thou hast perished;\nI shall form a second sister,\nMake the head from whitened marble,\nMake the eyes from golden moonbeams,\nMake the tresses from the rainbow,\nMake the ears from ocean-flowers,\nAnd her form from gold and silver.\n\n\u201cFare thou well, beloved mother,\nMother, beautiful and faithful!\nWilt thou weep when I have perished,\nFallen on the field of glory,\nFallen from thy race forever?\u201d\nThus the mother speaks in answer:\n\u201cCanst not fathom love maternal,\nCanst not smother her affection;\nBitterly I\u2019ll mourn thy downfall,\nI would weep if thou shouldst perish,\nShouldst thou leave my race forever;\nI would weep in court or cabin,\nSprinkle all these fields with tear-drops,\nWeep great rivers to the ocean,\nWeep to melt the snows of Northland,\nMake the hillocks green with weeping,\nWeep at morning, weep at evening,\nWeep three years in bitter sorrow\nO\u2019er the death of Kullerwoinen!\u201d\n\nThereupon the wicked wizard\nWent rejoicing to the combat;\nIn delight to war he hastened\nO\u2019er the fields, and fens, and fallows,\nShouting loudly on the heather,\nSinging o\u2019er the hills and mountains,\nRushing through the glens and forests,\nBlowing war upon his bugle.\n\nTime had gone but little distance,\nWhen a messenger appearing,\nSpake these words to Kullerwoinen:\n\u201cLo! thine aged sire has perished,\nFallen from thy race forever;\nHasten home and do him honor,\nLay him in the lap of Kalma.\u201d\nKullerwoinen made this answer:\n\u201cHas my aged father perished,\nThere is home a sable stallion\nThat will take him to his slumber,\nLay him in the lap of Kalma.\u201d\n\nThen Kullervo journeyed onward,\nCalling war upon his bugle,\nTill a messenger appearing,\nBrought this word to Kullerwoinen:\n\u201cLo! thy brother too has perished,\nDead he lies within the forest,\nManalainen\u2019s trumpet called him;\nHome return and do him honor,\nLay him in the lap of Kalma.\u201d\nKullerwoinen thus replying:\n\u201cHas my hero-brother perished,\nThere is home a sable stallion\nThat will take him to his slumber,\nLay him in the lap of Kalma.\u201d\n\nYoung Kullervo journeyed onward\nOver vale and over mountain,\nPlaying on his reed of battle,\nTill a messenger appearing\nBrought the warrior these tidings:\n\u201cLo! thy sister too has perished,\nPerished in the crystal fountain,\nWhere the waters flow in beauty,\nLike a silver serpent winding\nThrough the valley to the ocean;\nHome return and do her honor,\nLay her in the lap of Kalma.\u201d\nThese the words of Kullerwoinen:\n\u201cHas my beauteous sister perished,\nFallen from my race forever,\nThere is home a sable filly\nThat will take her to her resting,\nLay her in the lap of Kalma.\u201d\n\nStill Kullervo journeyed onward,\nThrough the fens he went rejoicing,\nSounding war upon his bugle,\nTill a messenger appearing\nBrought to him these words of sorrow:\n\u201cLo! thy mother too has perished,\nDied in anguish, broken-hearted;\nHome return and do her honor,\nLay her in the lap of Kalma.\u201d\nThese the measures of Kullervo:\n\u201cWoe is me, my life hard-fated,\nThat my mother too has perished,\nShe that nursed me in my cradle,\nMade my couch a golden cover,\nTwirled for me the spool and spindle!\nLo! Kullervo was not present\nWhen his mother\u2019s life departed;\nMay have died upon the mountains,\nPerished there from cold and hunger.\nLave the dead form of my mother\nIn the crystal waters flowing;\nWrap her in the robes of ermine,\nTie her hands with silken ribbon,\nTake her to the grave of ages,\nLay her in the lap of Kalma.\nBury her with songs of mourning,\nLet the singers chant my sorrow;\nCannot leave the fields of battle\nWhile Untamo goes unpunished,\nFell destroyer of my people.\u201d\n\nKullerwoinen journeyed onward,\nStill rejoicing, to the combat,\nSang these songs in supplication:\n\u201cUkko, mightiest of rulers,\nLoan to me thy sword of battle,\nGrant to me thy matchless weapon,\nAnd against a thousand armies\nI will war and ever conquer.\u201d\n\nUkko gave the youth his broadsword,\nGave his blade of magic powers\nTo the wizard, Kullerwoinen.\nThus equipped, the mighty hero\nSlew the people of Untamo,\nBurned their villages to ashes;\nOnly left the stones and ovens,\nAnd the chimneys of their hamlets.\n\nThen the conqueror, Kullervo,\nTurned his footsteps to his home-land,\nTo the cabin of his father,\nTo his ancient fields and forests.\nEmpty did he find the cabin,\nAnd the forests were deserted;\nNo one came to give him greeting,\nNone to give the hand of welcome;\nLaid his fingers on the oven,\nBut he found it cold and lifeless;\nThen he knew to satisfaction\nThat his mother lived no longer;\nLaid his hand upon the fire-place,\nCold and lifeless were the hearth-stones;\nThen he knew to satisfaction\nThat his sister too had perished;\nThen he sought the landing-places,\nFound no boats upon the rollers;\nThen he knew to satisfaction\nThat his brother too had perished;\nThen he looked upon the fish-nets,\nAnd he found them torn and tangled;\nAnd he knew to satisfaction\nThat his father too had perished.\n\nBitterly he wept and murmured,\nWept one day, and then a second,\nOn the third day spake as follows:\n\u201cFaithful mother, fond and tender,\nWhy hast left me here to sorrow\nIn this wilderness of trouble?\nBut thou dost not hear my calling,\nThough I sing in magic accents,\nThough my tear-drops speak lamenting,\nThough my heart bemoans thine absence.\n\nFrom her grave awakes the mother,\nTo Kullervo speaks these measures:\n\u201cThou has still the dog remaining,\nHe will lead thee to the forest;\nFollow thou the faithful watcher,\nLet him lead thee to the woodlands,\nTo the farthest woodland border,\nTo the caverns of the wood-nymphs;\nThere the forest maidens linger,\nThey will give thee food and shelter,\nGive my hero joyful greetings.\u201d\n\nKullerwoinen, with his watch-dog,\nHastens onward through the forest,\nJourneys on through fields and fallows;\nJourneys but a little distance,\nTill he comes upon the summit\nWhere he met his long-lost sister;\nFinds the turf itself is weeping,\nFinds the glen-wood filled with sorrow,\nFinds the heather shedding tear-drops,\nWeeping are the meadow-flowers,\nO\u2019er the ruin of his sister.\n\nKullerwoinen, wicked wizard,\nGrasps the handle of his broadsword,\nAsks the blade this simple question:\n\u201cTell me, O my blade of honor,\nDost thou wish to drink my life-blood,\nDrink the blood of Kullerwoinen?\u201d\n\nThus his trusty sword makes answer,\nWell divining his intentions:\n\u201cWhy should I not drink thy life-blood,\nBlood of guilty Kullerwoinen,\nSince I feast upon the worthy,\nDrink the life-blood of the righteous?\u201d\n\nThereupon the youth, Kullervo,\nWicked wizard of the Northland,\nLifts the mighty sword of Ukko,\nBids adieu to earth and heaven;\nFirmly thrusts the hilt in heather,\nTo his heart he points the weapon,\nThrows his weight upon his broadsword,\nPouring out his wicked life-blood,\nEre he journeys to Manala.\nThus the wizard finds destruction,\nThis the end of Kullerwoinen,\nBorn in sin, and nursed in folly.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nAs he hears the joyful tidings,\nLearns the death of fell Kullervo,\nSpeaks these words of ancient wisdom:\n\u201cO, ye many unborn nations,\nNever evil nurse your children,\nNever give them out to strangers,\nNever trust them to the foolish!\nIf the child is not well nurtured,\nIs not rocked and led uprightly,\nThough he grow to years of manhood,\nBear a strong and shapely body,\nHe will never know discretion,\nNever eat the bread of honor,\nNever drink the cup of wisdom.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXXVII.\nILMARINEN\u2019S BRIDE OF GOLD.\n\n\nIlmarinen, metal-worker,\nWept one day, and then a second,\nWept the third from morn till evening,\nO\u2019er the death of his companion,\nOnce the Maiden of the Rainbow;\nDid not swing his heavy hammer,\nDid not touch its copper handle,\nMade no sound within his smithy,\nMade no blow upon his anvil,\nTill three months had circled over;\nThen the blacksmith spake as follows:\n\u201cWoe is me, unhappy hero!\nDo not know how I can prosper;\nLong the days, and cold, and dreary,\nLonger still the nights, and colder;\nI am weary in the evening,\nIn the morning still am weary,\nHave no longing for the morning,\nAnd the evening is unwelcome;\nHave no pleasure in the future,\nAll my pleasures gone forever,\nWith my faithful life-companion\nSlaughtered by the hand of witchcraft!\nOften will my heart-strings quiver\nWhen I rest within my chamber,\nWhen I wake at dreamy midnight,\nHalf-unconscious, vainly searching\nFor my noble wife departed.\u201d\n\nWifeless lived the mourning blacksmith,\nAltered in his form and features;\nWept one month and then another,\nWept three months in full succession.\nThen the magic metal-worker\nGathered gold from deeps of ocean,\nGathered silver from the mountains,\nGathered many heaps of birch-wood.\nFilled with faggots thirty sledges,\nBurned the birch-wood into ashes;\nPut the ashes in the furnace,\nLaid the gold upon the embers,\nLengthwise laid a piece of silver\nOf the size of lambs in autumn,\nOr the fleet-foot hare in winter;\nPlaces servants at the bellows,\nThus to melt the magic metals.\nEagerly the servants labor,\nGloveless, hatless, do the workmen\nFan the flames within the furnace.\n\nIlmarinen, magic blacksmith,\nWorks unceasing at his forging,\nThus to mould a golden image,\nMould a bride from gold and silver;\nBut the workmen fail their master,\nFaithless stand they at the bellows.\nWow the artist, Ilmarinen,\nFans the flame with force of magic,\nBlows one day, and then a second,\nBlows the third from morn till even;\nThen he looks within the furnace,\nLooks around the oven-border,\nHoping there to see an image\nRising from the molten metals.\n\nComes a lambkin from the furnace,\nRising from the fire of magic,\nWearing hair of gold and copper,\nLaced with many threads of silver;\nAll rejoice but Ilmarinen\nAt the beauty of the image.\nThis the language of the blacksmith:\n\u201cMay the wolf admire thy graces;\nI desire a bride of beauty\nBorn from molten gold and silver!\u201d\n\nIlmarinen, the magician,\nTo the furnace threw the lambkin;\nAdded gold in great abundance,\nAnd increased the mass of silver,\nAdded other magic metals,\nSet the workmen at the bellows;\nZealously the servants labor,\nGloveless, hatless, do the workmen\nFan the flames within the furnace.\n\nIlmarinen, wizard-forgeman,\nWorks unceasing with his metals,\nMoulding well a golden image,\nWife of molten gold and silver;\nBut the workmen fail their master,\nFaithless do they ply the bellows.\n\nNow the artist, Ilmarinen,\nFans the flames by force of magic;\nBlows one day, and then a second,\nBlows a third from morn till evening,\nWhen he looks within the furnace,\nLooks around the oven-border,\nHoping there to see an image\nRising from the molten metals.\nFrom the flames a colt arises,\nGolden-maned and silver-headed,\nHoofs are formed of shining copper.\nAll rejoice but Ilmarinen\nAt the wonderful creation;\nThis the language of the blacksmith:\n\u201cLet the bears admire thy graces;\nI desire a bride of beauty\nBorn of many magic metals.\u201d\n\nThereupon the wonder-forger\nDrives the colt back to the furnace,\nAdds a greater mass of silver,\nAnd of gold the rightful measure,\nSets the workmen at the bellows.\nEagerly the servants labor,\nGloveless, hatless, do the workmen\nFan the flames within the furnace.\n\nIlmarinen, the magician,\nWorks unceasing at his witchcraft,\nMoulding well a golden maiden,\nBride of molten gold and silver;\nBut the workmen fail their master,\nFaithlessly they ply the bellows.\n\nNow the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nFans the flames with magic powers,\nBlows one day, and then a second,\nBlows a third from morn till even;\nThen he looks within his furnace,\nLooks around the oven-border,\nTrusting there to see a maiden\nComing from the molten metals.\nFrom the fire a virgin rises,\nGolden-haired and silver-headed,\nBeautiful in form and feature.\nAll are filled with awe and wonder,\nBut the artist and magician.\nIlmarinen, metal-worker,\nForges nights and days unceasing,\nOn the bride of his creation;\nFeet he forges for the maiden,\nHands and arms, of gold and silver;\nBut her feet are not for walking,\nNeither can her arms embrace him.\nEars he forges for the virgin,\nBut her ears are not for hearing;\nForges her a mouth of beauty,\nEyes he forges bright and sparkling;\nBut the magic mouth is speechless,\nAnd the eyes are not for seeing.\nSpake the artist, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cThis, indeed, a priceless maiden,\nCould she only speak in wisdom,\nCould she breathe the breath of Ukko!\u201d\n\nThereupon he lays the virgin\nOn his silken couch of slumber,\nOn his downy place of resting.\nIlmarinen heats his bath-room,\nMakes it ready for his service,\nBinds together silken brushes,\nBrings three cans of crystal water,\nWherewithal to lave the image,\nLave the golden maid of beauty.\nWhen this task had been completed,\nIlmarinen, hoping, trusting,\nLaid his golden bride to slumber,\nOn his downy couch of resting;\nOrdered many silken wrappings,\nOrdered bear-skins, three in number,\nOrdered seven lambs-wool blankets,\nThus to keep him warm in slumber,\nSleeping by the golden image\nHe had forged from magic metals.\nWarm the side of Ilmarinen\nThat was wrapped in furs and blankets;\nChill the parts beside the maiden,\nBy his bride of gold and silver;\nOne side warm, the other lifeless,\nTurning into ice from coldness.\nSpake the artist, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cNot for me was born this virgin\nFrom the magic molten metals;\nI shall take her to Wainola,\nGive her to old Wainamoinen,\nAs a bride and life-companion,\nComfort to him in his dotage.\u201d\n\nIlmarinen, much disheartened,\nTakes the virgin to Wainola,\nTo the plains of Kalevala,\nTo his brother speaks as follows:\n\u201cO, thou ancient Wainamoinen,\nLook with favor on this image;\nMake the maiden fair and lovely,\nBeautiful in form and feature,\nSuited to thy years declining!\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nLooked in wonder on the virgin,\nOn the golden bride of beauty,\nSpake these words to Ilmarinen:\n\u201cWherefore dost thou bring this maiden,\nWherefore bring to Wainamoinen\nBride of molten gold and silver?\u201d\nSpake in answer Ilmarinen:\n\u201cWherefore should I bring this image,\nBut for purposes the noblest?\nI have brought her as companion\nTo thy life in years declining,\nAs a joy and consolation,\nWhen thy days are full of trouble!\u201d\nSpake the good, old Wainamoinen:\n\u201cMagic brother, wonder-forger,\nThrow the virgin to the furnace,\nTo the flames, thy golden image,\nForge from her a thousand trinkets.\nTake the image into Ehstland,\nTake her to the plains of Pohya,\nThat for her the mighty powers\nMay engage in deadly contest,\nWorthy trophy for the victor;\nNot for me this bride of wonder,\nNeither for my worthy people.\nI shall never wed an image\nBorn from many magic metals,\nNever wed a silver maiden,\nNever wed a golden virgin.\u201d\nThen the hero of the waters\nCalled together all his people,\nSpake these words of ancient wisdom:\n\u201cEvery child of Northland, listen,\nWhether poor, or fortune-favored:\nNever bow before an image\nBorn of molten gold and silver;\nNever while the sunlight brightens,\nNever while the moonlight glimmers,\nChoose a maiden of the metals,\nChoose a bride from gold created;\nCold the lips of golden maiden,\nSilver breathes the breath of sorrow.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXXVIII.\nILMARINEN\u2019S FRUITLESS WOOING.\n\n\nIlmarinen, the magician,\nThe eternal metal-artist,\nLays aside the golden image,\nBeauteous maid of magic metals;\nThrows the harness on his courser,\nBinds him to his sledge of birch-wood,\nSeats himself upon the cross-bench,\nSnaps the whip above the racer,\nThinking once again to journey\nTo the mansions of Pohyola,\nThere to woo a bride in honor,\nSecond daughter of the Northland.\n\nOn he journeyed, restless, northward,\nJourneyed one day, then a second,\nSo the third from morn till evening,\nWhen he reached a Northland-village\nOn the plains of Sariola.\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nStanding in the open court-yard,\nSpied the hero, Ilmarinen,\nThus addressed the metal-worker:\n\u201cTell me how my child is living,\nHow the Bride of Beauty prospers,\nAs a daughter to thy mother.\u201d\n\nThen the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nHead bent down and brow dejected,\nThus addressed the Northland hostess:\n\u201cO, thou dame of Sariola,\nDo not ask me of thy daughter,\nSince, alas! in Tuonela\nSleeps the Maiden of the Rainbow,\nSleeps in death the Bride of Beauty,\nUnderneath the fragrant heather,\nIn the kingdom of Manala.\nCome I for a second daughter,\nFor the fairest of thy virgins.\nBeauteous hostess of Pohyola,\nGive to me thy youngest maiden,\nFor my former wife\u2019s compartments,\nFor the chambers of her sister.\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of the Northland,\nSpake these words to Ilmarinen:\n\u201cFoolish was the Northland-hostess,\nWhen she gave her fairest virgin,\nIn the bloom of youth and beauty\nTo the blacksmith of Wainola,\nOnly to be led to Mana,\nLike a lambkin to the slaughter!\nI shall never give my daughter,\nShall not give my youngest maiden\nBride of thine to be hereafter,\nLife-companion at thy fireside.\nSooner would I give the fair one\nTo the cataract and whirlpool,\nTo the river of Manala,\nTo the waters of Tuoni!\u201d\n\nThen the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nDrew away his head, disdainful,\nShook his sable locks in anger,\nEntered to the inner court-room,\nWhere the maiden sat in waiting,\nSpake these measures to the daughter:\n\u201cCome with me, thou bright-eyed maiden,\nTo the cottage where thy sister\nLived and lingered in contentment,\nBaked for me the toothsome biscuit,\nBrewed for me the beer of barley,\nKept my dwelling-place in order.\u201d\n\nOn the floor a babe was lying,\nThus he sang to Ilmarinen:\n\u201cUninvited, leave this mansion,\nGo, thou stranger, from this dwelling;\nOnce before thou camest hither,\nOnly bringing pain and trouble,\nFilling all our hearts with sorrow.\nFairest daughter of my mother,\nDo not give this suitor welcome,\nLook not on his eyes with pleasure,\nNor admire his form and features.\nIn his mouth are only wolf-teeth,\nCunning fox-claws in his mittens,\nIn his shoes art only bear-claws,\nIn his belt a hungry dagger;\nWeapons these of blood and murder,\nOnly worn by the unworthy.\u201d\n\nThen the daughter spake as follows\nTo the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cFollow thee this maid will never,\nNever heed unworthy suitors;\nThou hast slain the Bride of Beauty,\nOnce the Maiden of the Rainbow,\nThou wouldst also slay her sister.\nI deserve a better suitor,\nWish a truer, nobler husband,\nWish to ride in richer sledges,\nHave a better home-protection;\nNever will I sweep the cottage\nAnd the coal-place of a blacksmith.\u201d\n\nThen the hero, Ilmarinen,\nThe eternal metal-artist,\nTurned his head away, disdainful,\nShook his sable locks in anger,\nQuickly seized the trembling maiden,\nHeld her in his grasp of iron,\nHastened from the court of Louhi,\nTo his sledge upon the highway.\nIn his sleigh he seats the virgin,\nSnugly wraps her in his fur-robes,\nSnaps his whip above the racer,\nGallops on the high-road homeward;\nWith one hand the reins he tightens,\nWith the other holds the maiden.\nSpeaks the virgin-daughter, weeping:\n\u201cWe have reached the lowland-berries,\nHere the herbs of water-borders;\nLeave me here to sink and perish\nAs a child of cold misfortune.\nWicked Ilmarinen, listen!\nIf thou dost not quickly free me,\nI will break thy sledge to pieces,\nThrow thy fur-robes to the north-winds.\u201d\nIlmarinen makes this answer:\n\u201cWhen the blacksmith builds his snow-sledge,\nAll the parts are hooped with iron;\nTherefore will the beauteous maiden\nNever beat my sledge to fragments.\u201d\n\nThen the silver-tinselled daughter\nWept and wailed in bitter accents,\nWrung her hands in desperation,\nSpake again to Ilmarinen:\n\u201cIf thou dost not quickly free me,\nI shall change to ocean-salmon,\nBe a whiting of the waters.\u201d\n\n\u201cThou wilt never thus escape me,\nAs a pike I\u2019ll fleetly follow.\u201d\n\nThen the maiden of Pohyola\nWept and wailed in bitter accents,\nWrung her hands in desperation,\nSpake again to Ilmarinen;\n\u201cIf thou dost not quickly free me,\nI shall hasten to the forest,\nMid the rocks become an ermine!\u201d\n\n\u201cThou wilt never thus escape me,\nAs a serpent I will follow.\u201d\n\nThen the beauty of the Northland,\nWailed and wept in bitter accents,\nWrung her hands in desperation,\nSpake once more to Ilmarinen:\n\u201cSurely, if thou dost not free me,\nAs a lark I\u2019ll fly the ether,\nHide myself within the storm-clouds.\u201d\n\n\u201cNeither wilt thou thus escape me,\nAs an eagle I will follow.\u201d\n\nThey had gone but little distance,\nWhen the courser shied and halted,\nFrighted at some passing object;\nAnd the maiden looked in wonder,\nIn the snow beheld some foot-prints,\nSpake these words to Ilmarinen:\n\u201cWho has run across our highway?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis the timid hare\u201d, he answered.\nThereupon the stolen maiden\nSobbed, and moaned, in deeps of sorrow,\nHeavy-hearted, spake these measures:\n\u201cWoe is me, ill-fated virgin!\nHappier far my life hereafter,\nIf the hare I could but follow\nTo his burrow in the woodlands!\nCrook-leg\u2019s fur to me is finer\nThan the robes of Ilmarinen.\u201d\n\nIlmarinen, the magician,\nTossed his head in full resentment,\nGalloped on the highway homeward;\nTravelled but a little distance,\nWhen again his courser halted,\nFrighted at some passing stranger.\nQuick the maiden looked and wondered,\nIn the snow beheld some foot-prints,\nSpake these measures to the blacksmith:\n\u201cWho has crossed our snowy pathway?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis a fox\u201d, replied the minstrel.\nThereupon the beauteous virgin\nMoaned again in depths of anguish,\nSang these accents, heavy-hearted:\n\u201cWoe is me, ill-fated maiden!\nHappier far my life hereafter,\nWith the cunning fox to wander,\nThan with this ill-mannered suitor;\nReynard\u2019s fur to me is finer\nThan the robes of Ilmarinen.\u201d\n\nThereupon the metal-worker\nShut his lips in sore displeasure,\nHastened on the highway homeward;\nTravelled but a little distance,\nWhen again his courser halted.\n\nQuick the maiden looked in wonder,\nIn the snow beheld some foot-prints,\nSpake these words to the magician:\n\u201cWho again has crossed our pathway?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis the wolf\u201d, said Ilmarinen.\nThereupon the fated daughter\nFell again to bitter weeping,\nAnd intoned these words of sorrow:\n\u201cWoe is me, a hapless maiden!\nHappier far my life hereafter,\nBrighter far would be my future,\nIf these tracks I could but follow;\nOn the wolf the hair is finer\nThan the furs of Ilmarinen,\nFaithless suitor of the Northland.\u201d\n\nThen the minstrel of Wainola\nClosed his lips again in anger,\nShook his sable locks, resentful,\nSnapped the whip above the racer,\nAnd the steed flew onward swiftly,\nO\u2019er the way to Kalevala,\nTo the village of the blacksmith.\n\nSad and weary from his journey,\nIlmarinen, home-returning,\nFell upon his couch in slumber,\nAnd the maiden laughed derision.\n\nIn the morning, slowly waking,\nHead confused, and locks dishevelled,\nSpake the wizard, words as follow:\n\u201cShall I set myself to singing\nMagic songs and incantations?\nShall I now enchant this maiden\nTo a black-wolf on the mountains,\nTo a salmon of the ocean?\nShall not send her to the woodlands,\nAll the forest would be frighted;\nShall not send her to the waters,\nAll the fish would flee in terror;\nThis my sword shall drink her life-blood,\nEnd her reign of scorn and hatred.\u201d\n\nQuick the sword feels his intention,\nQuick divines his evil purpose,\nSpeaks these words to Ilmarinen:\n\u201cWas not born to drink the life-blood\nOf a maiden pure and lovely,\nOf a fair but helpless virgin.\u201d\n\nThereupon the magic minstrel,\nFilled with rage, began his singing;\nSang the very rocks asunder,\nTill the distant hills re-echoed;\nSang the maiden to a sea-gull,\nCroaking from the ocean-ledges,\nCalling from the ocean-islands,\nScreeching on the sandy sea-coast,\nFlying to the winds opposing.\nWhen his conjuring had ended,\nIlmarinen joined his snow-sledge,\nWhipped his steed upon a gallop,\nHastened to his ancient smithy,\nTo his home in Kalevala.\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nComes to meet him on the highway,\nSpeaks these words to the magician:\n\u201cIlmarinen, worthy brother,\nWherefore comest heavy-hearted\nFrom the dismal Sariola?\nDoes Pohyola live and prosper?\u201d\nSpake the minstrel, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cWhy should not Pohyola prosper?\nThere the Sampo grinds unceasing,\nNoisy rocks the lid in colors;\nGrinds one day the flour for eating,\nGrinds the second flour for selling,\nGrinds the third day flour for keeping;\nThus it is Pohyola prospers.\nWhile the Sampo is in Northland,\nThere is plowing, there is sowing,\nThere is growth of every virtue,\nThere is welfare never-ending.\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cIlmarinen, artist-brother,\nWhere then is the Northland-daughter,\nFar renowned and beauteous maiden,\nFor whose hand thou hast been absent?\u201d\nThese the words of Ilmarinen:\n\u201cI have changed the hateful virgin\nTo a sea-gull on the ocean;\nNow she calls above the waters,\nScreeches from the ocean-islands;\nOn the rocks she calls and murmurs,\nVainly calling for a suitor.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XXXIX.\nWAINAMOINEN\u2019S SAILING.\n\n\nWainamoinen, old and faithful,\nSpake these words to Ilmarinen:\n\u201cO thou wonder-working brother,\nLet us go to Sariola,\nThere to gain the magic Sampo,\nThere to see the lid in colors.\u201d\nIlmarinen gave this answer:\n\u201cHard indeed to seize the Sampo,\nNeither can the lid be captured\nFrom the never-pleasant Northland,\nFrom the dismal Sariola.\nLouhi took away the Sampo,\nCarried off the lid in colors\nTo the stone-mount of Pohyola;\nHid it in the copper mountain,\nWhere nine locks secure the treasure.\nMany young roots sprout around it,\nGrow nine fathoms deep in sand-earth,\nOne great root beneath the mountain,\nIn the cataract a second,\nAnd a third beneath the castle\nBuilt upon the mount of ages.\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cBrother mine, and wonder-worker,\nLet us go to Sariola,\nThat we may secure the Sampo;\nLet us build a goodly vessel,\nBring the Sampo to Wainola,\nBring away the lid in colors,\nFrom the stone-berg of Pohyola,\nFrom the copper-bearing mountain.\nWhere the miracle lies anchored.\u201d\nIlmarinen thus made answer:\n\u201cBy the land the way is safer,\nLempo travels on the ocean,\nGhastly Death upon his shoulder;\nOn the sea the waves will drift us,\nAnd the storm-winds wreck our vessel;\nThen our hands must do the rowing,\nAnd our feet must steer us homeward.\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cSafe indeed by land to journey,\nBut the way is rough and trying,\nLong the road and full of turnings;\nLovely is the ship on ocean,\nBeautiful to ride the billows,\nJourney easy o\u2019er the waters,\nSailing in a trusty vessel;\nShould the West-wind cross our pathway,\nWill the South-wind drive us northward.\nBe that as it may, my brother,\nSince thou dost not love the water,\nBy the land then let us journey.\nForge me now the sword of battle,\nForge for me the mighty fire-sword,\nThat I may destroy the wild-beasts,\nFrighten all the Northland people,\nAs we journey for the Sampo\nTo the cold and dismal village,\nTo the never-pleasant Northland,\nTo the dismal Sariola.\u201d\n\nThen the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nThe eternal forger-artist,\nLaid the metals in the furnace,\nIn the fire laid steel and iron,\nIn the hot-coals, gold and silver,\nRightful measure of the metals;\nSet the workmen at the furnace,\nLustily they plied the bellows.\nLike the wax the iron melted,\nLike the dough the hard steel softened,\nLike the water ran the silver,\nAnd the liquid gold flowed after.\n\nThen the minstrel, Ilmarinen,\nThe eternal wonder-forger,\nLooks within his magic furnace,\nOn the border of his oven,\nThere beholds the fire-sword forming,\nSees the blade with golden handle;\nTakes the weapon from the furnace,\nLays it on his heavy anvil\nFor the falling of the hammer;\nForges well the blade of magic,\nWell the heavy sword he tempers,\nOrnaments the hero-weapon\nWith the finest gold and silver.\n\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nComes to view the blade of conquest,\nLifts admiringly the fire-sword,\nThen these words the hero utters:\n\u201cDoes the weapon match the soldier,\nDoes the handle suit the bearer?\nYea, the blade and hilt are molded\nTo the wishes of the minstrel.\u201d\n\nOn the sword-point gleams the moonlight,\nOn the blade the sun is shining,\nOn the hilt the bright stars twinkle,\nOn the edge a horse is neighing,\nOn the handle plays a kitten,\nOn the sheath a dog is barking.\n\nWainamoinen wields his fire-sword,\nTests it on the iron-mountain,\nAnd these words the hero utters:\n\u201cWith this broadsword I could quickly\nCleave in twain the mount of Pohya,\nCut the flinty rocks asunder.\u201d\nSpake the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cWherewith shall I guard from danger,\nHow protect myself from evil,\nFrom the ills by land and water?\nShall I wear an iron armor,\nBelt of steel around my body?\nStronger is a man in armor,\nSafer in a mail of copper.\u201d\n\nNow the time has come to journey\nTo the never-pleasant Northland;\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nAnd his brother, Ilmarinen,\nHasten to the field and forest,\nSearching for their fiery coursers,\nIn each shining belt a bridle,\nWith a harness on their shoulders.\nIn the woods they find a race;\nIn the glen a steed of battle,\nReady for his master\u2019s service.\nWainamoinen, old and trusty,\nAnd the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nThrow the harness on the courser,\nHitch him to the sledge of conquest,\nHasten on their journey northward;\nDrive along the broad-sea\u2019s margin\nTill they hear some one lamenting,\nOn the strand hear something wailing\nNear the landing-place of vessels.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nSpeaks these words in wonder, guessing:\n\u201cThis must be some maiden weeping,\nSome fair daughter thus lamenting;\nLet us journey somewhat nearer,\nTo discover whence this wailing.\u201d\n\nDrew they nearer, nearer, nearer,\nHoping thus to find a maiden\nWeeping on the sandy sea-shore.\nIt was not a maiden weeping,\nBut a vessel, sad, and lonely,\nWaiting on the shore and wailing.\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cWhy art weeping, goodly vessel,\nWhat the cause of thy lamenting?\nArt thou mourning for thy row-locks,\nIs thy rigging ill-adjusted?\nDost thou weep since thou art anchored\nOn the shore in times of trouble?\u201d\nThus the war-ship spake in answer:\n\u201cTo the waters would this vessel\nHaste upon the well-tarred rollers,\nAs a happy maiden journeys\nTo the cottage of her husband.\nI, alas! a goodly vessel,\nWeep because I lie at anchor,\nWeep and wail because no hero\nSets me free upon the waters,\nFree to ride the rolling billows.\nIt was said when I was fashioned,\nOften sung when I was building,\nThat this bark should be for battle,\nShould become a mighty war-ship,\nCarry in my hull great treasures,\nPriceless goods across the ocean.\nNever have I sailed to conquest,\nNever have I carried booty;\nOther vessels not as worthy\nTo the wars are ever sailing,\nSailing to the songs of battle.\nThree times in the summer season\nCome they home with treasures laden,\nIn their hulls bring gold and silver;\nI, alas! a worthy vessel,\nMany months have lain at anchor,\nI, a war-ship well constructed,\nAm decaying in the harbor,\nNever having sailed to conquest;\nWorms are gnawing at my vitals,\nIn my hull their dwelling-places,\nAnd ill-omened birds of heaven\nBuild their nests within my rigging;\nFrogs and lizards of the forest\nPlay about my oars and rudder;\nThree times better for this vessel\nWere he but a valley birch-tree,\nOr an aspen on the heather,\nWith the squirrels in his branches,\nAnd the dogs beneath them barking!\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and faithful,\nThus addressed the ship at anchor:\n\u201cWeep no more, thou goodly vessel,\nMan-of-war, no longer murmur;\nThou shalt sail to Sariola,\nSing the war-songs of the Northland,\nSail with us to deadly combat.\nWert thou built by the Creator,\nThou canst sail the roughest waters,\nSidewise journey o\u2019er the ocean;\nDost not need the hand to touch thee,\nDost not need the foot to turn thee,\nNeeding nothing to propel thee.\u201d\nThus the weeping boat made answer:\n\u201cCannot sail without assistance,\nNeither can my brother-vessels\nSail unaided o\u2019er the waters,\nSail across the waves undriven.\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cShould I lead thee to the broad-sea,\nWilt thou journey north unaided,\nSail without the help of rowers,\nSail without the aid of south-winds,\nSail without the helm to guide thee?\u201d\nThus the wailing ship replying:\n\u201cCannot sail without assistance,\nNeither can my brother-vessels\nSail without the aid of rowers,\nSail without the help of south-winds,\nNor without the helm to guide them.\u201d\nThese the words of Wainamoinen:\n\u201cWilt thou run with aid of oarsmen\nWhen the south-winds give assistance,\nGuided by a skillful pilot?\u201d\nThis the answer of the war-ship:\n\u201cQuickly can I course these waters,\nWhen my oars are manned by rowers,\nWhen my sails are filled with south-winds,\nAll my goodly brother-vessels\nSail the ocean with assistance,\nWhen the master holds the rudder.\u201d\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nLeft the racer on the sea-side,\nTied him to the sacred birch-tree,\nHung the harness on a willow,\nRolled the vessel to the waters,\nSang the ship upon the broad-sea,\nAsked the boat this simple question:\n\u201cO thou vessel, well-appearing\nFrom the mighty oak constructed,\nArt thou strong to carry treasures\nAs in view thou art commanding?\u201d\nThus the goodly ship made answer:\n\u201cStrong am I to carry treasures,\nIn my hull a golden cargo;\nI can bear a hundred oarsmen,\nAnd of warriors a thousand.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nThen began his wondrous singing.\nOn one side the magic vessel,\nSang he youth with golden virtues,\nBearded youth with strength of heroes,\nSang them into mail of copper.\nOn the other side the vessel,\nSang he silver-tinselled maidens,\nGirded them with belts of copper,\nGolden rings upon their fingers.\nSings again the great magician,\nFills the magic ship with heroes,\nAncient heroes, brave and mighty;\nSings them into narrow limits,\nSince the young men came before them.\n\nAt the helm himself he seated,\nNear the last beam of the vessel,\nSteered his goodly boat in joyance,\nThus addressed the willing war-ship:\n\u201cGlide upon the trackless waters,\nSail away, my ship of magic,\nSail across the waves before thee,\nSpeed thou like a dancing bubble,\nLike a flower upon the billows!\u201d\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nSet the young men to the rowing,\nLet the maidens sit in waiting.\nEagerly the youthful heroes\nBend the oars and try the row-locks,\nBut the distance is not lessened.\nThen the minstrel, Wainamoinen,\nSet the maidens to the rowing,\nLet the young men rest in waiting.\nEagerly the merry maidens\nBend the aspen-oars in rowing,\nBut the distance is not lessened.\nThen the master, Wainamoinen,\nSet the old men to the rowing,\nLet the youth remain in waiting.\nLustily the aged heroes\nBend and try the oars of aspen,\nBut the distance is not lessened.\n\nThen the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nGrasped the oars with master-magic,\nAnd the boat leaped o\u2019er the surges,\nSwiftly sped across the billows;\nFar and wide the oars resounded,\nQuickly was the distance lessened.\nWith a rush and roar of waters\nIlmarinen sped his vessel,\nBenches, ribs, and row-locks creaking,\nOars of aspen far resounding;\nFlap the sails like wings of moor-cocks,\nAnd the prow dips like a white-swan;\nIn the rear it croaks like ravens,\nLoud the oars and rigging rattle.\n\nStraightway ancient Wainamoinen,\nSitting by the bending rudder,\nTurns his magic vessel landward,\nTo a jutting promontory,\nWhere appears a Northland-village.\nOn the point stands Lemminkainen,\nKaukomieli, black magician,\nAhti, wizard of Wainola,\nWishing for the fish of Pohya,\nWeeping for his fated dwelling,\nFor his perilous adventures,\nHard at work upon a vessel,\nOn the sail-yards of a fish-boat,\nNear the hunger-point and island,\nNear the village-home deserted.\nGood the ears of the magician,\nGood the wizard\u2019s eyes for seeing;\nCasts his vision to the South-east,\nTurns his eyes upon the sunset,\nSees afar a wondrous rainbow,\nFarther on, a cloudlet hanging;\nBut the bow was a deception,\nAnd the cloudlet a delusion;\n\u2019Tis a vessel swiftly sailing,\n\u2019Tis a war-ship flying northward,\nO\u2019er the blue-back of the broad-sea,\nOn the far-extending waters,\nAt the helm the master standing,\nAt the oars a mighty hero.\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cDo not know this wondrous vessel,\nNot this well-constructed war-ship,\nComing from the distant Suomi,\nRowing for the hostile Pohya.\u201d\n\nThereupon wild Lemminkainen\nCalled aloud in tones of thunder\nO\u2019er the waters to the vessel;\nMade the distant hills re-echo\nWith the music of his calling:\n\u201cWhence this vessel on the waters,\nWhose the war-ship sailing hither?\u201d\n\nSpake the master of the vessel\nTo the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cWho art thou from fen or forest,\nSenseless wizard from the woodlands,\nThat thou dost not know this vessel,\nMagic war-ship of Wainola?\nDost not know him at the rudder,\nNor the hero at the row-locks?\u201d\nSpake the wizard, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cWell I know the helm-director,\nAnd I recognize the rower;\nWainamoinen, old and trusty,\nAt the helm directs the vessel;\nIlmarinen does the rowing.\nWhither is the vessel sailing,\nWhither wandering, my heroes?\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cWe are sailing to the Northland,\nThere to gain the magic Sampo,\nThere to get the lid in colors,\nFrom the stone-berg of Pohyola,\nFrom the copper-bearing mountain.\u201d\nSpake the evil Lemminkainen:\n\u201cO, thou good, old Wainamoinen,\nTake me with thee to Pohyola,\nMake me third of magic heroes,\nSince thou goest for the Sampo,\nGoest for the lid in colors;\nI shall prove a valiant soldier,\nWhen thy wisdom calls for fighting;\nI am skilled in arts of warfare!\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nGave assent to Ahti\u2019s wishes;\nThereupon wild Lemminkainen\nHastened to Wainola\u2019s war-ship,\nBringing floats of aspen-timber,\nTo the ships of Wainamoinen.\n\nThus the hero of the Northland\nSpeaks to reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cThere is aspen on my vessel,\nAspen-floats in great abundance,\nAnd the boat is heavy-laden.\nWherefore dost thou bring the aspen\nTo the vessel of Wainola?\u201d\nLemminkainen gave this answer:\n\u201cNot through caution sinks a vessel,\nNor a hay-stack by its proppings;\nSeas abound in hidden dangers,\nHeavy storms arise and threaten\nFell destruction to the sailor\nThat would brave the angry billows.\u201d\nSpake the good, old Wainamoinen:\n\u201cTherefore is this warlike vessel\nBuilt of trusty steel and copper,\nTrimmed and bound in toughest iron,\nThat the winds may not destroy it,\nMay not harm my ship of magic.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XL.\nBIRTH OF THE HARP.\n\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nOnward steered his goodly vessel,\nFrom the isle of Lemminkainen,\nFrom the borders of the village;\nSteered his war-ship through the waters,\nSang it o\u2019er the ocean-billows,\nJoyful steered it to Pohyola.\n\nOn the banks were maidens standing,\nAnd the daughters spake these measures:\n\u201cList the music on the waters!\nWhat this wonderful rejoicing,\nWhat this singing on the billows?\nFar more beautiful this singing,\nThis rejoicing on the waters,\nThan our ears have heard in Northland.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nSteered his wonder-vessel onward,\nSteered one day along the sea-shore,\nSteered the next through shallow waters,\nSteered the third day through the rivers.\n\nThen the reckless Lemminkainen\nSuddenly some words remembered,\nHe had heard along the fire-stream\nNear the cataract and whirlpool,\nAnd these words the hero uttered:\n\u201cCease, O cataract, thy roaring,\nCease, O waterfall, thy foaming!\nMaidens of the foam and current,\nSitting on the rocks in water,\nOn the stone-blocks in the river,\nTake the foam and white-capped billows\nIn your arms and still their anger,\nThat our ships may pass in safety!\nAged dame beneath the eddy,\nThou that livest in the sea-foam,\nSwimming, rise above the waters,\nLift thy head above the whirlpool,\nGather well the foam and billows\nIn thine arms and still their fury,\nThat our ship may pass in safety!\nYe, O rocks beneath the current,\nUnderneath the angry waters,\nLower well your heads of danger,\nSink below our magic vessel,\nThat our ship may pass in safety!\n\n\u201cShould this prayer prove inefficient,\nKimmo, hero son of Kammo,\nBore an outlet with thine auger,\nCut a channel for this vessel\nThrough the rocks beneath the waters,\nThat our ship may pass in safety!\nShould all this prove unavailing,\nHostess of the running water,\nChange to moss these rocky ledges,\nChange this vessel to an air-bag,\nThat between these rocks and billows\nIt may float, and pass in safety!\n\n\u201cVirgin of the sacred whirlpool,\nThou whose home is in the river,\nSpin from flax of strongest fiber,\nSpin a thread of crimson color,\nDraw it gently through the water,\nThat the thread our ship may follow,\nAnd our vessel pass in safety!\nGoddess of the helm, thou daughter\nOf the ocean-winds and sea-foam,\nTake thy helm endowed with mercy,\nGuide our vessel through these dangers,\nHasten through these floods enchanted,\nPassing by the house of envy,\nBy the gates of the enchanters,\nThat our ship may pass in safety!\n\n\u201cShould this prayer prove inefficient,\nUkko, Ruler of creation,\nGuide our vessel with thy fire-sword,\nGuide it with thy blade of lightning,\nThrough the dangers of these rapids,\nThrough the cataract and whirlpool,\nThat our ship may pass in safety!\u201d\n\nThereupon old Wainamoinen\nSteered his boat through winds and waters,\nThrough the rocky chinks and channels,\nThrough the surges wildly tossing;\nAnd the vessel passed in safety\nThrough the dangers of the current,\nThrough the sacred stream and whirlpool.\nAs it gains the open waters,\nGains at length the broad-lake\u2019s bosom,\nSuddenly its motion ceases,\nOn some object firmly anchored.\nThereupon young Ilmarinen,\nWith the aid of Lemminkainen,\nPlunges in the lake the rudder,\nStruggles with the aid of magic;\nBut he cannot move the vessel,\nCannot free it from its moorings.\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nThus addresses his companion:\n\u201cO thou hero, Lemminkainen,\nStoop and look beneath this war-ship,\nSee on what this boat is anchored,\nSee on what our craft is hanging,\nIn this broad expanse of water,\nIn the broad-lake\u2019s deepest soundings,\nIf upon some rock or tree-snag,\nOr upon some other hindrance.\u201d\n\nThereupon wild Lemminkainen\nLooked beneath the magic vessel,\nPeering through the crystal waters,\nSpake and these the words he uttered:\n\u201cDoes not rest upon a sand-bar,\nNor upon a rock, nor tree-snag,\nBut upon the back and shoulders\nOf the mighty pike of Northland,\nOn the fin-bones of the monster.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and trusty,\nSpake these words to Lemminkainen:\n\u201cMany things we find in water,\nRocks, and trees, and fish, and sea-duck;\nAre we on the pike\u2019s broad shoulders,\nOn the fin-bones of the monster,\nPierce the waters with thy broadsword,\nCut the monster into pieces.\u201d\n\nThereupon wild Lemminkainen,\nReckless wizard, filled with courage,\nPulls his broadsword from his girdle,\nFrom its sheath, the bone-divider,\nStrikes with might of magic hero,\nHeadlong falls into the water;\nAnd the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nLifts the wizard from the river,\nSpeaks these words to dripping Ahti:\n\u201cAccidents will come to mortals,\nAccidents will come to heroes,\nBy the hundreds, by the thousands,\nEven to the gods above us!\u201d\n\nThen the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nDrew his broadsword from his girdle,\nFrom its sheath his blade of honor,\nTried to slay the pike of Northland\nWith the weapon of his forging;\nBut he broke his sword in pieces,\nDid not harm the water-monster.\n\nWainamoinen, old and trusty,\nThus addresses his companions:\n\u201cPoor apologies for heroes!\nWhen occasion calls for victors,\nWhen we need some great magician,\nNeed a hero filled with valor,\nThen the arm that comes is feeble,\nAnd the mind insane or witless,\nStrength and reason gone to others!\u201d\n\nStraightway ancient Wainamoinen,\nMiracle of strength and wisdom,\nDraws his fire-sword from his girdle,\nWields the mighty blade of magic,\nStrikes the waters as the lightning,\nStrikes the pike beneath the vessel,\nAnd impales the mighty monster;\nRaises him above the surface,\nIn the air the pike he circles,\nCuts the monster into pieces;\nTo the water falls the pike-tail,\nTo the ship the head and body;\nEasily the ship moves onward.\n\nWainamoinen, old and faithful,\nTo the shore directs his vessel,\nOn the strand the boat he anchors,\nLooks in every nook and corner\nFor the fragments of the monster;\nGathers well the parts together,\nSpeaks these words to those about him:\n\u201cLet the oldest of the heroes\nSlice for me the pike of Northland,\nSlice the fish to fitting morsels.\u201d\n\nAnswered all the men and heroes,\nAnd the maidens spake, assenting:\n\u201cWorthier the catcher\u2019s fingers,\nWainamoinen\u2019s hands are sacred!\u201d\n\nThereupon the wise magician\nDrew a fish-knife from his girdle,\nSliced the pike to fitting morsels,\nSpake again to those about him:\n\u201cLet the youngest of the maidens\nCook for me the pike of Northland,\nSet for me a goodly dinner!\u201d\n\nAll the maidens quick responded,\nAll the virgins vied in cooking;\nNeither could outdo the other,\nThus the pike was rendered toothsome.\nFeasted all the old magicians,\nFeasted all the younger heroes,\nFeasted all the men and maidens;\nOn the rocks were left the fish-bones,\nOnly relics of their feasting.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nLooked upon the pile of fragments,\nOn the fish-bones looked and pondered,\nSpake these words in meditation:\n\u201cWondrous things might be constructed\nFrom the relics of this monster,\nWere they in the blacksmith\u2019s furnace,\nIn the hands of the magician,\nIn the hands of Ilmarinen.\u201d\nSpake the blacksmith of Wainola:\n\u201cNothing fine can be constructed\nFrom the bones and teeth of fishes\nBy the skillful forger-artist,\nBy the hands of the magician.\u201d\nThese the words of Wainamoinen:\n\u201cSomething wondrous might be builded\nFrom these jaws, and teeth, and fish-bones;\nMight a magic harp be fashioned,\nCould an artist be discovered\nThat could shape them to my wishes.\u201d\n\nBut he found no fish-bone artist\nThat could shape the harp of joyance\nFrom the relics of their feasting,\nFrom the jaw-bones of the monster,\nTo the will of the magician.\nThereupon wise Wainamoinen\nSet himself at work designing;\nQuick became a fish-bone artist,\nMade a harp of wondrous beauty,\nLasting joy and pride of Suomi.\nWhence the harp\u2019s enchanting arches?\nFrom the jaw-bones of the monster.\nWhence the necessary harp-pins?\nFrom the pike-teeth firmly fastened.\nWhence the sweetly singing harp-strings?\nFrom the tail of Lempo\u2019s stallion.\nThus was born the harp of magic\nFrom the mighty pike of Northland,\nFrom the relies from the feasting\nOf the heroes of Wainola.\nAll the young men came to view it,\nAll the aged with their children,\nMothers with their beauteous daughters,\nMaidens with their golden tresses;\nAll the people on the islands\nCame to view the harp of joyance,\nPride and beauty of the Northland.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nLet the aged try the harp-strings,\nGave it to the young magicians,\nTo the dames and to their daughters,\nTo the maidens, silver-tinselled,\nTo the singers of Wainola.\nWhen the young men touched the harp-strings,\nThen arose the notes of discord;\nWhen the aged played upon it,\nDissonance their only music.\nSpake the wizard, Lemminkainen:\n\u201cO ye witless, worthless children,\nO ye senseless, useless maidens,\nO ye wisdom-lacking heroes,\nCannot play this harp of magic,\nCannot touch the notes of concord!\nGive to me this thing of beauty,\nHither bring the harp of fish-bones,\nLet me try my skillful fingers.\u201d\nLemminkainen touched the harp-strings,\nCarefully the strings adjusted,\nTurned the harp in all directions,\nFingered all the strings in sequence,\nPlayed the instrument of wonder,\nBut it did not speak in concord,\nDid not sing the notes of joyance.\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cThere is none among these maidens,\nNone among these youthful heroes,\nNone among the old magicians\nThat can play the harp of magic,\nTouch the notes of joy and pleasure.\nLet us take the harp to Pohya,\nThere to find a skillful player\nThat can touch the strings in concord.\u201d\n\nThen they sailed to Sariola,\nTo Pohyola took the wonder,\nThere to find the harp a master.\nAll the heroes of Pohyola,\nAll the boys and all the maidens,\nAncient dames, and bearded minstrels,\nVainly touched the harp of beauty.\n\nLouhi, hostess of the Northland,\nTook the harp-strings in her fingers;\nAll the youth of Sariola,\nYouth of every tribe and station,\nVainly touched the harp of fish-bone;\nCould not find the notes of joyance,\nDissonance their only pleasure;\nShrieked the harp-strings like the whirlwinds,\nAll the tones wore harsh and frightful.\n\nIn a corner slept a blind man,\nLay a gray-beard on the oven,\nRousing from his couch of slumber,\nMurmured thus within his corner:\n\u201cCease at once this wretched playing,\nMake an end of all this discord;\nIt benumbs mine ears for hearing,\nRacks my brain, despoils my senses,\nRobs me of the sweets of sleeping.\nIf the harp of Suomi\u2019s people\nTrue delight cannot engender,\nCannot bring the notes of pleasure,\nCannot sing to sleep the aged,\nCast the thing upon the waters,\nSink it in the deeps of ocean,\nTake it back to Kalevala,\nTo the home of him that made it,\nTo the hands of its creator.\u201d\n\nThereupon the harp made answer,\nTo the blind man sang these measures:\n\u201cShall not fall upon the waters,\nShall not sink within the ocean;\nI will play for my creator,\nSing in melody and concord\nIn the fingers of my master.\u201d\n\nCarefully the harp was carried\nTo the artist that had made it,\nTo the hands of its creator,\nTo the feet of Wainamoinen.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XLI.\nWAINAMOINEN\u2019S HARP-SONGS.\n\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nThe eternal wisdom-singer,\nLaves his hands to snowy whiteness,\nSits upon the rock of joyance,\nOn the stone of song he settles,\nOn the mount of silver clearness,\nOn the summit, golden colored;\nTakes the harp by him created,\nIn his hands the harp of fish-bone,\nWith his knee the arch supporting,\nTakes the harp-strings in his fingers,\nSpeaks these words to those assembled:\n\u201cHither come, ye Northland people,\nCome and listen to my playing,\nTo the harp\u2019s entrancing measures,\nTo my songs of joy and gladness.\u201d\n\nThen the singer of Wainola\nTook the harp of his creation,\nQuick adjusting, sweetly tuning,\nDeftly plied his skillful fingers\nTo the strings that he had fashioned.\nNow was gladness rolled on gladness,\nAnd the harmony of pleasure\nEchoed from the hills and mountains:\nAdded singing to his playing,\nOut of joy did joy come welling,\nNow resounded marvelous music,\nAll of Northland stopped and listened.\nEvery creature in the forest,\nAll the beasts that haunt the woodlands,\nOn their nimble feet came bounding,\nCame to listen to his playing,\nCame to hear his songs of joyance.\nLeaped the squirrels from the branches,\nMerrily from birch to aspen;\nClimbed the ermines on the fences,\nO\u2019er the plains the elk-deer bounded,\nAnd the lynxes purred with pleasure;\nWolves awoke in far-off swamp-lands,\nBounded o\u2019er the marsh and heather,\nAnd the bear his den deserted,\nLeft his lair within the pine-wood,\nSettled by a fence to listen,\nLeaned against the listening gate-posts,\nBut the gate-posts yield beneath him;\nNow he climbs the fir-tree branches\nThat he may enjoy and wonder,\nClimbs and listens to the music\nOf the harp of Wainamoinen.\n\nTapiola\u2019s wisest senior,\nMetsola\u2019s most noble landlord,\nAnd of Tapio, the people,\nYoung and aged, men and maidens,\nFlew like red-deer up the mountains\nThere to listen to the playing,\nTo the harp of Wainamoinen.\nTapiola\u2019s wisest mistress,\nHostess of the glen and forest,\nRobed herself in blue and scarlet,\nBound her limbs with silken ribbons,\nSat upon the woodland summit,\nOn the branches of a birch-tree,\nThere to listen to the playing,\nTo the high-born hero\u2019s harping,\nTo the songs of Wainamoinen.\n\nAll the birds that fly in mid-air\nFell like snow-flakes from the heavens,\nFlew to hear the minstrel\u2019s playing,\nHear the harp of Wainamoinen.\nEagles in their lofty eyrie\nHeard the songs of the enchanter;\nSwift they left their unfledged young ones,\nFlew and perched around the minstrel.\nFrom the heights the hawks descended,\nFrom the clouds down swooped the falcon,\nDucks arose from inland waters,\nSwans came gliding from the marshes;\nTiny finches, green and golden,\nFlew in flocks that darkened sunlight,\nCame in myriads to listen,\nPerched upon the head and shoulders\nOf the charming Wainamoinen,\nSweetly singing to the playing\nOf the ancient bard and minstrel.\nAnd the daughters of the welkin,\nNature\u2019s well-beloved daughters,\nListened all in rapt attention;\nSome were seated on the rainbow,\nSome upon the crimson cloudlets,\nSome upon the dome of heaven.\n\nIn their hands the Moon\u2019s fair daughters\nHeld their weaving-combs of silver;\nIn their hands the Sun\u2019s sweet maidens\nGrasped the handles of their distaffs,\nWeaving with their golden shuttles,\nSpinning from their silver spindles,\nOn the red rims of the cloudlets,\nOn the bow of many colors.\nAs they hear the minstrel playing,\nHear the harp of Wainamoinen,\nQuick they drop their combs of silver,\nDrop the spindles from their fingers,\nAnd the golden threads are broken,\nBroken are the threads of silver.\n\nAll the fish in Suomi-waters\nHeard the songs of the magician,\nCame on flying fins to listen\nTo the harp of Wainamoinen.\nCame the trout with graceful motions,\nWater-dogs with awkward movements,\nFrom the water-cliffs the salmon,\nFrom the sea-caves came the whiting,\nFrom the deeper caves the bill-fish;\nCame the pike from beds of sea-fern,\nLittle fish with eyes of scarlet,\nLeaning on the reeds and rushes,\nWith their heads above the surface;\nCame to bear the harp of joyance,\nHear the songs of the enchanter.\n\nAhto, king of all the waters,\nAncient king with beard of sea-grass,\nRaised his head above the billows,\nIn a boat of water-lilies,\nGlided to the coast in silence,\nListened to the wondrous singing,\nTo the harp of Wainamoinen.\nThese the words the sea-king uttered:\n\u201cNever have I heard such playing,\nNever heard such strains of music,\nNever since the sea was fashioned,\nAs the songs of this enchanter,\nThis sweet singer, Wainamoinen.\u201d\n\nSatko\u2019s daughters from the blue-deep,\nSisters of the wave-washed ledges,\nOn the colored strands were sitting,\nSmoothing out their sea-green tresses\nWith the combs of molten silver,\nWith their silver-handled brushes,\nBrushes forged with golden bristles.\nWhen they hear the magic playing,\nHear the harp of Wainamoinen,\nFall their brushes on the billows,\nFall their combs with silver handles\nTo the bottom of the waters,\nUnadorned their heads remaining,\nAnd uncombed their sea-green tresses.\n\nCame the hostess of the waters,\nAncient hostess robed in flowers,\nRising from her deep sea-castle,\nSwimming to the shore in wonder,\nListened to the minstrel\u2019s playing,\nTo the harp of Wainamoinen.\nAs the magic tones re-echoed,\nAs the singer\u2019s song out-circled,\nSank the hostess into slumber,\nOn the rocks of many colors,\nOn her watery couch of joyance,\nDeep the sleep that settled o\u2019er her.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nPlayed one day and then a second,\nPlayed the third from morn till even.\nThere was neither man nor hero,\nNeither ancient dame, nor maiden,\nNot in Metsola a daughter,\nWhom he did not touch to weeping;\nWept the young, and wept the aged,\nWept the mothers, wept the daughters\nWept the warriors and heroes\nAt the music of his playing,\nAt the songs of the magician.\n\nWainamoinen\u2019s tears came flowing,\nWelling from the master\u2019s eyelids,\nPearly tear-drops coursing downward,\nLarger than the whortle-berries,\nFiner than the pearls of ocean,\nSmoother than the eggs of moor-hens,\nBrighter than the eyes of swallows.\nFrom his eyes the tear-drops started,\nFlowed adown his furrowed visage,\nFalling from his beard in streamlets,\nTrickled on his heaving bosom,\nStreaming o\u2019er his golden girdle,\nCoursing to his garment\u2019s border,\nThen beneath his shoes of ermine,\nFlowing on, and flowing ever,\nPart to earth for her possession,\nPart to water for her portion.\nAs the tear-drops fall and mingle,\nForm they streamlets from the eyelids\nOf the minstrel, Wainamoinen,\nTo the blue-mere\u2019s sandy margin,\nTo the deeps of crystal waters,\nLost among the reeds and rushes.\nSpake at last the ancient minstrel:\n\u201cIs there one in all this concourse,\nOne in all this vast assembly\nThat can gather up my tear-drops\nFrom the deep, pellucid waters?\u201d\n\nThus the younger heroes answered,\nAnswered thus the bearded seniors:\n\u201cThere is none in all this concourse,\nNone in all this vast assembly,\nThat can gather up thy tear-drops\nFrom the deep, pellucid waters.\u201d\nSpake again wise Wainamoinen:\n\u201cHe that gathers up my tear-drops\nFrom the deeps of crystal waters\nShall receive a beauteous plumage.\u201d\n\nCame a raven, flying, croaking,\nAnd the minstrel thus addressed him:\n\u201cBring, O raven, bring my tear-drops\nFrom the crystal lake\u2019s abysses;\nI will give thee beauteous plumage,\nRecompense for golden service.\u201d\nBut the raven failed his master.\n\nCame a duck upon the waters,\nAnd the hero thus addressed him:\n\u201cBring, O water-bird, my tear-drops;\nOften thou dost dive the deep-sea,\nSink thy bill upon the bottom\nOf the waters thou dost travel;\nDive again my tears to gather,\nI will give thee beauteous plumage,\nRecompense for golden service.\u201d\n\nThereupon the duck departed,\nHither, thither, swam, and circled,\nDived beneath the foam and billow,\nGathered Wainamoinen\u2019s tear-drops\nFrom the blue-sea\u2019s pebbly bottom,\nFrom the deep, pellucid waters;\nBrought them to the great magician,\nBeautifully formed and colored,\nGlistening in the silver sunshine,\nGlimmering in the golden moonlight,\nMany-colored as the rainbow,\nFitting ornaments for heroes,\nJewels for the maids of beauty.\nThis the origin of sea-pearls,\nAnd the blue-duck\u2019s beauteous plumage.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XLII.\nCAPTURE OF THE SAMPO.\n\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nWith the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nWith the reckless son of Lempo,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli,\nOn the sea\u2019s smooth plain departed,\nOn the far-extending waters,\nTo the village, cold and dreary,\nTo the never-pleasant Northland,\nWhere the heroes fall and perish.\nIlmarinen led the rowers\nOn one side the magic war-ship,\nAnd the reckless Lemminkainen\nLed the rowers on the other.\nWainamoinen, old and trusty,\nLaid his hand upon the rudder,\nSteered his vessel o\u2019er the waters,\nThrough the foam and angry billows\nTo Pohyola\u2019s place of landing,\nTo the cylinders of copper,\nWhere the war-ships lie at anchor.\n\nWhen they had arrived at Pohya,\nWhen their journey they had ended,\nOn the land they rolled their vessel,\nOn the copper-banded rollers,\nStraightway journeyed to the village,\nHastened to the halls and hamlets\nOf the dismal Sariola.\n\nLouhi, hostess of the Northland,\nThus addressed the stranger-heroes:\n\u201cMagic heroes of Wainola,\nWhat the tidings ye are bringing\nTo the people of my village?\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nGave this answer to the hostess:\n\u201cAll the hosts of Kalevala\nAre inquiring for the Sampo,\nAsking for the lid in colors;\nHither have these heroes journeyed\nTo divide the priceless treasure.\u201d\nThus the hostess spake in answer:\n\u201cNo one would divide a partridge,\nNor a squirrel, with three heroes;\nWonderful the magic Sampo,\nPlenty does it bring to Northland;\nAnd the colored lid re-echoes\nFrom the copper-bearing mountains,\nFrom the stone-berg of Pohyola,\nTo the joy of its possessors.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nThus addressed the ancient Louhi:\n\u201cIf thou wilt not share the Sampo,\nGive to us an equal portion,\nWe will take it to Wainola,\nWith its lid of many colors,\nTake by force the hope of Pohya.\u201d\n\nThereupon the Northland hostess\nAngry grew and sighed for vengeance;\nCalled her people into council,\nCalled the hosts of Sariola,\nHeroes with their trusted broadswords,\nTo destroy old Wainamoinen\nWith his people of the Northland.\n\nWainamoinen, wise and ancient,\nHastened to his harp of fish-bone,\nAnd began his magic playing;\nAll of Pohya stopped and listened,\nEvery warrior was silenced\nBy the notes of the magician;\nPeaceful-minded grew the soldiers,\nAll the maidens danced with pleasure,\nWhile the heroes fell to weeping,\nAnd the young men looked in wonder.\n\nWainamoinen plays unceasing,\nPlays the maidens into slumber,\nPlays to sleep the young and aged,\nAll of Northland sleeps and listens.\nWise and wondrous Wainamoinen,\nThe eternal bard and singer,\nSearches in his pouch of leather,\nDraws therefrom his slumber-arrows,\nLocks the eyelids of the sleepers,\nOf the heroes of Pohyola,\nSings and charms to deeper slumber\nAll the warriors of the Northland.\nThen the heroes of Wainola\nHasten to obtain the Sampo,\nTo procure the lid in colors\nFrom the copper-bearing mountains.\nFrom behind nine locks of copper,\nIn the stone-berg of Pohyola.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nThen began his wondrous singing,\nSang in gentle tones of magic,\nAt the entrance to the mountain,\nAt the border of the stronghold;\nTrembled all the rocky portals,\nAnd the iron-banded pillars\nFell and crumbled at his singing.\n\nIlmarinen, magic blacksmith,\nWell anointed all the hinges,\nAll the bars and locks anointed,\nAnd the bolts flew back by magic,\nAll the gates unlocked in silence,\nOpened for the great magician.\nSpake the minstrel Wainamoinen:\n\u201cO thou daring Lemminkainen,\nFriend of mine in times of trouble,\nEnter thou within the mountain,\nBring away the wondrous Sampo,\nBring away the lid in colors!\u201d\n\nQuick the reckless Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli,\nEver ready for a venture,\nHastens to the mountain-caverns,\nThere to find the famous Sampo,\nThere to get the lid in colors;\nStrides along with conscious footsteps,\nThus himself he vainly praises:\n\u201cGreat am I and full of glory,\nWonder-hero, son of Ukko,\nI will bring away the Sampo,\nTurn about the lid in colors,\nTurn it on its magic hinges!\u201d\n\nLemminkainen finds the wonder,\nFinds the Sampo in the mountain,\nLabors long with strength heroic,\nTugs with might and main to turn it;\nMotionless remains the treasure,\nDeeper sinks the lid in colors,\nFor the roots have grown about it,\nGrown nine fathoms deep in sand-earth.\n\nLived a mighty ox in Northland,\nPowerful in bone and sinew,\nBeautiful in form and color,\nHorns the length of seven fathoms,\nMouth and eyes of wondrous beauty.\n\nLemminkainen, reckless hero,\nHarnesses the ox in pasture,\nTakes the master-plow of Pohya,\nPlows the roots about the Sampo,\nPlows around the lid in colors,\nAnd the sacred Sampo loosens,\nFalls the colored lid in silence.\nStraightway ancient Wainamoinen\nBrings the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nBrings the daring Lemminkainen,\nLastly brings the magic Sampo,\nFrom the stone-berg of Pohyola,\nFrom the copper-bearing mountain,\nHides it in his waiting vessel,\nIn the war-ship of Wainola.\n\nWainamoinen called his people,\nCalled his crew of men and maidens,\nCalled together all his heroes,\nRolled his vessel to the water,\nInto billowy deeps and dangers.\nSpake the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cWhither shall we take the Sampo,\nWhither take the lid in colors,\nFrom the stone-berg of Pohyola,\nFrom this evil spot of Northland?\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, wise and faithful,\nGave this answer to the question:\n\u201cThither shall we take the Sampo,\nThither take the lid in colors,\nTo the fog-point on the waters,\nTo the island forest-covered;\nThere the treasure may be hidden,\nMay remain in peace for ages,\nFree from trouble, free from danger,\nWhere the sword will not molest it.\u201d\n\nThen the minstrel, Wainamoinen,\nJoyful, left the Pohya borders,\nHomeward sailed, and happy-hearted,\nSpake these measures on departing:\n\u201cTurn, O man-of-war, from Pohya,\nTurn thy back upon the strangers,\nTurn thou to my distant country!\nRock, O winds, my magic vessel,\nHomeward drive my ship, O billows,\nLend the rowers your assistance,\nGive the oarsmen easy labor,\nOn this vast expanse of waters!\nGive me of thine oars, O Ahto,\nLend thine aid, O King of sea-waves,\nGuide as with thy helm in safety,\nLay thy hand upon the rudder,\nAnd direct our war-ship homeward;\nLet the hooks of metal rattle\nO\u2019er the surging of the billows,\nOn the white-capped waves\u2019 commotion.\u201d\n\nThen the master, Wainamoinen,\nGuided home his willing vessel;\nAnd the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nWith the lively Lemminkainen,\nLed the mighty host of rowers,\nAnd the war-ship glided homeward\nO\u2019er the sea\u2019s unruffled surface,\nO\u2019er the mighty waste of waters.\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cOnce before I rode these billows,\nThere were viands for the heroes,\nThere was singing for the maidens;\nBut to-day I hear no singing,\nHear no songs upon the vessel,\nHear no music on the waters.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, wise and ancient,\nAnswered thus wild Lemminkainen:\n\u201cLet none sing upon the blue-sea,\nOn the waters, no rejoicing;\nSinging would prolong our journey,\nSongs disturb the host of rowers;\nSoon will die the silver sunlight,\nDarkness soon will overtake us,\nOn this evil waste of waters,\nOn this blue-sea, smooth and level.\u201d\nThese the words of Lemminkainen:\n\u201cTime will fly on equal pinions\nWhether we have songs or silence;\nSoon will disappear the daylight,\nAnd the night as quickly follow,\nWhether we be sad or joyous.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nO\u2019er the blue backs of the billows,\nSteered one day, and then a second,\nSteered the third from morn till even,\nWhen the wizard, Lemminkainen,\nOnce again addressed the master:\n\u201cWhy wilt thou, O famous minstrel,\nSing no longer for thy people,\nSince the Sampo thou hast captured,\nCaptured too the lid in colors?\u201d\nThese the words of Wainamoinen:\n\u201c\u2019Tis not well to sing too early!\nTime enough for songs of joyance\nWhen we see our home-land mansions,\nWhen our journeyings have ended!\u201d\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen:\n\u201cAt the helm, if I were sitting,\nI would sing at morn and evening,\nThough my voice has little sweetness;\nSince thy songs are not forthcoming\nListen to my wondrous singing!\u201d\n\nThereupon wild Lemminkainen,\nHandsome hero, Kaukomieli,\nRaised his voice above the waters,\nO\u2019er the sea his song resounded;\nBut his measures were discordant,\nAnd his notes were harsh and frightful.\nSang the wizard, Lemminkainen,\nScreeched the reckless Kaukomieli,\nTill the mighty war-ship trembled;\nFar and wide was heard his singing,\nHeard his songs upon the waters,\nHeard within the seventh village,\nHeard beyond the seven oceans.\n\nSat a crane within the rushes,\nOn a hillock clothed in verdure,\nAnd the crane his toes was counting;\nSuddenly he heard the singing\nOf the wizard, Lemminkainen;\nAnd the bird was justly frightened\nAt the songs of the magician.\nThen with horrid voice, and screeching,\nFlew the crane across the broad-sea\nTo the lakes of Sariola,\nO\u2019er Pohyola\u2019s hills and hamlets,\nScreeching, screaming, over Northland,\nTill the people of the darkness\nWere awakened from their slumbers.\n\nLouhi hastens to her hurdles,\nHastens to her droves of cattle,\nHastens also to her garners,\nCounts her herds, inspects her store-house;\nUndisturbed she finds her treasures.\n\nQuick she journeys to the entrance\nTo the copper-bearing mountain,\nSpeaks these words as she approaches:\n\u201cWoe is me, my life hard-fated,\nWoe to Louhi, broken-hearted!\nHere the tracks of the destroyers,\nAll my locks and bolts are broken\nBy the hands of cruel strangers!\nBroken are my iron hinges,\nOpen stand the mountain-portals\nLeading to the Northland-treasure.\nHas Pohyola lost her Sampo?\u201d\n\nThen she hastened to the chambers\nWhere the Sampo had been grinding;\nBut she found the chambers empty,\nLid and Sampo gone to others,\nFrom the stone-berg of Pohyola,\nFrom behind nine locks of copper,\nIn the copper-bearing mountain.\n\nLouhi, hostess of the Northland,\nAngry grew and cried for vengeance;\nAs she found her fame departing,\nFound her strength fast disappearing,\nThus addressed the sea-fog virgin:\n\u201cDaughter of the morning-vapors,\nSift thy fogs from distant cloud-land,\nSift the thick air from the heavens,\nSift thy vapors from the ether,\nOn the blue-back of the broad-sea,\nOn the far extending waters,\nThat the ancient Wainamoinen,\nFriend of ocean-wave and billow,\nMay not baffle his pursuers!\n\n\u201cShould this prayer prove unavailing,\nIku-Turso, son of Old-age,\nRaise thy head above the billows,\nAnd destroy Wainola\u2019s heroes,\nSink them to thy deep sea-castles,\nThere devour them at thy pleasure;\nBring thou back the golden Sampo\nTo the people of Pohyola!\n\n\u201cShould these words be ineffective,\nUkko, mightiest of rulers,\nGolden king beyond the welkin,\nSitting on a throne of silver,\nFill thy skies with heavy storm-clouds,\nCall thy fleetest winds about thee,\nSend them o\u2019er the seven broad-seas,\nThere to find the fleeing vessel,\nThat the ancient Wainamoinen\nMay not baffle his pursuers!\u201d\n\nQuick the virgin of the vapors\nBreathed a fog upon the waters,\nMade it settle on the war-ship\nOf the heroes of the Northland,\nHeld the minstrel, Wainamoinen,\nAnchored in the fog and darkness;\nBound him one day, then a second,\nThen a third till dawn of morning,\nIn the middle of the blue-sea,\nWhence he could not flee in safety\nFrom the wrath of his pursuers.\n\nWhen the third night had departed,\nResting in the sea, and helpless,\nWainamoinen spake as follows:\n\u201cNot a man of strength and courage,\nNot the weakest of the heroes,\nWho upon the sea will suffer,\nSink and perish in the vapors,\nPerish in the fog and darkness!\u201d\n\nWith his sword he smote the billows,\nFrom his magic blade flowed honey;\nQuick the vapor breaks, and rises,\nLeaves the waters clear for rowing;\nFar extend the sky and waters,\nLarge the ring of the horizon,\nAnd the troubled sea enlarges.\n\nTime had journeyed little distance,\nScarce a moment had passed over,\nWhen they heard a mighty roaring,\nHeard a roaring and a rushing\nNear the border of the vessel,\nWhere the foam was shooting skyward\nO\u2019er the boat of Wainamoinen.\nStraightway youthful Ilmarinen\nSank in gravest apprehension,\nFrom his cheeks the blood departed;\nPulled his cap down o\u2019er his forehead,\nShook and trembled with emotion.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nCasts his eyes upon the waters\nNear the broad rim of his war-ship;\nThere perceives an ocean-wonder\nWith his head above the sea-foam.\n\nWainamoinen, brave and mighty,\nSeizes quick the water-monster,\nLifts him by his ears and questions:\n\u201cIku-Turso, son of Old-age,\nWhy art rising from the blue-sea?\nWherefore dost thou leave thy castle,\nShow thyself to mighty heroes,\nTo the heroes of Wainola?\u201d\n\nIku-Turso, son of Old-age,\nOcean monster, manifested\nNeither pleasure, nor displeasure,\nWas not in the least affrighted,\nDid not give the hero answer.\n\nWhereupon the ancient minstrel,\nAsked the second time the monster,\nUrgently inquired a third time:\n\u201cIku-Turso, son of Old-age,\nWhy art rising from the waters,\nWherefore dost thou leave the blue-sea?\u201d\nIku-Turso gave this answer:\n\u201cFor this cause I left my castle\nUnderneath the rolling billows:\nCame I here with the intention\nTo destroy the Kalew-heroes,\nAnd return the magic Sampo\nTo the people of Pohyola.\nIf thou wilt restore my freedom,\nSpare my life from pain and sorrow,\nI will quick retrace my journey,\nNevermore to show my visage\nTo the people of Wainola,\nNever while the moonlight glimmers\nOn the hills of Kalevala!\u201d\n\nThen the singer, Wainamoinen,\nFreed the monster, Iku-Turso,\nSent him to his deep sea-castles,\nSpake these words to him departing:\n\u201cIku-Turso, son of Old-age,\nNevermore arise from ocean,\nNevermore let Northland-heroes\nSee thy face above the waters!\u201d\n\nNevermore has Iku-Turso\nRisen to the ocean-level;\nNever since have Northland sailors\nSeen the head of this sea-monster.\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nOnward rowed his goodly vessel,\nJourneyed but a little distance,\nScarce a moment had passed over,\nWhen the King of all creators,\nMighty Ukko of the heavens,\nMade the winds blow full of power,\nMade the storms arise in fury,\nMade them rage upon the waters.\nFrom the west the winds came roaring,\nFrom the north-east came in anger,\nWinds came howling from the south-west,\nCame the winds from all directions,\nIn their fury, rolling, roaring,\nTearing branches from the lindens,\nHurling needles from the pine-trees,\nBlowing flowers from the heather,\nGrasses blowing from the meadow,\nTearing up the very bottom\nOf the deep and boundless blue-sea.\nRoared the winds and lashed the waters\nTill the waves were white with fury;\nTossed the war-ship high in ether,\nTossed away the harp of fish-bone,\nMagic harp of Wainamoinen,\nTo the joy of King Wellamo,\nTo the pleasure of his people,\nTo the happiness of Ahto,\nAhto, rising from his caverns,\nOn the floods beheld his people\nCarry off the harp of magic\nTo their home below the billows.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nHeavy-hearted, spake these measures:\n\u201cI have lost what I created,\nI have lost the harp of joyance;\nNow my strength has gone to others,\nAll my pleasure too departed,\nAll my hope and comfort vanished!\nNevermore the harp of fish-bone\nWill enchant the hosts of Suomi!\u201d\n\nThen the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nSorrow-laden, spake as follows:\n\u201cWoe is me, my life hard-fated!\nWould that I had never journeyed\nOn these waters filled with dangers,\nOn the rolling waste before me,\nIn this war-ship false and feeble.\nWinds and storms have I encountered,\nWretched days of toil and trouble,\nI have witnessed in the Northland;\nNever have I met such dangers\nOn the land, nor on the ocean,\nNever in my hero life-time!\u201d\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nSpake and these the words he uttered:\n\u201cWeep no more, my goodly comrades,\nIn my bark let no one murmur;\nWeeping cannot mend disaster,\nTears can never still misfortune,\nMourning cannot save from evil.\n\n\u201cSea, command thy warring forces,\nBid thy children cease their fury!\nAhto, still thy surging billows!\nSink, Wellamo, to thy slumber,\nThat our boat may move in safety.\nRise, ye storm-winds, to your kingdoms,\nLift your heads above the waters,\nTo the regions of your kindred,\nTo your people and dominions;\nCut the trees within the forest,\nBend the lindens of the valley,\nLet our vessel sail in safety!\u201d\n\nThen the reckless Lemminkainen,\nHandsome wizard, Kaukomieli,\nSpake these words in supplication:\n\u201cCome, O eagle, Turyalander,\nBring three feathers from thy pinions,\nThree, O raven, three, O eagle,\nTo protect this bark from evil!\u201d\n\nAll the heroes of Wainola\nCall their forces to the rescue,\nAnd repair the sinking vessel.\nBy the aid of master-magic,\nWainamoinen saved his war-ship,\nSaved his people from destruction,\nWell repaired his ship to battle\nWith the roughest seas of Northland;\nSteers his mighty boat in safety\nThrough the perils of the whirlpool,\nThrough the watery deeps and dangers.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XLIII.\nTHE SAMPO LOST IN THE SEA.\n\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nCalled her many tribes together,\nGave the archers bows and arrows,\nGave her brave men spears and broadswords;\nFitted out her mightiest war-ship,\nIn the vessel placed her army,\nWith their swords a hundred heroes,\nWith their bows a thousand archers;\nQuick erected masts and sail-yards,\nOn the masts her sails of linen\nHanging like the clouds of heaven,\nLike the white-clouds in the ether;\nSailed across the seas of Pohya,\nTo re-take the wondrous Sampo\nFrom the heroes of Wainola.\n\nWainamoinen, old and faithful,\nSailed across the deep, blue waters,\nSpake these words to Lemminkainen:\n\u201cO thou daring son of Lempo,\nBest of all my friends and heroes,\nMount the highest of the topmasts,\nLook before you into ether,\nLook behind you at the heavens,\nWell examine the horizon,\nWhether clear or filled with trouble.\u201d\n\nClimbed the daring Lemminkainen,\nEver ready for a venture,\nTo the highest of the mastheads;\nLooked he eastward, also westward,\nLooked he northward, also southward,\nThen addressed wise Wainamoinen:\n\u201cClear the sky appears before me,\nBut behind a dark horizon;\nIn the north a cloud is rising,\nAnd a longer cloud at north-west.\u201d\nWainamoinen thus made answer:\n\u201cArt thou speaking truth or fiction?\nI am fearful that the war-ships\nOf Pohyola are pursuing;\nLook again with keener vision.\u201d\n\nThereupon wild Lemminkainen\nLooked again and spake as follows:\n\u201cIn the distance seems a forest,\nIn the south appears an island,\nAspen-groves with falcons laden,\nAlders laden with the wood-grouse.\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cSurely thou art speaking falsehood;\n\u2019Tis no forest in the distance,\nNeither aspen, birch, nor alders,\nLaden with the grouse, or falcon;\nI am fearful that Pohyola\nFollows with her magic armies;\nLook again with keener vision.\u201d\n\nThen the daring Lemminkainen\nLooked the third time from the topmast,\nSpake and these the words he uttered:\n\u201cFrom the north a boat pursues us,\nDriven by a hundred rowers,\nCarrying a thousand heroes!\u201d\n\nKnew at last old Wainamoinen,\nKnew the truth of his inquiry,\nThus addressed his fleeing people:\n\u201cRow, O blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nRow, O mighty Lemminkainen,\nRow, all ye my noble oarsmen,\nThat our boat may skim the waters,\nMay escape from our pursuers!\u201d\n\nRowed the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nRowed the mighty Lemminkainen,\nWith them rowed the other heroes;\nHeavily groaned the helm of birch-wood,\nLoudly rattled all the row-locks;\nAll the vessel shook and trembled,\nLike a cataract it thundered\nAs it plowed the waste of waters,\nTossing sea-foam to the heavens.\nStrongly rowed Wainola\u2019s forces,\nStrongly were their arms united;\nBut the distance did not widen\nTwixt the boat and their pursuers.\n\nQuick the hero, Wainamoinen,\nSaw misfortune hanging over,\nSaw destruction in the distance;\nHeavy-hearted, long reflecting,\nTrouble-laden, spake as follows:\n\u201cOnly is there one salvation,\nKnow one miracle for safety!\u201d\n\nThen he grasped his box of tinder,\nFrom the box he took a flint-stone,\nOf the tinder took some fragments,\nCast the fragments on the waters,\nSpake these words of master-magic.\n\u201cLet from these arise a mountain\nFrom the bottom of the deep-sea,\nLet a rock arise in water,\nThat the war-ship of Pohyola,\nWith her thousand men and heroes,\nMay be wrecked upon the summit,\nBy the aid of surging billows.\u201d\n\nInstantly a reef arises,\nIn the sea springs up a mountain,\nEastward, westward, through the waters.\nCame the war-ship of the Northland,\nThrough the floods the boat came steering,\nSailed against the mountain-ledges,\nFastened on the rocks in water,\nWrecked upon the Mount of Magic.\nIn the deep-sea fell the topmasts,\nFell the sails upon the billows,\nCarried by the winds and waters\nO\u2019er the waves of toil and trouble.\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nTries to free her sinking vessel,\nTries to rescue from destruction;\nBut she cannot raise the war-ship,\nFirmly fixed upon the mountain;\nShattered are the ribs and rudder,\nRuined is the ship of Pohya.\n\nThen the hostess of the Northland,\nMuch disheartened, spake as follows:\n\u201cWhere the force, in earth or heaven,\nThat will help a soul in trouble?\u201d\n\nQuick she changes form and feature,\nMakes herself another body;\nTakes five sharpened scythes of iron,\nAlso takes five goodly sickles,\nShapes them into eagle-talons;\nTakes the body of the vessel,\nMakes the frame-work of an eagle;\nTakes the vessel\u2019s ribs and flooring,\nMakes them into wings and breastplate;\nFor the tail she shapes the rudder;\nIn the wings she plants a thousand\nSeniors with their bows and arrows;\nSets a thousand magic heroes\nIn the body, armed with broadswords;\nIn the tail a hundred archers,\nWith their deadly spears and cross-bows,\nThus the bird is hero-feathered.\nQuick she spreads her mighty pinions,\nRises as a monster-eagle,\nFlies on high, and soars, and circles;\nWith one wing she sweeps the heavens,\nWhile the other sweeps the waters.\nSpake the hero\u2019s ocean-mother:\n\u201cO thou ancient Wainamoinen,\nTurn thy vision to the north-east,\nCast thine eyes upon the sunrise,\nLook behind thy fleeing vessel,\nSee the eagle of misfortune!\u201d\n\nWainamoinen turned as bidden,\nTurned his vision to the north-east,\nCast his eyes upon the sunrise,\nThere beheld the Northland-hostess,\nWicked witch of Sariola,\nFlying as a monster-eagle,\nSwooping on his mighty war-ship;\nFlies and perches on the topmast,\nOn the sail-yards firmly settles;\nNearly overturns the vessel\nOf the heroes of Wainola,\nUnderneath the weight of envy.\n\nThen the hero, Ilmarinen,\nTurned to Ukko as his refuge,\nThus entreated his Creator:\n\u201cUkko, thou O God in heaven,\nThou Creator full of mercy,\nGuard us from impending danger,\nThat thy children may not perish,\nMay not meet with fell destruction.\nHither bring thy magic fire-cloak,\nThat thy people, thus protected,\nMay resist Pohyola\u2019s forces,\nWell may fight against the hostess\nOf the dismal Sariola,\nMay not fall before her weapons,\nMay not in the deep-sea perish!\u201d\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nThus addressed the ancient Louhi:\n\u201cO thou hostess of Pohyola,\nWilt thou now divide the Sampo,\nOn the fog-point in the water,\nOn the island forest-covered?\u201d\nThus the Northland hostess answered:\n\u201cI will not divide the Sampo,\nNot with thee, thou evil wizard,\nNot with wicked Wainamoinen!\u201d\n\nQuick the mighty eagle, Louhi,\nSwoops upon the lid in colors,\nGrasps the Sampo in her talons;\nBut the daring Lemminkainen\nStraightway draws his blade of battle,\nDraws his broadsword from his girdle,\nCleaves the talons of the eagle,\nOne toe only is uninjured,\nSpeaks these magic words of conquest:\n\u201cDown, ye spears, and down, ye broadswords,\nDown, ye thousand witless heroes,\nDown, ye feathered hosts of Louhi!\u201d\n\nSpake the hostess of Pohyola,\nCalling, screeching, from the sail-yards:\n\u201cO thou faithless Lemminkainen,\nWicked wizard, Kaukomieli,\nTo deceive thy trusting mother!\nThou didst give to her thy promise,\nNot to go to war for ages,\nNot to war for sixty summers,\nThough desire for gold impels thee,\nThough thou wishest gold and silver!\n\nWainamoinen, ancient hero,\nThe eternal wisdom-singer,\nThinking he had met destruction,\nSnatched the rudder from the waters,\nWith it smote the monster-eagle,\nSmote the eagle\u2019s iron talons,\nSmote her countless feathered heroes.\nFrom her breast her hosts descended,\nSpearmen fell upon the billows,\nFrom the wings descend a thousand,\nFrom the tail, a hundred archers.\nSwoops again the bird of Pohya\nTo the bottom of the vessel,\nLike the hawk from birch or aspen,\nLike the falcon from the linden;\nGrasps the Sampo with one talon,\nDrags the treasure to the waters,\nDrops the magic lid in colors\nFrom the red rim of the war-ship\nTo the bottom of the deep-sea,\nWhere the Sampo breaks in pieces,\nScatters through the Alue-waters,\nIn the mighty deeps for ages,\nTo increase the ocean\u2019s treasures,\nTreasures for the hosts of Ahto.\nNevermore will there be wanting\nRichness for the Ahto-nation,\nNever while the moonlight brightens\nOn the waters of the Northland.\n\nMany fragments of the Sampo\nFloated on the purple waters,\nOn the waters deep and boundless,\nRocked by winds and waves of Suomi,\nCarried by the rolling billows\nTo the sea-sides of Wainola.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nSaw the fragments of the treasure\nFloating on the billows landward,\nFragments of the lid in colors,\nMuch rejoicing, spake as follows:\n\u201cThence will come the sprouting seed-grain,\nThe beginning of good fortune,\nThe unending of resources,\nFrom the plowing and the sowing,\nFrom the glimmer of the moonlight,\nFrom the splendor of the sunshine,\nOn the fertile plains of Suomi,\nOn the meads of Kalevala.\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nThus addressed old Wainamoinen:\n\u201cKnow I other mighty measures,\nKnow I means that are efficient,\nAnd against thy golden moonlight,\nAnd the splendor of thy sunshine,\nAnd thy plowing, and thy reaping;\nIn the rocks I\u2019ll sink the moonbeams,\nHide the sun within the mountain,\nLet the frost destroy thy sowings,\nFreeze the crops on all thy corn-fields;\nIron-hail I\u2019ll send from heaven,\nOn the richness of thine acres,\nOn the barley of thy planting;\nI will drive the bear from forests,\nSend thee Otso from the thickets,\nThat he may destroy thy cattle,\nMay annihilate thy sheep-folds,\nMay destroy thy steeds at pasture.\nI will send thee nine diseases,\nEach more fatal than the other,\nThat will sicken all thy people,\nMake thy children sink and perish,\nNevermore to visit Northland,\nNever while the moonlight glimmers\nOn the plains of Kalevala!\u201d\nThus the ancient bard made answer:\n\u201cNot a Laplander can banish\nWainamoinen and his people;\nNever can a Turyalander\nDrive my tribes from Kalevala;\nGod alone has power to banish,\nGod controls the fate of nations,\nNever trusts the arms of evil,\nNever gives His strength to others.\nAs I trust in my Creator,\nCall upon benignant Ukko,\nHe will guard my crops from danger,\nDrive the Frost-fiend from my corn-fields,\nDrive great Otso to his caverns.\n\n\u201cWicked Louhi of Pohyola,\nThou canst banish evil-doers,\nIn the rocks canst hide the wicked,\nIn thy mountains lock the guilty;\nThou canst never hide the moonlight,\nNever hide the silver sunshine,\nIn the caverns of thy kingdom.\nFreeze the crops of thine own planting,\nFreeze the barley of thy sowing,\nSend thine iron-hail from heaven\nTo destroy the Lapland corn-fields,\nTo annihilate thy people,\nTo destroy the hosts of Pohya;\nSend great Otso from the heather,\nSend the sharp-tooth from the forest,\nTo the fields of Sariola,\nOn the herds and flocks of Louhi!\u201d\n\nThus the wicked hostess answered:\n\u201cAll my power has departed,\nAll my strength has gone to others,\nAll my hope is in the deep-sea;\nIn the waters lies my Sampo!\u201d\n\nThen the hostess of Pohyola\nHome departed, weeping, wailing,\nTo the land of cold and darkness;\nOnly took some worthless fragments\nOf the Sampo to her people;\nCarried she the lid to Pohya,\nIn the blue-sea left the handle;\nHence the poverty of Northland,\nAnd the famines of Pohyola.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nHastened to the broad-sea\u2019s margin,\nStepped upon the shore in joyance;\nFound there fragments of the Sampo,\nFragments of the lid in colors,\nOn the borders of the waters,\nOn the curving sands and sea-sides;\nGathered well the Sampo-relics\nFrom the waters near the fog-point,\nOn the island forest-covered.\n\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:,\nSpake these words in supplication:\n\u201cGrant, O Ukko, our Creator,\nGrant to us, thy needful children,\nPeace, and happiness, and plenty,\nThat our lives may be successful,\nThat our days may end in honor,\nOn the vales and hills of Suomi,\nOn the prairies of Wainola,\nIn the homes of Kalevala!\n\n\u201cUkko, wise and good Creator,\nUkko, God of love and mercy,\nShelter and protect thy people\nFrom the evil-minded heroes,\nFrom the wiles of wicked women,\nThat our country\u2019s plagues may leave us,\nThat thy faithful tribes may prosper.\nBe our friend and strong protector,\nBe the helper of thy children,\nIn the night a roof above them,\nIn the day a shield around them,\nThat the sunshine may not vanish,\nThat the moonlight may not lessen,\nThat the killing frosts may leave them,\nAnd destructive hail pass over.\nBuild a metal wall around us,\nFrom the valleys to the heavens;\nBuild of stone a mighty fortress\nOn the borders of Wainola,\nWhere thy people live and labor,\nAs their dwelling-place forever,\nSure protection to thy people,\nWhere the wicked may not enter,\nNor the thieves break through and pilfer,\nNever while the moonlight glistens,\nAnd the Sun brings golden blessings\nTo the plains of Kalevala.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XLIV.\nBIRTH OF THE SECOND HARP.\n\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nLong reflecting, sang these measures:\n\u201cIt is now the time befitting\nTo awaken joy and gladness,\nTime for me to touch the harp-strings,\nTime to sing the songs primeval,\nIn these spacious halls and mansions,\nIn these homes of Kalevala;\nBut, alas! my harp lies hidden,\nSunk upon the deep-sea\u2019s bottom,\nTo the salmon\u2019s hiding-places,\nTo the dwellings of the whiting,\nTo the people of Wellamo,\nWhere the Northland-pike assemble.\nNevermore will I regain it,\nAhto never will return it,\nJoy and music gone forever!\n\n\u201cO thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nForge for me a rake of iron,\nThickly set the teeth of copper,\nMany fathoms long the handle;\nMake a rake to search the waters,\nSearch the broad-sea to the bottom,\nRake the weeds and reeds together,\nRake them to the curving sea-shore,\nThat I may regain my treasure,\nMay regain my harp of fish-bone\nFrom the whiting\u2019s place of resting,\nFrom the caverns of the salmon,\nFrom the castles of Wellamo.\u201d\n\nThereupon young Ilmarinen,\nThe eternal metal-worker,\nForges well a rake of iron,\nTeeth in length a hundred fathoms,\nAnd a thousand long the handle,\nThickly sets the teeth of copper.\nStraightway ancient Wainamoinen\nTakes the rake of magic metals,\nTravels but a little distance,\nTo the cylinders of oak-wood,\nTo the copper-banded rollers,\nWhere he finds two ships awaiting,\nOne was new, the other ancient.\n\nWainamoinen, old and faithful,\nThus addressed the new-made vessel:\n\u201cGo, thou boat of master-magic,\nHasten to the willing waters,\nSpeed away upon the blue-sea,\nAnd without the hand to move thee;\nLet my will impel thee seaward.\u201d\nQuick the boat rolled to the billows\nOn the cylinders of oak-wood,\nQuick descended to the waters,\nWillingly obeyed his master.\n\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nThen began to rake the sea-beds,\nRaked up all the water-flowers,\nBits of broken reeds and rushes,\nDeep-sea shells and colored pebbles,\nDid not find his harp of fish-bone,\nLost forever to Wainola!\n\nThereupon the ancient minstrel\nLeft the waters, homeward hastened,\nCap pulled down upon his forehead,\nSang this song with sorrow laden:\n\u201cNevermore shall I awaken\nWith my harp-strings, joy and gladness!\nNevermore will Wainamoinen\nCharm the people of the Northland\nWith the harp of his creation!\nNevermore my songs will echo\nO\u2019er the hills of Kalevala!\u201d\n\nThereupon the ancient singer\nWent lamenting through the forest,\nWandered through the sighing pine-woods,\nHeard the wailing of a birch-tree,\nHeard a juniper complaining;\nDrawing nearer, waits and listens,\nThus the birch-tree he addresses:\n\u201cWherefore, brother, art thou weeping,\nMerry birch enrobed in silver,\nSilver-leaved and silver-tasselled?\nArt thou shedding tears of sorrow,\nSince thou art not led to battle,\nNot enforced to war with wizards?\u201d\nWisely does the birch make answer:\n\u201cThis the language of the many,\nOthers speak as thou, unjustly,\nThat I only live in pleasure,\nThat my silver leaves and tassels\nOnly whisper my rejoicings;\nThat I have no cares, no sorrows,\nThat I have no hours unhappy,\nKnowing neither pain nor trouble.\nI am weeping for my smallness,\nAm lamenting for my weakness,\nHave no sympathy, no pity,\nStand here motionless for ages,\nStand alone in fen and forest,\nIn these woodlands vast and joyless.\nOthers hope for coming summers,\nFor the beauties of the spring-time;\nI, alas! a helpless birch-tree,\nDread the changing of the seasons,\nI must give my bark to others,\nLose my leaves and silken tassels.\nOften come the Suomi children,\nPeel my bark and drink my life-blood:\nWicked shepherds in the summer,\nCome and steal my belt of silver,\nOf my bark make berry-baskets,\nDishes make, and cups for drinking.\nOftentimes the Northland maidens\nCut my tender limbs for birch-brooms,\nBind my twigs and silver tassels\nInto brooms to sweep their cabins;\nOften have the Northland heroes\nChopped me into chips for burning;\nThree times in the summer season,\nIn the pleasant days of spring-time,\nForesters have ground their axes\nOn my silver trunk and branches,\nRobbed me of my life for ages;\nThis my spring-time joy and pleasure,\nThis my happiness in summer,\nAnd my winter days no better!\nWhen I think of former troubles,\nSorrow settles on my visage,\nAnd my face grows white with anguish;\nOften do the winds of winter\nAnd the hoar-frost bring me sadness,\nBlast my tender leaves and tassels,\nBear my foliage to others,\nRob me of my silver raiment,\nLeave me naked on the mountain,\nLone, and helpless, and disheartened!\u201d\nSpake the good, old Wainamoinen:\n\u201cWeep no longer, sacred birch-tree,\nMourn no more, my friend and brother,\nThou shalt have a better fortune;\nI will turn thy grief to joyance,\nMake thee laugh and sing with gladness.\u201d\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nMade a harp from sacred birch-wood,\nFashioned in the days of summer,\nBeautiful the harp of magic,\nBy the master\u2019s hand created\nOn the fog-point in the Big-Sea,\nOn the island forest-covered,\nFashioned from the birch the archings,\nAnd the frame-work from the aspen.\nThese the words of the magician:\n\u201cAll the archings are completed,\nAnd the frame is fitly finished;\nWhence the hooks and pins for tuning,\nThat the harp may sing in concord?\u201d\n\nNear the way-side grew an oak-tree,\nSkyward grew with equal branches,\nOn each twig an acorn growing,\nGolden balls upon each acorn,\nOn each ball a singing cuckoo.\nAs each cuckoo\u2019s call resounded,\nFive the notes of song that issued\nFrom the songster\u2019s throat of joyance;\nFrom each throat came liquid music,\nGold and silver for the master,\nFlowing to the hills and hillocks,\nTo the silvery vales and mountains;\nThence he took the merry harp-pins,\nThat the harp might play in concord.\nSpake again wise Wainamoinen:\n\u201cI the pins have well completed,\nStill the harp is yet unfinished;\nNow I need five strings for playing,\nWhere shall I procure the harp-strings?\u201d\nThen the ancient bard and minstrel\nJourneyed through the fen and forest.\nOn a hillock sat a maiden,\nSat a virgin of the valley;\nAnd the maiden was not weeping,\nJoyful was the sylvan daughter,\nSinging with the woodland songsters,\nThat the eventide might hasten,\nIn the hope that her beloved\nWould the sooner sit beside her.\n\nWainamoinen, old and trusted,\nHastened, tripping to the virgin,\nAsked her for her golden ringlets,\nThese the words of the magician:\n\u201cGive me, maiden, of thy tresses,\nGive to me thy golden ringlets;\nI will weave them into harp-strings,\nTo the joy of Wainamoinen,\nTo the pleasure of his people.\u201d\n\nThereupon the forest-maiden\nGave the singer of her tresses,\nGave him of her golden ringlets,\nAnd of these he made the harp-strings.\nSources of eternal pleasure\nTo the people of Wainola.\n\nThus the sacred harp is finished,\nAnd the minstrel, Wainamoinen,\nSits upon the rock of joyance,\nTakes the harp within his fingers,\nTurns the arch up, looking skyward;\nWith his knee the arch supporting,\nSets the strings in tuneful order,\nRuns his fingers o\u2019er the harp-strings,\nAnd the notes of pleasure follow.\nStraightway ancient Wainamoinen,\nThe eternal wisdom-singer,\nPlays upon his harp of birch-wood.\nFar away is heard the music,\nWide the harp of joy re-echoes;\nMountains dance and valleys listen,\nFlinty rocks are torn asunder,\nStones are hurled upon the waters,\nPebbles swim upon the Big-Sea,\nPines and lindens laugh with pleasure,\nAlders skip about the heather,\nAnd the aspen sways in concord.\n\nAll the daughters of Wainola\nStraightway leave their shining needles,\nHasten forward like the current,\nSpeed along like rapid rivers,\nThat they may enjoy and wonder.\nLaugh the younger men and maidens,\nHappy-hearted are the matrons\nFlying swift to bear the playing,\nTo enjoy the common pleasure,\nHear the harp of Wainamoinen.\nAged men and bearded seniors,\nGray-haired mothers with their daughters\nStop in wonderment and listen.\nCreeps the babe in full enjoyment\nAs he hears the magic singing,\nHears the harp of Wainamoinen.\nAll of Northland stops in wonder,\nSpeaks in unison these measures:\n\u201cNever have we heard such playing,\nNever heard such strains of music,\nNever since the earth was fashioned,\nAs the songs of this magician,\nThis sweet singer, Wainamoinen!\u201d\n\nFar and wide the sweet tones echo,\nRing throughout the seven hamlets,\nO\u2019er the seven islands echo;\nEvery creature of the Northland\nHastens forth to look and listen,\nListen to the songs of gladness,\nTo the harp of Wainamoinen.\nAll the beasts that haunt the woodlands\nFall upon their knees and wonder\nAt the playing of the minstrel,\nAt his miracles of concord.\nAll the songsters of the forests\nPerch upon the trembling branches,\nSinging to the wondrous playing\nOf the harp of Wainamoinen.\nAll the dwellers of the waters\nLeave their beds, and caves, and grottoes,\nSwim against the shore and listen\nTo the playing of the minstrel,\nTo the harp of Wainamoinen.\nAll the little things in nature,\nRise from earth, and fall from ether,\nCome and listen to the music,\nTo the notes of the enchanter,\nTo the songs of the magician,\nTo the harp of Wainamoinen.\n\nPlays the singer of the Northland,\nPlays in miracles of sweetness,\nPlays one day, and then a second,\nPlays the third from morn till even;\nPlays within the halls and cabins,\nIn the dwellings of his people,\nTill the floors and ceilings echo,\nTill resound the roofs of pine-wood,\nTill the windows speak and tremble,\nTill the portals echo joyance,\nAnd the hearth-stones sing in pleasure.\nAs he journeys through the forest,\nAs he wanders through the woodlands,\nPine and sorb-tree bid him welcome,\nBirch and willow bend obeisance,\nBeech and aspen bow submission;\nAnd the linden waves her branches\nTo the measure of his playing,\nTo the notes of the magician.\nAs the minstrel plays and wanders,\nSings upon the mead and heather,\nGlen and hill his songs re-echo,\nFerns and flowers laugh in pleasure,\nAnd the shrubs attune their voices\nTo the music of the harp-strings,\nTo the songs of Wainamoinen.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XLV.\nBIRTH OF THE NINE DISEASES.\n\n\nLouhi, hostess of the Northland,\nHeard the word in Sariola,\nHeard the news with ears of envy,\nThat Wainola lives and prospers,\nThat Osmoinen\u2019s wealth increases,\nThrough the ruins of the Sampo,\nRuins of the lid in colors.\nThereupon her wrath she kindled,\nWell considered, long reflected,\nHow she might prepare destruction\nFor the people of Wainola,\nFor the tribes of Kalevala.\n\nWith this prayer she turns to Ukko,\nThus entreats the god of thunder:\n\u201cUkko, thou who art in heaven,\nHelp me slay Wainola\u2019s people\nWith thine iron-hail of justice,\nWith thine arrows tipped with lightning,\nOr from sickness let them perish,\nLet them die the death deserving;\nLet the men die in the forest,\nAnd the women in the hurdles!\u201d\n\nThe blind daughter of Tuoni,\nOld and wicked witch, Lowyatar,\nWorst of all the Death-land women,\nUgliest of Mana\u2019s children,\nSource of all the host of evils,\nAll the ills and plagues of Northland,\nBlack in heart, and soul, and visage,\nEvil genius of Lappala,\nMade her couch along the wayside,\nOn the fields of sin and sorrow;\nTurned her back upon the East-wind,\nTo the source of stormy weather,\nTo the chilling winds of morning.\n\nWhen the winds arose at evening,\nHeavy-laden grew Lowyatar,\nThrough the east-wind\u2019s impregnation,\nOn the sand-plains, vast and barren.\nLong she bore her weight of trouble,\nMany morns she suffered anguish,\nTill at last she leaves the desert,\nMakes her couch within the forest,\nOn a rock upon the mountain;\nLabors long to leave her burden\nBy the mountain-springs and fountains,\nBy the crystal waters flowing,\nBy the sacred stream and whirlpool,\nBy the cataract and fire-stream;\nBut her burden does not lighten.\nBlind Lowyatar, old and ugly,\nKnew not where to look for succor,\nHow to lose her weight of sorrow,\nWhere to lay her evil children.\n\nSpake the Highest from the heavens,\nThese the words of mighty Ukko:\n\u201cIs a triangle in Swamp-field,\nNear the border of the ocean,\nIn the never-pleasant Northland,\nIn the dismal Sariola;\nThither go and lay thy burden,\nIn Pohyola leave thine offspring;\nThere the Laplanders await thee,\nThere will bid thy children welcome.\u201d\n\nThereupon the blind Lowyatar,\nBlackest daughter of Tuoni,\nMana\u2019s old and ugly maiden,\nHastened on her journey northward,\nTo the chambers of Pohyola,\nTo the ancient halls of Louhi,\nThere to lay her heavy burdens,\nThere to leave her evil offspring.\n\nLouhi, hostess of the Northland,\nOld and toothless witch of Pohya,\nTakes Lowyatar to her mansion;\nSilently she leads the stranger\nTo the bath-rooms of her chamber,\nPours the foaming beer of barley,\nLubricates the bolts and hinges,\nThat their movements may be secret,\nSpeaks these measures to Lowyatar:\n\u201cFaithful daughter of Creation,\nThou most beautiful of women,\nFirst and last of ancient mothers,\nHasten on thy feet to ocean,\nTo the ocean\u2019s centre hasten,\nTake the sea-foam from the waters,\nTake the honey of the mermaids,\nAnd anoint thy sacred members,\nThat thy labors may be lightened.\n\n\u201cShould all this be unavailing,\nUkko, thou who art in heaven,\nHasten hither, thou art needed,\nCome thou to thy child in trouble,\nHelp the helpless and afflicted.\nTake thy golden-colored sceptre,\nCharm away opposing forces,\nStrike the pillars of the stronghold,\nOpen all resisting portals,\nThat the great and small may wander\nFrom their ancient hiding-places,\nThrough the courts and halls of freedom.\u201d\n\nFinally the blind Lowyatar,\nWicked witch of Tuonela,\nWas delivered of her burden,\nLaid her offspring in the cradle,\nUnderneath the golden covers.\nThus at last were born nine children,\nIn an evening of the summer,\nFrom Lowyatar, blind and ancient,\nUgly daughter of Tuoni.\nFaithfully the virgin-mother\nGuards her children in affection,\nAs an artist loves and nurses\nWhat his skillful hands have fashioned.\n\nThus Lowyatar named her offspring,\nColic, Pleurisy, and Fever,\nUlcer, Plague, and dread Consumption,\nGout, Sterility, and Cancer.\nAnd the worst of these nine children\nBlind Lowyatar quickly banished,\nDrove away as an enchanter,\nTo bewitch the lowland people,\nTo engender strife and envy.\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nBanished all the other children\nTo the fog-point in the ocean,\nTo the island forest-covered;\nBanished all the fatal creatures,\nGave these wicked sons of evil\nTo the people of Wainola,\nTo the youth of Kalevala,\nFor the Kalew-tribe\u2019s destruction.\nQuick Wainola\u2019s maidens sicken,\nYoung and aged, men and heroes,\nWith the worst of all diseases,\nWith diseases new and nameless;\nSick and dying is Wainola.\n\nThereupon old Wainamoinen,\nWise and wonderful enchanter,\nHastens to his people\u2019s rescue,\nHastens to a war with Mana,\nTo a conflict with Tuoni,\nTo destroy the evil children\nOf the evil maid, Lowyatar.\nWainamoinen heats the bath-rooms,\nHeats the blocks of healing-sandstone\nWith the magic wood of Northland,\nGathered by the sacred river;\nWater brings in covered buckets\nFrom the cataract and whirlpool;\nBrooms he brings enwrapped with ermine,\nWell the bath the healer cleanses,\nSoftens well the brooms of birch-wood;\nThen a honey-heat he wakens,\nFills the rooms with healing vapors,\nFrom the virtue of the pebbles\nGlowing in the heat of magic,\nThus he speaks in supplication:\n\u201cCome, O Ukko, to my rescue,\nGod of mercy, lend thy presence,\nGive these vapor-baths new virtues,\nGrant to them the powers of healing,\nAnd restore my dying people;\nDrive away these fell diseases,\nBanish them to the unworthy,\nLet the holy sparks enkindle,\nKeep this heat in healing limits,\nThat it may not harm thy children,\nMay not injure the afflicted.\nWhen I pour the sacred waters\nOn the heated blocks of sandstone,\nMay the water turn to honey\nLaden with the balm of healing.\nLet the stream of magic virtues\nCeaseless flow to all my children,\nFrom this bath enrolled in sea-moss,\nThat the guiltless may not suffer,\nThat my tribe-folk may not perish,\nTill the Master gives permission,\nUntil Ukko sends his minions,\nSends diseases of his choosing,\nTo destroy my trusting people.\nLet the hostess of Pohyola,\nWicked witch that sent these troubles,\nSuffer from a gnawing conscience,\nSuffer for her evil doings.\nShould the Master of Wainola\nLose his magic skill and weaken,\nShould he prove of little service\nTo deliver from misfortune,\nTo deliver from these evils,\nThen may Ukko be our healer,\nBe our strength and wise Physician.\n\n\u201cOmnipresent God of mercy,\nThou who livest in the heavens,\nHasten hither, thou art needed,\nHasten to thine ailing children,\nTo observe their cruel tortures,\nTo dispel these fell diseases,\nDrive destruction from our borders.\nBring with thee thy mighty fire-sword,\nBring to me thy blade of lightning,\nThat I may subdue these evils,\nThat these monsters I may banish,\nSend these pains, and ills, and tortures,\nTo the empire of Tuoni,\nTo the kingdom of the east-winds,\nTo the islands of the wicked,\nTo the caverns of the demons,\nTo the rocks within the mountains,\nTo the hidden beds of iron,\nThat the rocks may fall and sicken,\nAnd the beds of iron perish.\nRocks and metals do not murmur\nAt the hands of the invader.\n\n\u201cTorture-daughter of Tuoni,\nSitting on the mount of anguish,\nAt the junction of three rivers,\nTurning rocks of pain and torture,\nTurn away these fell diseases\nThrough the virtues of the blue-stone;\nLead them to the water-channels,\nSink them in the deeps of ocean,\nWhere the winds can never find them,\nWhere the sunlight never enters.\n\n\u201cShould this prayer prove unavailing,\nO, Health-virgin, maid of beauty\nCome and heal my dying people,\nStill their agonies and anguish,\nGive them consciousness and comfort,\nGive them healthful rest and slumber;\nThese diseases take and banish,\nTake them in thy copper vessel,\nTo thy caves within the mountains,\nTo the summit of the Pain-rock,\nHurl them to thy boiling caldrons.\nIn the mountain is a touch-stone,\nLucky-stone of ancient story,\nWith a hole bored through the centre,\nThrough this pour these pains and tortures,\nWretched feelings, thoughts of evil,\nHuman ailments, days unlucky,\nTribulations, and misfortunes,\nThat they may not rise at evening,\nMay not see the light of morning.\u201d\n\nEnding thus, old Wainamoinen,\nThe eternal, wise enchanter,\nRubbed his sufferers with balsams,\nRubbed the tissues, red and painful,\nWith the balm of healing flowers,\nBalsams made of herbs enchanted,\nSprinkled all with healing vapors,\nSpake these words in supplication.\n\u201cUkko, thou who art in heaven,\nGod of justice, and of mercy,\nSend us from the east a rain-cloud,\nSend a dark cloud from the north-west,\nFrom the north let fall a third one,\nSend us mingled rain and honey,\nBalsam from the great Physician,\nTo remove this plague of Northland.\nWhat I know of healing measures,\nOnly comes from my Creator;\nLend me, therefore, of thy wisdom,\nThat I may relieve my people,\nSave them from the fell destroyer.\nIf my hands should fall in virtue.\nLet the hands of Ukko follow,\nGod alone can save from trouble.\nCome to us with thine enchantment,\nSpeak the magic words of healing,\nThat my people may not perish;\nGive to all alleviation\nFrom their sicknesses and sorrows;\nIn the morning, in the evening,\nLet their wasting ailments vanish;\nDrive the Death-child from Wainola,\nNevermore to visit Northland,\nNever in the course of ages,\nNever while the moonlight glimmers\nO\u2019er the lakes of Kalevala.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, the enchanter,\nThe eternal wisdom-singer,\nThus expelled the nine diseases,\nEvil children of Lowyatar,\nHealed the tribes of Kalevala,\nSaved his people from destruction.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XLVI.\nOTSO THE HONEY-EATER.\n\n\nCame the tidings to Pohyola,\nTo the village of the Northland,\nThat Wainola had recovered\nFrom her troubles and misfortunes,\nFrom her sicknesses and sorrows.\n\nLouhi, hostess of the Northland,\nToothless dame of Sariola,\nEnvy-laden, spake these measures:\n\u201cKnow I other means of trouble,\nI have many more resources;\nI will drive the bear before me,\nFrom the heather and the mountain,\nDrive him from the fen and forest,\nDrive great Otso from the glen-wood\nOn the cattle of Wainola,\nOn the flocks of Kalevala.\u201d\n\nThereupon the Northland hostess\nDrove the hungry bear of Pohya\nFrom his cavern to the meadows,\nTo Wainola\u2019s plains and pastures.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nTo his brother spake as follows:\n\u201cO thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nForge a spear from magic metals,\nForge a lancet triple-pointed,\nForge the handle out of copper,\nThat I may destroy great Otso,\nSlay the mighty bear of Northland,\nThat he may not eat my horses,\nNor destroy my herds of cattle,\nNor the flocks upon my pastures.\u201d\n\nThereupon the skillful blacksmith\nForged a spear from magic metals,\nForged a lancet triple-pointed,\nNot the longest, nor the shortest,\nForged the spear in wondrous beauty.\nOn one side a bear was sitting,\nSat a wolf upon the other,\nOn the blade an elk lay sleeping,\nOn the shaft a colt was running,\nNear the hilt a roebuck bounding.\n\nSnows had fallen from the heavens,\nMade the flocks as white as ermine\nOr the hare, in days of winter,\nAnd the minstrel sang these measures:\n\u201cMy desire impels me onward\nTo the Metsola-dominions,\nTo the homes of forest-maidens,\nTo the courts of the white virgins;\nI will hasten to the forest,\nLabor with the woodland-forces.\n\n\u201cRuler of the Tapio-forests,\nMake of me a conquering hero,\nHelp me clear these boundless woodlands.\nO Mielikki, forest-hostess,\nTapio\u2019s wife, thou fair Tellervo,\nCall thy dogs and well enchain them,\nSet in readiness thy hunters,\nLet them wait within their kennels.\n\n\u201cOtso, thou O Forest-apple,\nBear of honey-paws and fur-robes,\nLearn that Wainamoinen follows,\nThat the singer comes to meet thee;\nHide thy claws within thy mittens,\nLet thy teeth remain in darkness,\nThat they may not harm the minstrel,\nMay be powerless in battle.\nMighty Otso, much beloved,\nHoney-eater of the mountains,\nSettle on the rocks in slumber,\nOn the turf and in thy caverns;\nLet the aspen wave above thee,\nLet the merry birch-tree rustle\nO\u2019er thy head for thy protection.\nRest in peace, thou much-loved Otso,\nTurn about within thy thickets,\nLike the partridge at her brooding,\nIn the spring-time like the wild-goose.\u201d\n\nWhen the ancient Wainamoinen\nHeard his dog bark in the forest,\nHeard his hunter\u2019s call and echo,\nHe addressed the words that follow:\n\u201cThought it was the cuckoo calling,\nThought the pretty bird was singing;\nIt was not the sacred cuckoo,\nNot the liquid notes of songsters,\n\u2019Twas my dog that called and murmured,\n\u2019Twas the echo of my hunter\nAt the cavern-doors of Otso,\nOn the border of the woodlands.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and trusty,\nFinds the mighty bear in waiting,\nLifts in joy the golden covers,\nWell inspects his shining fur-robes;\nLifts his honey-paws in wonder,\nThen addresses his Creator:\n\u201cBe thou praised, O mighty Ukko,\nAs thou givest me great Otso,\nGivest me the Forest-apple,\nThanks be paid to thee unending.\u201d\nTo the bear he spake these measures:\n\u201cOtso, thou my well beloved,\nHoney-eater of the woodlands,\nLet not anger swell thy bosom;\nI have not the force to slay thee,\nWillingly thy life thou givest\nAs a sacrifice to Northland.\nThou hast from the tree descended,\nGlided from the aspen branches,\nSlippery the trunks in autumn,\nIn the fog-days, smooth the branches.\nGolden friend of fen and forest,\nIn thy fur-robes rich and beauteous,\nPride of woodlands, famous Light-foot,\nLeave thy cold and cheerless dwelling,\nLeave thy home within the alders,\nLeave thy couch among the willows,\nHasten in thy purple stockings,\nHasten from thy walks restricted,\nCome among the haunts of heroes,\nJoin thy friends in Kalevala.\nWe shall never treat thee evil,\nThou shalt dwell in peace and plenty,\nThou shalt feed on milk and honey,\nHoney is the food of strangers.\nHaste away from this thy covert,\nFrom the couch of the unworthy,\nTo a couch beneath the rafters\nOf Wainola\u2019s ancient dwellings.\nHaste thee onward o\u2019er the snow-plain,\nAs a leaflet in the autumn;\nSkip beneath these birchen branches,\nAs a squirrel in the summer,\nAs a cuckoo in the spring-time.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nThe eternal wisdom-singer,\nO\u2019er the snow-fields hastened homeward,\nSinging o\u2019er the hills and mountains,\nWith his guest, the ancient Otso,\nWith his friend, the famous Light-foot,\nWith the Honey-paw of Northland.\n\nFar away was heard the singing,\nHeard the playing of the hunter,\nHeard the songs of Wainamoinen;\nAll the people heard and wondered,\nMen and maidens, young and aged,\nFrom their cabins spake as follows:\n\u201cHear the echoes from the woodlands,\nHear the bugle from the forest,\nHear the flute-notes of the songsters,\nHear the pipes of forest-maidens!\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and trusty,\nSoon appears within the court-yard.\nRush the people from their cabins,\nAnd the heroes ask these questions:\n\u201cHas a mine of gold been opened,\nHast thou found a vein of silver,\nPrecious jewels in thy pathway?\nDoes the forest yield her treasures,\nGive to thee the Honey-eater?\nDoes the hostess of the woodlands,\nGive to thee the lynx and adder,\nSince thou comest home rejoicing,\nPlaying, singing, on thy snow-shoes?\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nGave this answer to his people:\n\u201cFor his songs I caught the adder,\nCaught the serpent for his wisdom;\nTherefore do I come rejoicing,\nSinging, playing, on my snow-shoes.\nNot the mountain lynx, nor serpent,\nComes, however, to our dwellings;\nThe Illustrious is coming,\nPride and beauty of the forest,\n\u2019Tis the Master comes among us,\nCovered with his friendly fur-robe.\nWelcome, Otso, welcome, Light-foot,\nWelcome, Loved-one from the glenwood!\nIf the mountain guest is welcome,\nOpen wide the gates of entry;\nIf the bear is thought unworthy,\nBar the doors against the stranger.\u201d\nThis the answer of the tribe-folk:\n\u201cWe salute thee, mighty Otso,\nHoney-paw, we bid thee welcome,\nWelcome to our courts and cabins,\nWelcome, Light-foot, to our tables\nDecorated for thy coming!\nWe have wished for thee for ages,\nWaiting since the days of childhood,\nFor the notes of Tapio\u2019s bugle,\nFor the singing of the wood-nymphs,\nFor the coming of dear Otso,\nFor the forest gold and silver,\nWaiting for the year of plenty,\nLonging for it as for summer,\nAs the shoe waits for the snow-fields,\nAs the sledge for beaten highways,\nAs the maiden for her suitor,\nAnd the wife her husband\u2019s coming;\nSat at evening by the windows,\nAt the gates have sat at morning,\nSat for ages at the portals,\nNear the granaries in winter,\nTill the snow-fields warmed and vanished,\nTill the sails unfurled in joyance,\nTill the earth grew green and blossomed,\nThinking all the while as follows:\n\u2018Where is our beloved Otso,\nWhy delays our forest-treasure?\nHas he gone to distant Ehstland,\nTo the upper glens of Suomi?\u2019\u201d\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cWhither shall I lead the stranger,\nWhither take the golden Light-foot?\nShall I lead him to the garner,\nTo the house of straw conduct him?\u201d\nThis the answer of his tribe-folk:\n\u201cTo the dining-hall lead Otso,\nGreatest hero of the Northland.\nFamous Light-foot, Forest-apple,\nPride and glory of the woodlands,\nHave no fear before these maidens,\nFear not curly-headed virgins,\nClad in silver-tinselled raiment;\nMaidens hasten to their chambers\nWhen dear Otso joins their number,\nWhen the hero comes among them.\u201d\nThis the prayer of Wainamoinen:\n\u201cGrant, O Ukko, peace and plenty\nUnderneath these painted rafters,\nIn this ornamented dwelling;\nThanks be paid to gracious Ukko!\u201d\nSpake again the ancient minstrel:\n\u201cWhither shall we lead dear Otso,\nWhither take the fur-clad stranger?\u201d\nThis the answer of his people:\n\u201cHither let the fur-robed Light-foot\nBe saluted on his coming;\nLet the Honey-paw be welcomed\nTo the hearth-stone of the penthouse,\nWelcomed to the boiling caldrons,\nThat we may admire his fur-robe,\nMay behold his cloak with joyance.\nHave no care, thou much-loved Otso,\nLet not anger swell thy bosom\nAs thy coat we view with pleasure;\nWe thy fur shall never injure,\nShall not make it into garments\nTo protect unworthy people.\u201d\n\nThereupon wise Wainamoinen\nPulled the sacred robe from Otso,\nSpread it in the open court-yard,\nCut the members into fragments,\nLaid them in the heating caldrons,\nIn the copper-bottomed vessels.\nO\u2019er the fire the crane was hanging,\nOn the crane were hooks of copper,\nOn the hooks the broiling vessels\nFilled with bear-steak for the feasting,\nSeasoned with the salt of Dwina,\nFrom the Saxon-land imported,\nFrom the distant Dwina-waters,\nFrom the salt-sea brought in shallops.\n\nReady is the feast of Otso;\nFrom the fire are swung the kettles\nOn the crane of polished iron;\nIn the centers of the tables\nIs the bear displayed in dishes,\nGolden dishes, decorated;\nOf the fir-tree and the linden\nWere the tables newly fashioned;\nDrinking cups were forged from copper,\nKnives of gold and spoons of silver;\nFilled the vessels to their borders\nWith the choicest bits of Light-foot,\nFragments of the Forest-apple.\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cAncient one with bosom golden,\nPotent voice in Tapio\u2019s council,\nMetsola\u2019s most lovely hostess,\nHostess of the glen and forest,\nHero-son of Tapiola,\nStalwart youth in cap of scarlet,\nTapio\u2019s most beauteous virgin,\nFair Tellervo of the woodlands,\nMetsola with all her people,\nCome, and welcome, to the feasting,\nTo the marriage-feast of Otso!\nAll sufficient, the provisions,\nFood to eat and drink abundant,\nPlenty for the hosts assembled,\nPlenty more to give the village.\u201d\nThis the question of the people:\n\u201cTell us of the birth of Otso!\nWas he born within a manger,\nWas he nurtured in the bath-room\nWas his origin ignoble?\u201d\nThis is Wainamoinen\u2019s answer:\n\u201cOtso was not born a beggar,\nWas not born among the rushes,\nWas not cradled in a manger;\nHoney-paw was born in ether,\nIn the regions of the Moon-land,\nOn the shoulders of Otava,\nWith the daughters of creation.\n\n\u201cThrough the ether walked a maiden,\nOn the red rims of the cloudlets,\nOn the border of the heavens,\nIn her stockings purple-tinted,\nIn her golden-colored sandals.\nIn her hand she held a wool-box,\nWith a hair-box on her shoulder;\nThrew the wool upon the ocean,\nAnd the hair upon the rivers;\nThese are rocked by winds and waters,\nWater-currents bear them onward,\nBear them to the sandy sea-shore,\nLand them near the woods of honey,\nOn an island forest-covered.\n\n\u201cFair Mielikki, woodland hostess,\nTapio\u2019s most cunning daughter,\nTook the fragments from the sea-side,\nTook the white wool from the waters,\nSewed the hair and wool together,\nLaid the bundle in her basket,\nBasket made from bark of birch-wood,\nBound with cords the magic bundle;\nWith the chains of gold she bound it\nTo the pine-tree\u2019s topmost branches.\nThere she rocked the thing of magic,\nRocked to life the tender baby,\nMid the blossoms of the pine-tree,\nOn the fir-top set with needles;\nThus the young bear well was nurtured,\nThus was sacred Otso cradled\nOn the honey-tree of Northland,\nIn the middle of the forest.\n\n\u201cSacred Otso grew and flourished,\nQuickly grew with graceful movements,\nShort of feet, with crooked ankles,\nWide of mouth and broad of forehead,\nShort his nose, his fur-robe velvet;\nBut his claws were not well fashioned,\nNeither were his teeth implanted.\nFair Mielikki, forest hostess,\nSpake these words in meditation:\n\u2018Claws I should be pleased to give him,\nAnd with teeth endow the wonder,\nWould he not abuse the favor.\u2019\n\n\u201cSwore the bear a promise sacred,\nOn his knees before Mielikki,\nHostess of the glen and forest,\nAnd before omniscient Ukko,\nFirst and last of all creators,\nThat he would not harm the worthy,\nNever do a deed of evil.\nThen Mielikki, woodland hostess,\nWisest maid of Tapiola,\nSought for teeth and claws to give him,\nFrom the stoutest mountain-ashes,\nFrom the juniper and oak tree,\nFrom the dry knots of the alder.\nTeeth and claws of these were worthless,\nWould not render goodly service.\n\n\u201cGrew a fir-tree on the mountain,\nGrew a stately pine in Northland,\nAnd the fir had silver branches,\nBearing golden cones abundant;\nThese the sylvan maiden gathered,\nTeeth and claws of these she fashioned\nIn the jaws and feet of Otso,\nSet them for the best of uses.\nThen she freed her new-made creature,\nLet the Light-foot walk and wander,\nLet him lumber through the marshes,\nLet him amble through the forest,\nRoll upon the plains and pastures;\nTaught him how to walk a hero,\nHow to move with graceful motion,\nHow to live in ease and pleasure,\nHow to rest in full contentment,\nIn the moors and in the marshes,\nOn the borders of the woodlands;\nHow unshod to walk in summer,\nStockingless to run in autumn;\nHow to rest and sleep in winter\nIn the clumps of alder-bushes\nUnderneath the sheltering fir-tree,\nUnderneath the pine\u2019s protection,\nWrapped securely in his fur-robes,\nWith the juniper and willow.\nThis the origin of Otso,\nHoney-eater of the Northlands,\nWhence the sacred booty cometh.\u201d\nThus again the people questioned:\n\u201cWhy became the woods so gracious,\nWhy so generous and friendly?\nWhy is Tapio so humored,\nThat he gave his dearest treasure,\nGave to thee his Forest-apple,\nHoney-eater of his kingdom?\nWas he startled with thine arrows,\nFrightened with the spear and broadsword?\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nGave this answer to the question:\n\u201cFilled with kindness was the forest,\nGlen and woodland full of greetings,\nTapio showing greatest favor.\nFair Mielikki, forest hostess,\nMetsola\u2019s bewitching daughter,\nBeauteous woodland maid, Tellervo,\nGladly led me on my journey,\nSmoothed my pathway through the glen-wood.\nMarked the trees upon the mountains,\nPointing me to Otso\u2019s caverns,\nTo the Great Bear\u2019s golden island.\n\n\u201cWhen my journeyings had ended,\nWhen the bear had been discovered,\nHad no need to launch my javelins,\nDid not need to aim the arrow;\nOtso tumbled in his vaulting,\nLost his balance in his cradle,\nIn the fir-tree where he slumbered;\nTore his breast upon the branches,\nFreely gave his life to others.\n\n\u201cMighty Otso, my beloved,\nThou my golden friend and hero,\nTake thy fur-cap from thy forehead,\nLay aside thy teeth forever,\nHide thy fingers in the darkness,\nClose thy mouth and still thine anger,\nWhile thy sacred skull is breaking.\n\n\u201cNow I take the eyes of Otso,\nLest he lose the sense of seeing,\nLest their former powers shall weaken;\nThough I take not all his members,\nNot alone must these be taken.\n\n\u201cNow I take the ears of Otso,\nLest he lose the sense of hearing,\nLest their former powers shall weaken;\nThough I take not all his members,\nNot alone must these be taken.\n\n\u201cNow I take the nose of Otso,\nLest he lose the sense of smelling,\nLest its former powers shall weaken;\nThough I take not all his members,\nNot alone must this be taken.\n\n\u201cNow I take the tongue of Otso,\nLest he lose the sense of tasting,\nLest its former powers shall weaken;\nThough I take not all his members,\nNot alone must this be taken.\n\n\u201cNow I take the brain of Otso,\nLest he lose the means of thinking,\nLest his consciousness should fail him,\nLest his former instincts weaken;\nThough I take not all his members,\nNot alone must this be taken.\n\n\u201cI will reckon him a hero,\nThat will count the teeth of Light-foot,\nThat will loosen Otso\u2019s fingers\nFrom their settings firmly fastened.\u201d\n\nNone he finds with strength sufficient\nTo perform the task demanded.\nTherefore ancient Wainamoinen\nCounts the teeth of sacred Otso;\nLoosens all the claws of Light-foot,\nWith his fingers strong as copper,\nSlips them from their firm foundations,\nSpeaking to the bear these measures:\n\u201cOtso, thou my Honey-eater,\nThou my Fur-ball of the woodlands,\nOnward, onward, must thou journey\nFrom thy low and lonely dwelling,\nTo the court-rooms of the village.\nGo, my treasure, through the pathway\nNear the herds of swine and cattle,\nTo the hill-tops forest covered,\nTo the high and rising mountains,\nTo the spruce-trees filled with needles,\nTo the branches of the pine-tree;\nThere remain, my Forest-apple,\nLinger there in lasting slumber,\nWhere the silver bells are ringing,\nTo the pleasure of the shepherd.\u201d\n\nThus beginning, and thus ending,\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nHastened from his emptied tables,\nAnd the children thus addressed him:\n\u201cWhither hast thou led thy booty,\nWhere hast left thy Forest-apple,\nSacred Otso of the woodlands?\nHast thou left him on the iceberg,\nBuried him upon the snow-field?\nHast thou sunk him in the quicksand,\nLaid him low beneath the heather?\u201d\nWainamoinen spake in answer:\n\u201cHave not left him on the iceberg,\nHave not buried him in snow-fields;\nThere the dogs would soon devour him,\nBirds of prey would feast upon him;\nHave not hidden him in Swamp-land,\nHave not buried him in heather;\nThere the worms would live upon him,\nInsects feed upon his body.\nThither I have taken Otso,\nTo the summit of the Gold-hill,\nTo the copper-bearing mountain,\nLaid him in his silken cradle\nIn the summit of a pine-tree,\nWhere the winds and sacred branches\nRock him to his lasting slumber,\nTo the pleasure of the hunter,\nTo the joy of man and hero.\nTo the east his lips are pointing,\nWhile his eyes are northward looking;\nBut dear Otso looks not upward,\nFor the fierceness of the storm-winds\nWould destroy his sense of vision.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nTouched again his harp of joyance,\nSang again his songs enchanting,\nTo the pleasure of the evening,\nTo the joy of morn arising.\nSpake the singer of Wainola:\n\u201cLight for me a torch of pine-wood,\nFor the darkness is appearing,\nThat my playing may be joyous\nAnd my wisdom-songs find welcome.\u201d\n\nThen the ancient sage and singer,\nWise and worthy Wainamoinen,\nSweetly sang, and played, and chanted,\nThrough the long and dreary evening,\nEnding thus his incantation:\n\u201cGrant, O Ukko, my Creator,\nThat the people of Wainola\nMay enjoy another banquet\nIn the company of Light-foot;\nGrant that we may long remember\nKalevala\u2019s feast with Otso!\n\n\u201cGrant, O Ukko, my Creator,\nThat the signs may guide our footsteps,\nThat the notches in the pine-tree\nMay direct my faithful people\nTo the bear-dens of the woodlands;\nThat great Tapio\u2019s sacred bugle\nMay resound through glen and forest;\nThat the wood-nymph\u2019s call may echo,\nMay be heard in field and hamlet,\nTo the joy of all that listen!\nLet great Tapio\u2019s horn for ages\nRing throughout the fen and forest,\nThrough the hills and dales of Northland\nO\u2019er the meadows and the mountains,\nTo awaken song and gladness\nIn the forests of Wainola,\nOn the snowy plains of Suomi,\nOn the meads of Kalevala,\nFor the coming generations.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XLVII.\nLOUHI STEALS SUN, MOON, AND FIRE.\n\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nTouched again his magic harp-strings,\nSang in miracles of concord,\nFilled the north with joy and gladness.\nMelodies arose to heaven,\nSongs arose to Luna\u2019s chambers,\nEchoed through the Sun\u2019s bright windows\nAnd the Moon has left her station,\nDrops and settles in the birch-tree;\nAnd the Sun comes from his castle,\nSettles in the fir-tree branches,\nComes to share the common pleasure,\nComes to listen to the singing,\nTo the harp of Wainamoinen.\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nNorthland\u2019s old and toothless wizard,\nMakes the Sun and Moon her captives;\nIn her arms she takes fair Luna\nFrom her cradle in the birch-tree,\nCalls the Sun down from his station,\nFrom the fir-tree\u2019s bending branches,\nCarries them to upper Northland,\nTo the darksome Sariola;\nHides the Moon, no more to glimmer,\nIn a rock of many colors;\nHides the Sun, to shine no longer,\nIn the iron-banded mountain;\nThereupon these words she utters:\n\u201cMoon of gold and Sun of silver,\nHide your faces in the caverns\nOf Pohyola\u2019s dismal mountain;\nShine no more to gladden Northland,\nTill I come to give ye freedom,\nDrawn by coursers nine in number,\nSable coursers of one mother!\u201d\n\nWhen the golden Moon had vanished,\nAnd the silver Sun had hidden\nIn the iron-banded caverns,\nLouhi stole the fire from Northland,\nFrom the regions of Wainola,\nLeft the mansions cold and cheerless,\nAnd the cabins full of darkness.\nNight was king and reigned unbroken,\nDarkness ruled in Kalevala,\nDarkness in the home of Ukko.\nHard to live without the moonlight,\nHarder still without the sunshine;\nUkko\u2019s life is dark and dismal,\nWhen the Sun and Moon desert him.\n\nUkko, first of all creators,\nLived in wonder at the darkness;\nLong reflected, well considered,\nWhy this miracle in heaven,\nWhat this accident in nature\nTo the Moon upon her journey;\nWhy the Sun no more is shining,\nWhy has disappeared the moonlight.\nThen great Ukko walked the heavens,\nTo the border of the cloudlets,\nIn his purple-colored vestments,\nIn his silver-tinselled sandals,\nSeeking for the golden moonlight,\nLooking for the silver sunshine.\nLightning Ukko struck in darkness\nFrom the edges of his fire-sword;\nShot the flames in all directions,\nFrom his blade of golden color,\nInto heaven\u2019s upper spaces,\nInto Ether\u2019s starry pastures.\n\nWhen a little fire had kindled,\nUkko hid it in the cloud-space,\nIn a box of gold and silver,\nIn a case adorned with silver,\nGave it to the ether-maidens,\nCalled a virgin then to rock it,\nThat it might become a new-moon,\nThat a second sun might follow.\nOn the long-cloud rocked the virgin,\nOn the blue-edge of the ether,\nRocked the fire of the Creator,\nIn her copper-colored cradle,\nWith her ribbons silver-studded.\nLowly bend the bands of silver,\nLoud the golden cradle echoes,\nAnd the clouds of Northland thunder,\nLow descends the dome of heaven,\nAt the rocking of the lightning,\nRocking of the fire of Ukko.\nThus the flame was gently cradled\nBy the virgin of the ether.\nLong the fair and faithful maiden\nStroked the Fire-child with her fingers,\nTended it with care and pleasure,\nTill in an unguarded moment\nIt escaped the Ether-virgin,\nSlipped the hands of her that nursed it.\nQuick the heavens are burst asunder,\nQuick the vault of Ukko opens,\nDownward drops the wayward Fire-child,\nDownward quick the red-ball rushes,\nShoots across the arch of heaven,\nHisses through the startled cloudlets,\nFlashes through the troubled welkin,\nThrough nine starry vaults of ether.\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nSpake and these the words he uttered:\n\u201cBlacksmith brother, Ilmarinen,\nLet us haste and look together,\nWhat the kind of fire that falleth,\nWhat the form of light that shineth\nFrom the upper vault of heaven,\nFrom the lower earth and ocean.\nHas a second moon arisen,\nCan it be a ball of sunlight?\u201d\n\nThereupon the heroes wandered,\nOnward journeyed and reflected,\nHow to gain the spot illumined,\nHow to find the sacred Fire-child.\nCame a river rushing by them,\nBroad and stately as an ocean.\nStraightway ancient Wainamoinen\nThere began to build a vessel,\nBuild a boat to cross the river.\nWith the aid of Ilmarinen,\nFrom the oak he cut the row-locks,\nFrom the pine the oars he fashioned,\nFrom the aspen shapes the rudder.\nWhen the vessel they had finished,\nQuick they rolled it to the current,\nHard they rowed and ever forward,\nOn the Nawa-stream and waters,\nAt the head of Nawa-river.\n\nIlmatar, the ether-daughter,\nForemost daughter of creation,\nCame to meet them on their journey,\nThus addressed the coming strangers:\n\u201cWho are ye of Northland heroes,\nRowing on the Nawa-waters?\u201d\nWainamoinen gave this answer:\n\u201cThis the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nI the ancient Wainamoinen.\nTell us now thy name and station,\nWhither going, whence thou comest,\nWhere thy tribe-folk live and linger?\u201d\nSpake the daughter of the Ether:\n\u201cI the oldest of the women,\nAm the first of Ether\u2019s daughters,\nAm the first of ancient mothers;\nSeven times have I been wedded\nTo the heroes of creation.\nWhither do ye strangers journey?\u201d\nAnswered thus old Wainamoinen:\n\u201cFire has left Wainola\u2019s hearth-stones,\nLight has disappeared from Northland;\nHave been sitting long in darkness,\nCold and darkness our companions;\nNow we journey to discover\nWhat the fire that fell from heaven,\nFalling from the cloud\u2019s red lining,\nTo the deeps of earth and ocean.\u201d\nIlmatar returned this answer:\n\u201cHard the flame is to discover,\nHard indeed to find the Fire-child;\nHas committed many mischiefs,\nNothing good has he accomplished;\nQuick the fire-ball fell from ether,\nFrom the red rims of the cloudlets,\nFrom the plains of the Creator,\nThrough the ever-moving heavens,\nThrough the purple ether-spaces,\nThrough the blackened flues of Turi,\nTo Palwoinen\u2019s rooms uncovered.\nWhen the fire had reached the chambers\nOf Palwoinen, son of evil,\nHe began his wicked workings,\nHe engaged in lawless actions,\nRaged against the blushing maidens,\nFired the youth to evil conduct,\nSinged the beards of men and heroes.\n\n\u201cWhere the mother nursed her baby,\nIn the cold and cheerless cradle,\nThither flew the wicked Fire-child,\nThere to perpetrate some mischief;\nIn the cradle burned the infant,\nBy the infant burned the mother,\nThat the babe might visit Mana,\nIn the kingdom of Tuoni;\nSaid the child was born for dying,\nOnly destined for destruction,\nThrough the tortures of the Fire-child.\nGreater knowledge had the mother,\nDid not journey to Manala,\nKnew the word to check the red-flame,\nHow to banish the intruder\nThrough the eyelet of a needle,\nThrough the death-hole of the hatchet.\u201d\n\nThen the ancient Wainamoinen\nQuestioned Ilmatar as follows:\n\u201cWhither did the Fire-child wander,\nWhither did the red-flame hasten,\nFrom the border-fields of Turi,\nTo the woods, or to the waters?\u201d\nStraightway Ilmatar thus answers:\n\u201cWhen the fire had fled from Turi,\nFrom the castles of Palwoinen,\nThrough the eyelet of the needle,\nThrough the death-hole of the hatchet,\nFirst it burned the fields, and forests,\nBurned the lowlands, and the heather;\nThen it sought the mighty waters,\nSought the Alue-sea and river,\nAnd the waters hissed and sputtered\nIn their anger at the Fire-child,\nFiery red the boiling Alue!\n\n\u201cThree times in the nights of summer,\nNine times in the nights of autumn,\nBoil the waters to the tree-tops,\nRoll and tumble to the mountain,\nThrough the red-ball\u2019s force and fury;\nHurls the pike upon the pastures,\nTo the mountain-cliffs, the salmon,\nWhere the ocean-dwellers wonder,\nLong reflect and well consider\nHow to still the angry waters.\nWept the salmon for his grotto,\nMourned the whiting for his cavern,\nAnd the lake-trout for his dwelling.\nQuick the crook-necked salmon darted,\nTried to catch the fire-intruder,\nBut the red-ball quick escaped him;\nDarted then the daring whiting,\nSwallowed quick the wicked Fire-child,\nSwallowed quick the flame of evil.\nQuiet grow the Alue-waters,\nSlowly settle to their shore-lines,\nTo their long-accustomed places,\nIn the long and dismal evening.\n\n\u201cTime had gone but little distance,\nWhen the whiting grow affrighted,\nFear befel the fire-devourer;\nBurning pain and writhing tortures\nSeized the eater of the Fire-child;\nSwam the fish in all directions,\nCalled, and moaned, and swam, and circled,\nSwam one day, and then a second,\nSwam the third from morn till even;\nSwam she to the whiting-island,\nTo the caverns of the salmon,\nWhere a hundred islands cluster;\nAnd the islands there assembled\nThus addressed the fire-devourer:\n\u2018There is none within these waters,\nIn this narrow Alue-lakelet,\nThat will eat the fated Fire-fish,\nThat will swallow thee in trouble,\nIn thine agonies and torture\nFrom the Fire-child thou hast eaten.\u2019\n\n\u201cHearing this a trout forth darting,\nSwallowed quick as light the whiting,\nQuickly ate the fire-devourer.\nTime had gone but little distance,\nWhen the trout became affrighted,\nFear befel the whiting-eater;\nBurning pain and writhing torment\nSeized the eater of the Fire-fish.\nSwam the trout in all directions,\nCalled, and moaned, and swam, and circled,\nSwam one day, and then a second,\nSwam the third from morn till even;\nSwam she to the salmon-island,\nSwam she to the whiting-grottoes,\nWhere a thousand islands cluster,\nAnd the islands there assembled\nThus addressed the tortured lake-trout:\n\u2018There is none within this river,\nIn these narrow Alue-waters,\nThat will eat the wicked Fire-fish,\nThat will swallow thee in trouble,\nIn thine agonies and tortures,\nFrom the Fire-fish thou hast eaten.\u2019\n\nHearing this the gray-pike darted,\nSwallowed quick as light the lake-trout,\nQuickly ate the tortured Fire-fish.\n\n\u201cTime had gone but little distance,\nWhen the gray-pike grew affrighted,\nFear befel the lake-trout-eater;\nBurning pain and writhing torment\nSeized the reckless trout-devourer;\nSwam the pike in all directions,\nCalled, and moaned, and swam, and circled,\nSwam one day, and then a second,\nSwam the third from morn till even,\nTo the cave of ocean-swallows,\nTo the sand-hills of the sea-gull,\nWhere a hundred islands cluster;\nAnd the islands there assembled\nThus addressed the fire-devourer:\n\u2018There is none within this lakelet,\nIn these narrow Alue-waters,\nThat will eat the fated Fire-fish,\nThat will swallow thee in trouble,\nIn thine agonies and tortures,\nFrom the Fire-fish thou hast eaten.\u2019\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, wise and ancient,\nWith the aid of Ilmarinen,\nWeaves with skill a mighty fish-net\nFrom the juniper and sea-grass;\nDyes the net with alder-water,\nTies it well with thongs of willow.\nStraightway ancient Wainamoinen\nCalled the maidens to the fish-net,\nAnd the sisters came as bidden.\nWith the netting rowed they onward,\nRowed they to the hundred islands,\nTo the grottoes of the salmon,\nTo the caverns of the whiting,\nTo the reeds of sable color,\nWhere the gray-pike rests and watches.\nOn they hasten to the fishing,\nDrag the net in all directions,\nDrag it lengthwise, sidewise, crosswise,\nAnd diagonally zigzag;\nBut they did not catch the Fire-fish.\n\nThen the brothers went a-fishing,\nDragged the net in all directions,\nBackwards, forwards, lengthwise, sidewise,\nThrough the homes of ocean-dwellers,\nThrough the grottoes of the salmon,\nThrough the dwellings of the whiting,\nThrough the reed-beds of the lake-trout,\nWhere the gray-pike lies in ambush;\nBut the fated Fire-fish came not,\nCame not from the lake\u2019s abysses,\nCame not from the Alue-waters.\n\nLittle fish could not be captured\nIn the large nets of the masters;\nMurmured then the deep-sea-dwellers,\nSpake the salmon to the lake-trout,\nAnd the lake-trout to the whiting,\nAnd the whiting to the gray-pike:\n\u201cHave the heroes of Wainola\nDied, or have they all departed\nFrom these fertile shores and waters?\nWhere then are the ancient weavers,\nWeavers of the nets of flax-thread,\nThose that frighten us with fish-poles,\nDrag us from our homes unwilling?\u201d\n\nHearing this wise Wainamoinen\nAnswered thus the deep-sea-dwellers:\n\u201cNeither have Wainola\u2019s heroes\nDied, nor have they all departed\nFrom these fertile shores and waters,\nTwo are born where one has perished;\nLonger poles and finer fish-nets\nHave the sons of Kalevala!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XLVIII.\nCAPTURE OF THE FIRE-FISH.\n\n\nWainamoinen, the enchanter,\nThe eternal wisdom-singer,\nLong reflected, well considered,\nHow to weave the net of flax-yarn,\nWeave the fish-net of the fathers.\nSpake the minstrel of Wainola:\n\u201cWho will plow the field and fallow,\nSow the flax, and spin the flax-threads,\nThat I may prepare the fish-net,\nWherewith I may catch the Fire-pike,\nMay secure the thing of evil?\u201d\n\nSoon they found a fertile island,\nFound the fallow soil befitting,\nOn the border of the heather,\nAnd between two stately oak-trees,\nThey prepared the soil for sowing.\nSearching everywhere for flax-seed,\nFound it in Tuoni\u2019s kingdom,\nIn the keeping of an insect.\nThen they found a pile of ashes,\nWhere the fire had burned a vessel;\nIn the ashes sowed the seedlings\nNear the Alue-lake and border,\nIn the rich and loamy fallow.\nThere the seed took root and flourished,\nQuickly grew to great proportions,\nIn a single night in summer.\nThus the flax was sowed at evening,\nPlaced within the earth by moonlight;\nQuick it grew, and quickly ripened,\nQuick Wainola\u2019s heroes pulled it,\nQuick they broke it on the hackles,\nHastened with it to the waters,\nDipped it in the lake and washed it;\nQuickly brought it home and dried it,\nQuickly broke, and combed, and smoothed it,\nBrushed it well at early morning,\nLaid it into laps for spinning.\nQuick the maidens twirl the spindles,\nSpin the flaxen threads for weaving,\nIn a single night in summer.\nQuick the sisters wind and reel it,\nMake it ready for the needle.\nBrothers weave it into fish-nets,\nAnd the fathers twist the cordage,\nWhile the mothers knit the meshes,\nRapidly the mesh-stick circles;\nSoon the fish-net is completed,\nIn a single night in summer.\nAs the magic net is finished,\nAnd in length a hundred fathoms,\nOn the rim three hundred fathoms,\nRounded stones are fastened to it,\nJoined thereto are seven float-boards.\n\nNow the young men take the fish-net,\nAnd the old men cheer them onward,\nWish them good-luck at their fishing.\nLong they row and drag the flax-seine,\nHere and there the net is lowered;\nNow they drag it lengthwise, sidewise,\nDrag it through the slimy reed-beds;\nBut they do not catch the Fire-pike,\nOnly smelts, and luckless red-fish,\nLittle fish of little value.\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cO thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nLet us go ourselves a-fishing,\nLet us catch the fish of evil!\u201d\n\nTo the fishing went the brothers,\nMagic heroes of the Northland,\nPulled the fish-net through the waters,\nToward an island in the deep-sea;\nThen they turn and drag the fish-net\nToward a meadow jutting seaward;\nNow they drag it toward Wainola,\nDraw it lengthwise, sidewise, crosswise,\nCatching fish of every species,\nSalmon, trout, and pike, and whiting,\nDo not catch the evil Fire-fish.\n\nThen the master, Wainamoinen,\nMade additions to its borders,\nMade it many fathoms wider,\nAnd a hundred fathoms longer,\nThen these words the hero uttered:\n\u201cFamous blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nLet us go again a-fishing,\nRow again the magic fish-net,\nDrag it well through all the waters,\nThat we may obtain the Fire-pike!\u201d\n\nThereupon the Northland heroes\nGo a second time a-fishing,\nDrag their nets across the rivers,\nLakelets, seas, and bays, and inlets,\nCatching fish of many species,\nBut the Fire-fish is not taken.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient singer,\nLong reflecting, spake these measures:\n\u201cDear Wellamo, water-hostess,\nAncient mother with the reed-breast,\nCome, exchange thy water-raiment,\nChange thy coat of reeds and rushes\nFor the garments I shall give thee,\nLight sea-foam, thine inner vesture,\nAnd thine outer, moss and sea-grass,\nFashioned by the wind\u2019s fair daughters,\nWoven by the flood\u2019s sweet maidens;\nI will give thee linen vestments\nSpun from flax of softest fiber,\nWoven by the Moon\u2019s white virgins,\nFashioned by the Sun\u2019s bright daughters,\nFitting raiment for Wellamo!\n\n\u201cAhto, king of all the waters,\nRuler of a thousand grottoes,\nTake a pole of seven fathoms,\nSearch with this the deepest waters,\nRummage well the lowest bottoms;\nStir up all the reeds and sea-weeds,\nHither drive a school of gray-pike,\nDrive them to our magic fish-net,\nFrom the haunts in pike abounding,\nFrom the caverns, and the trout-holes,\nFrom the whirlpools of the deep-sea,\nFrom the bottomless abysses,\nWhere the sunshine never enters,\nWhere the moonlight never visits,\nAnd the sands are never troubled.\u201d\n\nRose a pigmy from the waters,\nFrom the floods a little hero,\nRiding on a rolling billow,\nAnd the pigmy spake these measures:\n\u201cDost thou wish a worthy helper,\nOne to use the pole and frighten\nPike and salmon to thy fish-nets?\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and faithful,\nAnswered thus the lake-born hero:\n\u201cYea, we need a worthy helper,\nOne to hold the pole, and frighten\nPike and salmon to our fish-nets.\u201d\n\nThereupon the water-pigmy\nCut a linden from the border,\nSpake these words to Wainamoinen:\n\u201cShall I scare with all my powers,\nWith the forces of my being,\nAs thou needest shall I scare them?\u201d\nSpake the minstrel, Wainamoinen:\n\u201cIf thou scarest as is needed,\nThou wilt scare with all thy forces,\nWith the strength of thy dominions.\u201d\n\nThen began the pigmy-hero,\nTo affright the deep-sea-dwellers;\nDrove the fish in countless numbers\nTo the net of the magicians.\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nDrew his net along the waters,\nDrew it with his ropes of flax-thread,\nSpake these words of magic import:\n\u201cCome ye fish of Northland waters\nTo the regions of my fish-net,\nAs my hundred meshes lower.\u201d\n\nThen the net was drawn and fastened,\nMany were the gray-pike taken\nBy the master and magician.\nWainamoinen, happy-hearted,\nHastened to a neighboring island,\nTo a blue-point in the waters,\nNear a red-bridge on the headland;\nLanded there his draught of fishes,\nCast the pike upon the sea-shore,\nAnd the Fire-pike was among them,\nCast the others to the waters.\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cMay I touch thee with my fingers,\nUsing not my gloves of iron,\nUsing not my blue-stone mittens?\u201d\nThis the Sun-child hears and answers:\n\u201cI should like to carve the Fire-fish,\nI should like this pike to handle,\nIf I had the knife of good-luck.\u201d\n\nQuick a knife falls from the heavens,\nFrom the clouds a magic fish-knife,\nSilver-edged and golden-headed,\nTo the girdle of the Sun-child;\nQuick he grasps the copper handle,\nQuick the hero carves the Fire-pike,\nFinds therein the tortured lake-trout;\nCarves the lake-trout thus discovered,\nFinds therein the fated whiting;\nCarves the whiting, finds a blue-ball\nIn the third cave of his body.\nHe, the blue-ball quick unwinding,\nFinds within a ball of scarlet;\nCarefully removes the cover,\nFinds the ball of fire within it,\nFinds the flame from heaven fallen,\nFrom the heights of the seventh heaven,\nThrough nine regions of the ether.\n\nWainamoinen long reflected\nHow to get the magic fire-ball\nTo Wainola\u2019s fireless hearth-stones,\nTo his cold and cheerless dwellings.\nQuick he snatched the fire of heaven\nFrom the fingers of the Sun-child.\nWainamoinen\u2019s beard it singes,\nBurns the brow of Ilmarinen,\nBurns the fingers of the blacksmith.\nRolling forth it hastens westward,\nHastens to the Alue shore-lines,\nBurns the juniper and alder,\nBurns the arid heath and meadow,\nRises to the lofty linden,\nBurns the firs upon the mountains;\nHastens onward, onward, onward,\nBurns the islands of the Northland,\nBurns the Sawa fields and forests,\nBurns the dry lands of Karyala.\n\nStraightway ancient Wainamoinen\nHastens through the fields and fenlands,\nTracks the ranger to the glen-wood,\nFinds the Fire-child in an elm-tree,\nSleeping in a bed of fungus.\n\nThereupon wise Wainamoinen\nWakes the child and speaks these measures:\n\u201cWicked fire that God created,\nFlame of Ukko from the heavens,\nThou hast gone in vain to sea-caves,\nTo the lakes without a reason;\nBetter go thou to my village,\nTo the hearth-stones of my people;\nHide thyself within my chimneys,\nIn mine ashes sleep and linger.\nIn the day-time I will use thee\nTo devour the blocks of birch-wood;\nIn the evening I will hide thee\nUnderneath the golden circle.\u201d\n\nThen he took the willing Panu,\nTook the willing fire of Ukko,\nLaid it in a box of tinder,\nIn the punk-wood of a birch-tree,\nIn a vessel forged from copper;\nCarried it with care and pleasure\nTo the fog-point in the waters,\nTo the island forest covered.\nThus returned the fire to Northland,\nTo the chambers of Wainola,\nTo the hearths of Kalevala.\n\nIlmarinen, famous blacksmith,\nHastened to the deep-sea\u2019s margin,\nSat upon the rock of torture,\nFeeling pain the flame had given,\nLaved his wounds with briny water,\nThus to still the Fire-child\u2019s fury,\nThus to end his persecutions.\n\nLong reflecting, Ilmarinen\nThus addressed the flame of Ukko:\n\u201cEvil Panu from the heavens,\nWicked son of God from ether,\nTell me what has made thee angry,\nMade thee burn my weary members,\nBurn my beard, and face, and fingers,\nMade me suffer death-land tortures?\u201d\nSpake again young Ilmarinen:\n\u201cHow can I wild Panu conquer,\nHow shall I control his conduct,\nMake him end his evil doings?\nCome, thou daughter from Pohyola,\nCome, white virgin of the hoar-frost,\nCome on shoes of ice from Lapland,\nIcicles upon thy garments,\nIn one hand a cup of white-frost,\nIn the other hand an ice-spoon;\nSprinkle snow upon my members,\nWhere the Fire-child has been resting,\nLet the hoar-frost fall and settle.\n\n\u201cShould this prayer be unavailing,\nCome, thou son of Sariola,\nCome, thou child of Frost from Pohya,\nCome, thou Long-man from the ice-plains,\nOf the height of stately pine-trees,\nSlender as the trunks of lindens,\nOn thy hands the gloves of Hoar-frost,\nCap of ice upon thy forehead,\nOn thy waist a white-frost girdle;\nBring the ice-dust from Pohyola,\nFrom the cold and sunless village.\nRain is crystallized in Northland,\nIce in Pohya is abundant,\nLakes of ice and ice-bound rivers,\nFrozen smooth, the sea of ether.\nBounds the hare in frosted fur-robe,\nClimbs the bear in icy raiment,\nAmbles o\u2019er the snowy mountains.\nSwans of frost descend the rivers,\nDucks of ice in countless numbers\nSwim upon thy freezing waters,\nNear the cataract and whirlpool.\nBring me frost upon thy snow-sledge,\nSnow and ice in great abundance,\nFrom the summit of the wild-top,\nFrom the borders of the mountains.\nWith thine ice, and snow, and hoar-frost\nCover well mine injured members\nWhere wild Panu has been resting,\nWhere the child of Fire has lingered.\n\n\u201cShould this call be ineffective,\nUkko, God of love and mercy,\nFirst and last of the creators,\nFrom the east send forth a snow-cloud,\nFrom the west despatch a second,\nJoin their edges well together,\nLet there be no vacant places,\nLet these clouds bring snow and hoar-frost,\nLay the healing balm of Ukko\nOn my burning, tortured tissues,\nWhere wild Panu has been resting.\u201d\n\nThus the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nStills the pains by fire engendered,\nStills the agonies and tortures\nBrought him by the child of evil,\nBrought him by the wicked Panu.\n\n\n\n\nRUNE XLIX.\nRESTORATION OF THE SUN AND MOON.\n\n\nThus has Fire returned to Northland;\nBut the gold Moon is not shining,\nNeither gleams the silver sunlight\nIn the chambers of Wainola,\nOn the plains of Kalevala.\nOn the crops the white-frost settled,\nAnd the cattle died of hunger,\nEven birds grew sick and perished.\nMen and maidens, faint and famished,\nPerished in the cold and darkness,\nFrom the absence of the sunshine,\nFrom the absence of the moonlight.\nKnew the pike his holes and hollows,\nAnd the eagle knew his highway,\nKnew the winds the times for sailing;\nBut the wise men of the Northland\nCould not know the dawn of morning,\nOn the fog-point in the ocean,\nOn the islands forest-covered.\n\nYoung and aged talked and wondered,\nWell reflected, long debated,\nHow to live without the moonlight,\nLive without the silver sunshine,\nIn the cold and cheerless Northland,\nIn the homes of Kalevala.\nLong conjectured all the maidens,\nOrphans asked the wise for counsel.\n\nSpake a maid to Ilmarinen,\nRunning to the blacksmith\u2019s furnace:\n\u201cRise, O artist, from thy slumbers,\nHasten from thy couch unworthy;\nForge from gold the Moon for Northland,\nForge anew the Sun from silver;\nCannot live without the moonlight,\nNor without the silver sunshine!\u201d\n\nFrom his couch arose the artist,\nFrom his couch of stone, the blacksmith,\nAnd began his work of forging,\nForging Sun and Moon for Northland.\n\nCame the ancient Wainamoinen,\nIn the doorway sat and lingered,\nSpake these words to Ilmarinen:\n\u201cBlacksmith, my beloved brother,\nThou the only metal-worker,\nTell me why thy magic hammer\nFalls so heavy on thine anvil?\u201d\nSpake the youthful Ilmarinen:\n\u201cMoon of gold and Sun of silver,\nI am forging for Wainola;\nI shall swing them into ether,\nPlant them in the starry heavens.\u201d\nSpake the wise, old Wainamoinen:\n\u201cSenseless blacksmith of the ages,\nVainly dost thou swing thy hammer,\nVainly rings thy mighty anvil;\nSilver will not gleam as sunshine,\nNot of gold is born the moonlight!\u201d\n\nIlmarinen, little heeding,\nCeases not to ply his hammer,\nSun and Moon the artist forges,\nWings the Moon of Magic upward,\nHurls it to the pine-tree branches;\nDoes not shine without her master.\nThen the silver Sun he stations\nIn an elm-tree on the mountain.\nFrom his forehead drip the sweat-drops,\nPerspiration from his fingers,\nThrough his labors at the anvil\nWhile the Sun and Moon were forging;\nBut the Sun shone not at morning\nFrom his station in the elm-tree;\nAnd the Moon shone not at evening\nFrom the pine-tree\u2019s topmost branches.\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cLet the Fates be now consulted,\nAnd the oracles examined;\nOnly thus may we discover\nWhere the Sun and Moon lie hidden.\u201d\n\nThereupon old Wainamoinen,\nOnly wise and true magician,\nCut three chips from trunks of alder,\nLaid the chips in magic order,\nTouched and turned them with his fingers,\nSpake these words of master-magic:\n\u201cOf my Maker seek I knowledge,\nAsk in hope and faith the answer\nFrom the great magician, Ukko:\nTongue of alder, tell me truly,\nSymbol of the great Creator,\nWhere the Sun and Moon are sleeping;\nFor the Moon shines not in season,\nNor appears the Sun at midday,\nFrom their stations in the sky-vault.\nSpeak the truth, O magic alder,\nSpeak not words of man, nor hero,\nHither bring but truthful measures.\nLet us form a sacred compact:\nIf thou speakest me a falsehood,\nI will hurl thee to Manala,\nLet the nether fires consume thee,\nThat thine evil signs may perish.\u201d\n\nThereupon the alder answered,\nSpake these words of truthful import:\n\n\u201cVerily the Sun lies hidden\nAnd the golden Moon is sleeping\nIn the stone-berg of Pohyola,\nIn the copper-bearing mountain.\u201d\nThese the words of Wainamoinen:\n\u201cI shall go at once to Northland,\nTo the cold and dark Pohyola,\nBring the Sun and Moon to gladden\nAll Wainola\u2019s fields and forests.\u201d\n\nForth he hastens on his journey,\nTo the dismal Sariola,\nTo the Northland cold and dreary;\nTravels one day, then a second,\nSo the third from morn till evening,\nWhen appear the gates of Pohya,\nWith her snow-clad hills and mountains.\n\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nAt the river of Pohyola,\nLoudly calls the ferry-maiden:\n\u201cBring a boat, O Pohya-daughter,\nBring a strong and trusty vessel,\nRow me o\u2019er these chilling waters,\nO\u2019er this rough and rapid river!\u201d\n\nBut the ferry-maiden heard not,\nDid not listen to his calling.\nThereupon old Wainamoinen,\nLaid a pile of well-dried brush-wood,\nKnots and needles of the fir-tree,\nMade a fire beside the river,\nSent the black smoke into heaven,\nCurling to the home of Ukko.\n\nLouhi, hostess of the Northland,\nHastened to her chamber window,\nLooked upon the bay and river,\nSpake these words to her attendants:\n\u201cWhy the fire across the river\nWhere the current meets the deep-sea,\nSmaller than the fires of foemen,\nLarger than the flames of hunters?\u201d\n\nThereupon a Pohyalander\nHastened from the court of Louhi,\nThat the cause he might discover,\nBring the sought-for information\nTo the hostess of Pohyola;\nSaw upon the river-border\nSome great hero from Wainola.\n\nWainamoinen saw the stranger,\nCalled again in tones of thunder:\n\u201cBring a skiff, thou son of Northland,\nFor the minstrel, Wainamoinen!\u201d\nThus the Pohyalander answered:\n\u201cHere no skiffs are lying idle,\nRow thyself across the waters,\nUse thine arms, and feet, and fingers,\nTo propel thee o\u2019er the river,\nO\u2019er the sacred stream of Pohya.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, long reflecting,\nBravely thus soliloquizes:\n\u201cI will change my form and features,\nWill assume a second body,\nNeither man, nor ancient minstrel,\nMaster of the Northland waters!\u201d\n\nThen the singer, Wainamoinen,\nLeaped, a pike, upon the waters,\nQuickly swam the rapid river,\nGained the frigid Pohya-border.\nThere his native form resuming,\nWalked he as a mighty hero,\nOn the dismal isle of Louhi.\nSpake the wicked sons of Northland:\n\u201cCome thou to Pohyola\u2019s court-room.\u201d\n\nTo Pohyola\u2019s court he hastened.\nSpake again the sons of evil:\n\u201cCome thou to the halls of Louhi!\u201d\n\nTo Pohyola\u2019s halls he hastened.\nOn the latch he laid his fingers,\nSet his foot within the fore-hall,\nHastened to the inner chamber,\nUnderneath the painted rafters,\nWhere the Northland-heroes gather.\nThere he found the Pohya-masters\nGirded with their swords of battle,\nWith their spears and battle-axes,\nWith their fatal bows and arrows,\nFor the death of Wainamoinen,\nAncient bard, Suwantolainen.\nThus they asked the hero-stranger:\n\u201cMagic swimmer of the Northland,\nSon of evil, what the message\nThat thou bringest from thy people,\nWhat thy mission to Pohyola?\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and truthful,\nThus addressed the hosts of Louhi:\n\u201cFor the Sun I come to Northland,\nCome to seek the Moon in Pohya;\nTell me where the Sun lies hidden,\nWhere the golden Moon is sleeping.\u201d\nSpake the evil sons of Pohya:\n\u201cBoth the Sun and Moon are hidden\nIn the rock of many colors,\nIn the copper-bearing mountain,\nIn a cavern iron-banded,\nIn the stone-berg of Pohyola,\nNevermore to gain their freedom,\nNevermore to shine in Northland!\u201d\nSpake the hero, Wainamoinen:\n\u201cIf the Sun be not uncovered,\nIf the Moon leave not her dungeon,\nI will challenge all Pohyola\nTo the test of spear or broadsword,\nLet us now our weapons measure!\u201d\n\nQuick the hero of Wainola\nDrew his mighty sword of magic;\nOn its border shone the moonlight,\nOn its hilt the Sun was shining,\nOn its back, a neighing stallion,\nOn its face a cat was mewing,\nBeautiful his magic weapon.\nQuick the hero-swords are tested,\nAnd the blades are rightly measured\nWainamoinen\u2019s sword is longest\nBy a single grain of barley,\nBy a blade of straw, the widest.\n\nTo the court-yard rushed the heroes,\nHastened to the deadly combat,\nOn the plains of Sariola.\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nStrikes one blow, and then a second,\nStrikes a third time, cuts and conquers.\nAs the house-maids slice the turnips,\nAs they lop the heads of cabbage,\nAs the stalks of flax are broken,\nSo the heads of Louhi\u2019s heroes\nFall before the magic broadsword\nOf the ancient Wainamoinen.\n\nThen the victor from Wainola,\nAncient bard and great magician,\nWent to find the Sun in slumber,\nAnd the golden Moon discover,\nIn the copper-bearing mountains,\nIn the cavern iron-banded,\nIn the stone-berg of Pohyola.\n\nHe had gone but little distance,\nWhen he found a sea-green island;\nOn the island stood a birch-tree,\nNear the birch-tree stood a pillar\nCarved in stone of many colors;\nIn the pillar, nine large portals\nBolted in a hundred places;\nIn the rock he found a crevice\nSending forth a gleam of sunlight.\nQuick he drew his mighty broadsword,\nFrom the pillar struck three colors,\nFrom the magic of his weapon;\nAnd the pillar fell asunder,\nThree the number of the fragments.\nWainamoinen, old and faithful,\nThrough the crevice looked and wondered.\nIn the center of the pillar,\nFrom a scarlet-colored basin,\nNoxious serpents beer were drinking,\nAnd the adders eating spices.\nSpake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\u201cTherefore has Pohyola\u2019s hostess\nLittle drink to give to strangers,\nSince her beer is drank by serpents,\nAnd her spices given to adders.\u201d\n\nQuick he draws his magic fire-blade,\nCuts the vipers green in pieces,\nLops the heads off all the adders,\nSpeaks these words of master-magic:\n\u201cThus, hereafter, let the serpent\nDrink the famous beer of barley,\nFeed upon the Northland-spices!\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, the magician,\nThe eternal wizard-singer,\nSought to open wide the portals\nWith the hands and words of magic;\nBut his hands had lost their cunning,\nAnd his magic gone to others.\n\nThereupon the ancient minstrel\nQuick returning, heavy-hearted,\nTo his native halls and hamlets,\nThus addressed his brother-heroes:\n\u201cWoman, he without his weapons,\nWith no implements, a weakling!\nSun and Moon have I discovered,\nBut I could not force the portals\nLeading to their rocky cavern\nIn the copper bearing mountain.\u201d\nSpake the reckless Lemminkainen\n\u201cO thou ancient Wainamoinen,\nWhy was I not taken with thee\nTo become thy war-companion?\nWould have been of goodly service,\nWould have drawn the bolts or broken,\nAll the portals to the cavern,\nWhere the Sun and Moon lie hidden\nIn the copper-bearing mountain!\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\nThus replied to Lemminkainen:\n\u201cEmpty words will break no portals,\nDraw no bolts of any moment;\nLocks and bolts are never broken\nWith the words of little wisdom!\nGreater means than thou commandest\nMust be used to free the sunshine,\nFree the moonlight from her dungeon.\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, not discouraged,\nHastened to the forge and smithy,\nSpake these words to Ilmarinen:\n\u201cO thou famous metal-artist,\nForge for me a magic trident,\nForge from steel a dozen stout-rings,\nMaster-keys, a goodly number,\nIron bars and heavy hammers,\nThat the Sun we may uncover\nIn the copper-bearing mountain,\nIn the stone-berg of Pohyola.\u201d\n\nThen the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nThe eternal metal-worker,\nForged the needs of Wainamoinen,\nForged for him the magic trident,\nForged from steel a dozen stout-rings,\nMaster-keys, a goodly number,\nIron bars and heavy hammers,\nNot the largest, nor the smallest,\nForged them of the right dimensions.\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nNorthland\u2019s old and toothless wizard,\nFastened wings upon her shoulders,\nAs an eagle, sailed the heavens,\nOver field, and fen, and forest,\nOver Pohya\u2019s many waters,\nTo the hamlets of Wainola,\nTo the forge of Ilmarinen.\n\nQuick the famous metal-worker\nWent to see if winds were blowing;\nFound the winds at peace and silent,\nFound an eagle, sable-colored,\nPerched upon his window-casement.\nSpake the artist, Ilmarinen:\n\u201cMagic bird, whom art thou seeking,\nWhy art sitting at my window?\u201d\nThis the answer of the eagle:\n\u201cArt thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,\nThe eternal iron-forger,\nMaster of the magic metals,\nNorthland\u2019s wonder-working artist?\u201d\nIlmarinen gave this answer:\n\u201cThere is nothing here of wonder,\nSince I forged the dome of heaven,\nForged the earth a concave cover!\u201d\nSpake again the magic eagle:\n\u201cWhy this ringing of thine anvil,\nWhy this knocking of thy hammer,\nTell me what thy hands are forging?\u201d\nThis the answer of the blacksmith:\n\u201c\u2019Tis a collar I am forging\nFor the neck of wicked Louhi,\nToothless witch of Sariola,\nStealer of the silver sunshine,\nStealer of the golden moonlight;\nWith this collar I shall bind her\nTo the iron-rock of Ehstland!\u201d\n\nLouhi, hostess of Pohyola,\nSaw misfortune fast approaching,\nSaw destruction flying over,\nSaw the signs of bad-luck lower;\nQuickly winged her way through ether\nTo her native halls and chambers,\nTo the darksome Sariola,\nThere unlocked the massive portals\nWhere the Sun and Moon were hidden,\nIn the rock of many colors,\nIn the cavern iron-banded,\nIn the copper-bearing mountain.\n\nThen again the wicked Louhi\nChanged her withered form and features,\nAnd became a dove of good-luck;\nStraightway winged the starry heavens,\nOver field, and fen, and forest,\nTo the meadows of Wainola,\nTo the plains of Kalevala,\nTo the forge of Ilmarinen.\nThis the question of the blacksmith:\n\u201cWherefore comest, dove of good-luck,\nWhat the tidings that thou bringest?\u201d\nThus the magic bird made answer:\n\u201cWherefore come I to thy smithy?\nCome to bring the joyful tidings\nThat the Sun has left his cavern,\nLeft the rock of many colors,\nLeft the stone-berg of Pohyola;\nThat the Moon no more is hidden\nIn the copper-bearing mountains,\nIn the caverns iron-banded.\u201d\n\nStraightway hastened Ilmarinen\nTo the threshold of his smithy,\nQuickly scanned the far horizon,\nSaw again the silver sunshine,\nSaw once more the golden moonlight,\nBringing peace, and joy, and plenty,\nTo the homes of Kalevala.\n\nThereupon the blacksmith hastened\nTo his brother, Wainamoinen,\nSpake these words to the magician:\n\u201cO thou ancient bard and minstrel,\nThe eternal wizard-singer,\nSee, the Sun again is shining,\nAnd the golden Moon is beaming\nFrom their long-neglected places,\nFrom their stations in the sky-vault!\u201d\n\nWainamoinen, old and faithful,\nStraightway hastened to the court-yard,\nLooked upon the far horizon,\nSaw once more the silver sunshine,\nSaw again the golden moonlight,\nBringing peace, and joy, and plenty,\nTo the people of the Northland,\nAnd the minstrel spake these measures:\n\u201cGreetings to thee, Sun of fortune,\nGreetings to thee, Moon of good-luck,\nWelcome sunshine, welcome moonlight,\nGolden is the dawn of morning!\nFree art thou, O Sun of silver,\nFree again, O Moon beloved,\nAs the sacred cuckoo\u2019s singing,\nAs the ring-dove\u2019s liquid cooings.\n\n\u201cRise, thou silver Sun, each morning,\nSource of light and life hereafter,\nBring us, daily, joyful greetings,\nFill our homes with peace and plenty,\nThat our sowing, fishing, hunting,\nMay be prospered by thy coming.\nTravel on thy daily journey,\nLet the Moon be ever with thee;\nGlide along thy way rejoicing,\nEnd thy journeyings in slumber;\nRest at evening in the ocean,\nWhen the daily cares have ended,\nTo the good of all thy people,\nTo the pleasure of Wainola,\nTo the joy of Kalevala!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRUNE L.\nMARIATTA\u2014WAINAMOINEN\u2019S DEPARTURE.\n\n\nMariatta, child of beauty,\nGrew to maidenhood in Northland,\nIn the cabin of her father,\nIn the chambers of her mother,\nGolden ringlets, silver girdles,\nWorn against the keys paternal,\nGlittering upon her bosom;\nWore away the father\u2019s threshold\nWith the long robes of her garments;\nWore away the painted rafters\nWith her beauteous silken ribbons;\nWore away the gilded pillars\nWith the touching of her fingers;\nWore away the birchen flooring\nWith the tramping of her fur-shoes.\n\nMariatta, child of beauty,\nMagic maid of little stature,\nGuarded well her sacred virtue,\nHer sincerity and honor,\nFed upon the dainty whiting,\nOn the inner bark of birch-wood,\nOn the tender flesh of lambkins.\n\nWhen she hastened in the evening\nTo her milking in the hurdles,\nSpake in innocence as follows:\n\u201cNever will the snow-white virgin\nMilk the kine of one unworthy!\u201d\n\nWhen she journeyed over snow-fields,\nOn the seat beside her father,\nSpake in purity as follows:\n\u201cNot behind a steed unworthy\nWill I ever ride the snow-sledge!\u201d\n\nMariatta, child of beauty,\nLived a virgin with her mother,\nAs a maiden highly honored,\nLived in innocence and beauty,\nDaily drove her flocks to pasture,\nWalking with the gentle lambkins.\nWhen the lambkins climbed the mountains,\nWhen they gamboled on the hill-tops,\nStepped the virgin to the meadow,\nSkipping through a grove of lindens,\nAt the calling of the cuckoo,\nTo the songster\u2019s golden measures.\n\nMariatta, child of beauty,\nLooked about, intently listened,\nSat upon the berry-meadow,\nSat awhile, and meditated\nOn a hillock by the forest,\nAnd soliloquized as follows:\n\u201cCall to me, thou golden cuckoo,\nSing, thou sacred bird of Northland,\nSing, thou silver breasted songster,\nSpeak, thou strawberry of Ehstland,\nTell how long must I unmarried,\nAs a shepherdess neglected,\nWander o\u2019er these hills and mountains,\nThrough these flowery fens and fallows.\nTell me, cuckoo of the woodlands,\nSing to me how many summers\nI must live without a husband,\nAs a shepherdess neglected!\u201d\n\nMariatta, child of beauty,\nLived a shepherd-maid for ages,\nAs a virgin with her mother.\nWretched are the lives of shepherds,\nLives of maidens still more wretched,\nGuarding flocks upon the mountains;\nSerpents creep in bog and stubble,\nOn the greensward dart the lizards;\nBut it was no serpent singing,\nNor a sacred lizard calling,\nIt was but the mountain-berry\nCalling to the lonely maiden:\n\u201cCome, O virgin, come and pluck me,\nCome and take me to thy bosom,\nTake me, tinsel-breasted virgin,\nTake me, maiden, copper-belted,\nEre the slimy snail devours me,\nEre the black-worm feeds upon me.\nHundreds pass my way unmindful,\nThousands come within my hearing,\nBerry-maidens swarm about me,\nChildren come in countless numbers,\nNone of these has come to gather,\nCome to pluck this ruddy berry.\u201d\n\nMariatta, child of beauty,\nListened to its gentle pleading,\nRan to pick the berry, calling,\nWith her fair and dainty fingers,\nSaw it smiling near the meadow,\nLike a cranberry in feature,\nLike a strawberry in flavor;\nBut the virgin, Mariatta,\nCould not pluck the woodland-stranger,\nThereupon she cut a charm-stick,\nDownward pressed upon the berry,\nWhen it rose as if by magic,\nRose above her shoes of ermine,\nThen above her copper girdle,\nDarted upward to her bosom,\nLeaped upon the maiden\u2019s shoulder,\nOn her dimpled chin it rested,\nOn her lips it perched a moment,\nHastened to her tongue expectant;\nTo and fro it rocked and lingered,\nThence it hastened on its journey,\nSettled in the maiden\u2019s bosom.\nMariatta, child of beauty,\nThus became a bride impregnate,\nWedded to the mountain-berry;\nLingered in her room at morning,\nSat at midday in the darkness,\nHastened to her couch at evening.\nThus the watchful mother wonders:\n\u201cWhat has happened to our Mary,\nTo our virgin, Mariatta,\nThat she throws aside her girdle,\nShyly slips through hall and chamber,\nLingers in her room at morning,\nHastens to her couch at evening,\nSits at midday in the darkness?\u201d\n\nOn the floor a babe was playing,\nAnd the young child thus made answer:\n\u201cThis has happened to our Mary,\nTo our virgin, Mariatta,\nThis misfortune to the maiden:\nShe has lingered by the meadows,\nPlayed too long among the lambkins,\nTasted of the mountain-berry.\u201d\n\nLong the virgin watched and waited,\nAnxiously the days she counted,\nWaiting for the dawn of trouble.\nFinally she asked her mother,\nThese the words of Mariatta:\n\u201cFaithful mother, fond and tender,\nMother whom I love and cherish,\nMake for me a place befitting,\nWhere my troubles may be lessened,\nAnd my heavy burdens lightened.\u201d\nThis the answer of the mother:\n\u201cWoe to thee, thou Hisi-maiden,\nSince thou art a bride unworthy,\nWedded only to dishonor!\u201d\n\nMariatta, child of beauty,\nThus replied in truthful measures:\n\u201cI am not a maid of Hisi,\nI am not a bride unworthy,\nAm not wedded to dishonor;\nAs a shepherdess I wandered\nWith the lambkins to the glen-wood,\nWandered to the berry-mountain,\nWhere the strawberry had ripened;\nQuick as thought I plucked the berry,\nOn my tongue I gently laid it,\nTo and fro it rocked and lingered,\nSettled in my heaving bosom.\nThis the source of all my trouble,\nOnly cause of my dishonor!\u201d\n\nAs the mother was relentless,\nAsked the maiden of her father,\nThis the virgin-mother\u2019s pleading:\n\u201cO my father, full of pity,\nSource of both my good and evil,\nBuild for me a place befitting,\nWhere my troubles may be lessened,\nAnd my heavy burdens lightened.\u201d\n\nThis the answer of the father,\nOf the father unforgiving:\n\u201cGo, thou evil child of Hisi,\nGo, thou child of sin and sorrow,\nWedded only to dishonor,\nTo the Great Bear\u2019s rocky chamber,\nTo the stone-cave of the growler,\nThere to lessen all thy troubles,\nThere to cast thy heavy burdens!\u201d\n\nMariatta, child of beauty,\nThus made answer to her father:\n\u201cI am not a child of Hisi,\nI am not a bride unworthy,\nAm not wedded to dishonor;\nI shall bear a noble hero,\nI shall bear a son immortal,\nWho will rule among the mighty,\nRule the ancient Wainamoinen.\u201d\n\nThereupon the virgin-mother\nWandered hither, wandered thither,\nSeeking for a place befitting,\nSeeking for a worthy birth-place\nFor her unborn son and hero;\nFinally these words she uttered\n\u201cPiltti, thou my youngest maiden,\nTrustiest of all my servants,\nSeek a place within the village,\nAsk it of the brook of Sara,\nFor the troubled Mariatta,\nChild of sorrow and misfortune.\u201d\n\nThereupon the little maiden,\nPiltti, spake these words in answer:\n\u201cWhom shall I entreat for succor,\nWho will lend me his assistance?\u201d\nThese the words of Mariatta:\n\u201cGo and ask it of Ruotus,\nWhere the reed-brook pours her waters.\u201d\n\nThereupon the servant, Piltti,\nEver hopeful, ever willing,\nHastened to obey her mistress,\nNeeding not her exhortation;\nHastened like the rapid river,\nLike the flying smoke of battle\nTo the cabin of Ruotus.\nWhen she walked the hill-tops tottered,\nWhen she ran the mountains trembled;\nShore-reeds danced upon the pasture,\nSandstones skipped about the heather\nAs the maiden, Piltti, hastened\nTo the dwelling of Ruotus.\n\nAt his table in his cabin\nSat Ruotus, eating, drinking,\nIn his simple coat of linen.\nWith his elbows on the table\nSpake the wizard in amazement:\n\u201cWhy hast thou, a maid of evil,\nCome to see me in my cavern,\nWhat the message thou art bringing?\u201d\n\nThereupon the servant, Piltti,\nGave this answer to the wizard:\n\u201cSeek I for a spot befitting,\nSeek I for a worthy birth-place,\nFor an unborn child and hero;\nSeek it near the Sara-streamlet,\nWhere the reed-brook pours her waters.\u201d\n\nCame the wife of old Ruotus,\nWalking with her arms akimbo,\nThus addressed the maiden, Piltti:\n\u201cWho is she that asks assistance,\nWho the maiden thus dishonored,\nWhat her name, and who her kindred?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have come for Mariatta,\nFor the worthy virgin-mother.\u201d\n\nSpake the wife of old Ruotus,\nEvil-minded, cruel-hearted:\n\u201cOccupied are all our chambers,\nAll our bath-rooms near the reed-brook;\nIn the mount of fire are couches,\nIs a stable in the forest,\nFor the flaming horse of Hisi;\nIn the stable is a manger,\nFitting birth-place for the hero\nFrom the wife of cold misfortune,\nWorthy couch for Mariatta!\u201d\n\nThereupon the servant, Piltti,\nHastened to her anxious mistress,\nSpake these measures, much regretting.\n\u201cThere is not a place befitting,\nOn the silver brook of Sara.\nSpake the wife of old Ruotus:\n\u2018Occupied are all the chambers,\nAll the bath-rooms near the reed-brook;\nIn the mount of fire are couches,\nIs a stable in the forest,\nFor the flaming horse of Hisi;\nIn the stable is a manger,\nFitting birth-place for the hero\nFrom the wife of cold misfortune,\nWorthy couch for Mariatta.\u2019\u201d\n\nThereupon the hapless maiden,\nMariatta, virgin-mother,\nFell to bitter tears and murmurs,\nSpake these words in depths of sorrow:\n\u201cI, alas! must go an outcast,\nWander as a wretched hireling,\nLike a servant in dishonor,\nHasten to the burning mountain,\nTo the stable in the forest,\nMake my bed within a manger,\nNear the flaming steed of Hisi!\u201d\n\nQuick the hapless virgin-mother,\nOutcast from her father\u2019s dwelling,\nGathered up her flowing raiment,\nGrasped a broom of birchen branches,\nHastened forth in pain and sorrow\nTo the stable in the woodlands,\nOn the heights of Tapio\u2019s mountains,\nSpake these words in supplication:\n\u201cCome, I pray thee, my Creator,\nOnly friend in times of trouble,\nCome to me and bring protection\nTo thy child, the virgin-mother,\nTo the maiden, Mariatta,\nIn this hour of sore affliction.\nCome to me, benignant Ukko,\nCome, thou only hope and refuge,\nLest thy guiltless child should perish,\nDie the death of the unworthy!\u201d\n\nWhen the virgin, Mariatta,\nHad arrived within the stable\nOf the flaming horse of Hisi,\nShe addressed the steed as follows:\n\u201cBreathe, O sympathizing fire-horse,\nBreathe on me, the virgin-mother,\nLet thy heated breath give moisture,\nLet thy pleasant warmth surround me,\nLike the vapor of the morning;\nLet this pure and helpless maiden\nFind a refuge in thy manger!\u201d\n\nThereupon the horse, in pity,\nBreathed the moisture of his nostrils\nOn the body of the virgin,\nWrapped her in a cloud of vapor,\nGave her warmth and needed comforts,\nGave his aid to the afflicted,\nTo the virgin, Mariatta.\n\nThere the babe was born and cradled\nCradled in a woodland-manger,\nOf the virgin, Mariatta,\nPure as pearly dews of morning,\nHoly as the stars in heaven.\nThere the mother rocks her infant,\nIn his swaddling clothes she wraps him,\nLays him in her robes of linen;\nCarefully the babe she nurtures,\nWell she guards her much-beloved,\nGuards her golden child of beauty,\nHer beloved gem of silver.\n\nBut alas! the child has vanished,\nVanished while the mother slumbered.\nMariatta, lone and wretched,\nFell to weeping, broken-hearted,\nHastened off to seek her infant.\nEverywhere the mother sought him,\nSought her golden child of beauty,\nHer beloved gem of silver;\nSought him underneath the millstone,\nIn the sledge she sought him vainly,\nUnderneath the sieve she sought him,\nUnderneath the willow-basket,\nTouched the trees, the grass she parted,\nLong she sought her golden infant,\nSought him on the fir-tree-mountain,\nIn the vale, and hill, and heather;\nLooks within the clumps of flowers,\nWell examines every thicket,\nLifts the juniper and willow,\nLifts the branches of the alder.\n\nLo! a star has come to meet her,\nAnd the star she thus beseeches:\n\u201cO, thou guiding-star of Northland,\nStar of hope, by God created,\nDost thou know and wilt thou tell me\nWhere my darling child has wandered,\nWhere my holy babe lies hidden?\u201d\nThus the star of Northland answers:\n\u201cIf I knew, I would not tell thee;\n\u2019Tis thy child that me created,\nSet me here to watch at evening,\nIn the cold to shine forever,\nHere to twinkle in the darkness.\u201d\n\nComes the golden Moon to meet her,\nAnd the Moon she thus beseeches:\n\u201cGolden Moon, by Ukko fashioned,\nHope and joy of Kalevala,\nDost thou know and wilt thou tell me\nWhere my darling child has wandered,\nWhere my holy babe lies hidden?\u201d\nSpeaks the golden Moon in answer:\n\u201cIf I knew I would not tell thee;\n\u2019Tis thy child that me created,\nHere to wander in the darkness,\nAll alone at eve to wander\nOn my cold and cheerless journey,\nSleeping only in the daylight,\nShining for the good of others.\u201d\n\nThereupon the virgin-mother\nFalls again to bitter weeping,\nHastens on through fen and forest,\nSeeking for her babe departed.\n\nComes the silver Sun to meet her,\nAnd the Sun she thus addresses:\n\u201cSilver Sun by Ukko fashioned,\nSource of light and life to Northland,\nDost thou know and wilt thou tell me\nWhere my darling child has wandered,\nWhere my holy babe lies hidden?\u201d\nWisely does the Sun make answer:\n\u201cWell I know thy babe\u2019s dominions,\nWhere thy holy child is sleeping,\nWhere Wainola\u2019s light lies hidden;\n\u2019Tis thy child that me created,\nMade me king of earth and ether,\nMade the Moon and Stars attend me,\nSet me here to shine at midday,\nMakes me shine in silver raiment,\nLets me sleep and rest at evening;\nYonder is thy golden infant,\nThere thy holy babe lies sleeping,\nHidden to his belt in water,\nHidden in the reeds and rushes.\u201d\n\nMariatta, child of beauty,\nVirgin-mother of the Northland,\nStraightway seeks her babe in Swamp-land,\nFinds him in the reeds and rushes;\nTakes the young child on her bosom\nTo the dwelling of her father.\n\nThere the infant grew in beauty,\nGathered strength, and light, and wisdom,\nAll of Suomi saw and wondered.\nNo one knew what name to give him;\nWhen the mother named him, Flower,\nOthers named him, Son-of-Sorrow.\n\nWhen the virgin, Mariatta,\nSought the priesthood to baptize him,\nCame an old man, Wirokannas,\nWith a cup of holy water,\nBringing to the babe his blessing;\nAnd the gray-beard spake as follows:\n\u201cI shall not baptize a wizard,\nShall not bless a black-magician\nWith the drops of holy water;\nLet the young child be examined,\nLet us know that he is worthy,\nLest he prove the son of witchcraft.\u201d\n\nThereupon old Wirokannas\nCalled the ancient Wainamoinen,\nThe eternal wisdom-singer,\nTo inspect the infant-wonder,\nTo report him good or evil.\n\nWainamoinen, old and faithful,\nCarefully the child examined,\nGave this answer to his people:\n\u201cSince the child is but an outcast,\nBorn and cradled in a manger,\nSince the berry is his father;\nLet him lie upon the heather,\nLet him sleep among the rushes,\nLet him live upon the mountains;\nTake the young child to the marshes,\nDash his head against the birch-tree.\u201d\n\nThen the child of Mariatta,\nOnly two weeks old, made answer:\n\u201cO, thou ancient Wainamoinen,\nSon of Folly and Injustice,\nSenseless hero of the Northland,\nFalsely hast thou rendered judgment.\nIn thy years, for greater follies,\nGreater sins and misdemeanors,\nThou wert not unjustly punished.\nIn thy former years of trouble,\nWhen thou gavest thine own brother,\nFor thy selfish life a ransom,\nThus to save thee from destruction,\nThen thou wert not sent to Swamp-land\nTo be murdered for thy follies.\nIn thy former years of sorrow,\nWhen the beauteous Aino perished\nIn the deep and boundless blue-sea,\nTo escape thy persecutions,\nThen thou wert not evil-treated,\nWert not banished by thy people.\u201d\n\nThereupon old Wirokannas,\nOf the wilderness the ruler,\nTouched the child with holy water,\nGave the wonder-babe his blessing,\nGave him rights of royal heirship,\nFree to live and grow a hero,\nTo become a mighty ruler,\nKing and Master of Karyala.\n\nAs the years passed Wainamoinen\nRecognized his waning powers,\nEmpty-handed, heavy-hearted,\nSang his farewell song to Northland,\nTo the people of Wainola;\nSang himself a boat of copper,\nBeautiful his bark of magic;\nAt the helm sat the magician,\nSat the ancient wisdom-singer.\nWestward, westward, sailed the hero\nO\u2019er the blue-back of the waters,\nSinging as he left Wainola,\nThis his plaintive song and echo:\n\u201cSuns may rise and set in Suomi,\nRise and set for generations,\nWhen the North will learn my teachings,\nWill recall my wisdom-sayings,\nHungry for the true religion.\nThen will Suomi need my coming,\nWatch for me at dawn of morning,\nThat I may bring back the Sampo,\nBring anew the harp of joyance,\nBring again the golden moonlight,\nBring again the silver sunshine,\nPeace and plenty to the Northland.\u201d\n\nThus the ancient Wainamoinen,\nIn his copper-banded vessel,\nLeft his tribe in Kalevala,\nSailing o\u2019er the rolling billows,\nSailing through the azure vapors,\nSailing through the dusk of evening,\nSailing to the fiery sunset,\nTo the higher-landed regions,\nTo the lower verge of heaven;\nQuickly gained the far horizon,\nGained the purple-colored harbor.\nThere his bark he firmly anchored,\nRested in his boat of copper;\nBut he left his harp of magic,\nLeft his songs and wisdom-sayings,\nTo the lasting joy of Suomi.\n\n\n\n\nEPILOGUE\n\n\nNow I end my measured singing,\nBid my weary tongue keep silence,\nLeave my songs to other singers.\nHorses have their times of resting\nAfter many hours of labor;\nEven sickles will grow weary\nWhen they have been long at reaping;\nWaters seek a quiet haven\nAfter running long in rivers;\nFire subsides and sinks in slumber\nAt the dawning of the morning;\nTherefore I should end my singing,\nAs my song is growing weary,\nFor the pleasure of the evening,\nFor the joy of morn arising.\n\nOften I have heard it chanted,\nOften heard the words repeated:\n\u201cWorthy cataracts and rivers\nNever empty all their waters.\u201d\nThus the wise and worthy singer\nSings not all his garnered wisdom;\nBetter leave unsung some sayings\nThan to sing them out of season.\n\nThus beginning, and thus ending,\nDo I roll up all my legends,\nRoll them in a ball for safety,\nIn my memory arrange them,\nIn their narrow place of resting,\nLest the songs escape unheeded,\nWhile the lock is still unopened,\nWhile the teeth remain unparted,\nAnd the weary tongue is silent.\nWhy should I sing other legends,\nChant them in the glen and forest,\nSing them on the hill and heather?\nCold and still my golden mother\nLies beneath the meadow, sleeping,\nHears my ancient songs no longer,\nCannot listen to my singing;\nOnly will the forest listen,\nSacred birches, sighing pine-trees,\nJunipers endowed with kindness,\nAlder-trees that love to hear me,\nWith the aspens and the willows.\n\nWhen my loving mother left me,\nYoung was I, and low of stature;\nLike the cuckoo of the forest,\nLike the thrush upon the heather,\nLike the lark I learned to twitter,\nLearned to sing my simple measures,\nGuided by a second mother,\nStern and cold, without affection;\nDrove me helpless from my chamber\nTo the wind-side of her dwelling,\nTo the north-side of her cottage,\nWhere the chilling winds in mercy\nCarried off the unprotected.\nAs a lark I learned to wander,\nWander as a lonely song-bird,\nThrough the forests and the fenlands,\nQuietly o\u2019er hill and heather;\nWalked in pain about the marshes,\nLearned the songs of winds and waters,\nLearned the music of the ocean,\nAnd the echoes of the woodlands.\n\nMany men that live to murmur,\nMany women live to censure,\nMany speak with evil motives;\nMany they with wretched voices\nCurse me for my wretched singing,\nBlame my tongue for speaking wisdom,\nCall my ancient songs unworthy,\nBlame the songs and curse the singer.\nBe not thus, my worthy people,\nBlame me not for singing badly,\nUnpretending as a minstrel.\nI have never had the teaching,\nNever lived with ancient heroes,\nNever learned the tongues of strangers,\nNever claimed to know much wisdom.\nOthers have had language-masters,\nNature was my only teacher,\nWoods and waters my instructors.\nHomeless, friendless, lone, and needy,\nSave in childhood with my mother,\nWhen beneath her painted rafters,\nWhere she twirled the flying spindle,\nBy the work-bench of my brother,\nBy the window of my sister,\nIn the cabin of my father,\nIn my early days of childhood.\n\nBe this as it may, my people,\nThis may point the way to others,\nTo the singers better gifted,\nFor the good of future ages,\nFor the coming generations,\nFor the rising folk of Suomi.\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY\n\n\nA\u00e4r\u2019n\u00ef (\u00c4r\u2019n\u00ef). The guardian of hidden treasures.\nA-ha\u2019va. The West-wind; the father of the swift dogs.\nAh\u2019ti. The same as Lemminkainen.\nAh\u2019to. The great god of the waters.\nAh\u2019to-la. The water-castle of Ahto and his people.\nAh\u2019to-lai\u2019set. The inhabitants of Ahtola.\nAi-nik\u2019ki. A sister of Ahti.\nAi\u2019no (i\u2019no). Youkahainen\u2019s sister.\nAn\u2019te-ro. A goddess of the waves.\nAi\u2019nue-lake. The lake into which the Fire-child falls.\nAn-nik\u2019ki. Ilmarinen\u2019s sister.\nAn\u2019te-ro. Another name for Wipanen, or Antero Wipunen.\nDus\u2019ter-land. The Northland; Pimentola.\nEt\u2019e-le\u2019tar. A daughter of the South-wind.\nFire-Child. A synonym of Panu.\nFrost. The English for Pakkanen.\nHal\u2019lap-yo\u2019ra. A lake in Finland.\nHal\u2019ti-a (plural Haltiat). The Genius of Finnish mythology.\nHet\u2019e-wa\u2019ne. The Finnish name of the Pleiades.\nHi\u2019si (original Hiisi). The Evil Principle; also called Jutas, Lempo,\nand Piru.\nMon\u2019ja-tar. The daughter of the Pine-tree.\nHor\u2019na. A sacred rock in Finland.\nI\u2019ku-Tur\u2019so. An evil giant of the sea.\nIl\u2019ma-ri\u2019nem. The worker of the metals; a brother of Wainamoinen.\nIl\u2019ma-tar. Daughter of the Air, and mother of Wainamoinen.\nIl\u2019po-tar. Believed to be the daughter of the Snow flake; the same as\nLouhi.\nIm-a\u2019tra. A celebrated waterfall near Wiborg.\nIn\u2019ger-land. The present St. Petersburg.\nJa\u2019men (Ya\u2019men). A river of Finland.\nJor\u2019dan. Curiously, the river of Palestine.\nJou\u2019ka-hai\u2019nen (You-ka-hai\u2019nen). A celebrated minstrel of Pohyola.\nJou-ko\u2019la (You-ko\u2019la). The home or dwelling of Youkahainen.\nJu-ma\u2019la (You-ma\u2019la). Originally the heavens, then the god of the\nheavens, and finally God.\nJu\u2019tas (yu\u2019tas). The Evil Principle; Hisi, Piru, and Lempo are\nsynonyms,\nKai\u2019nto-lai\u2019nen. A son of the god of metals; from his spear came the\ntongue of the serpent.\nKa-ler\u2019vo. The father of Kullervo.\nKa-le\u2019va (Kalewai\u2019nen). The father of heroes; a hero in general.\nKal\u2019e-va\u2019la (kaleva, hero, and la, the place of). The land of heroes;\nthe name of the epic poem of Finland.\nKal\u2019e-va\u2019tar (Kalewa\u2019tar). Daughter of Kaleva.\nKal-e\u2019vo. The same as Kaleva.\nKa\u2019lew. Often used for Kaleva.\nKal\u2019ma. The god of death.\nKam\u2019mo. The father of Kimmo.\nKan\u2019ka-hat\u2019ta-ret. The goddesses of weaving.\nKa\u2019pe. A synonym of Ilmatar, the mother of Wainamoinen.\nKa\u2019po. A synonym of Osmotar.\nKa-re\u2019len. A province of Finland.\nKar-ja\u2019la, (karya\u2019la). The seat of the waterfall, Kaatrakoski.\nKat\u2019e-ja\u2019tar (kataya\u2019tar). The daughter of the Pine-tree.\nKat\u2019ra-kos\u2019ki (Kaatrakos\u2019ki). A waterfall in Karjala.\nKau\u2019ko. The same as Kaukomieli.\nKau\u2019ko-miel\u2019li. The same as Lemminkainen.\nKaup\u2019pi. The Snowshoe-builder; Lylikki.\nKe\u2019mi. A river of Finland.\nKim\u2019mo. A name for the cow; the daughter of Kammo, the patron of the\nrocks.\nKi\u2019npu-ki\u2019nvi. The name of the rock at Hell-river, beneath which the\nspirits of all diseases are imprisoned.\nKir\u2019kon-Woe\u2019ki. Church dwarfs living under altars.\nKnik\u2019ka-no. Same as Knippana.\nKnip\u2019pa-no. Same as Tapio.\nKoot\u2019a-moi\u2019nen. The Moon.\nKos\u2019ken-nei\u2019nti. The goddess of the cataract.\nKul-ler\u2019vo. The vicious son of Kalervo.\nKul\u2019ler-woi\u2019nen. The same as Kullervo.\nKul\u2019li. A beautiful daughter of Sahri.\nKun. The Moon, and the Moon-god.\nKun\u2019tar. One of the daughters of the Moon.\nKu\u2019ra (Kuura). The Hoar-frost; also called Tiera, a ball of ice.\nKul-lik\u2019ki (also Kyl\u2019li). The Sahri-maiden whom Lemminkainen kidnapped.\nLak\u2019ka. Mother of Ilmarinen.\nLak-ko. The hostess of Kalevala.\nLem\u2019min-kai\u2019nen. One of the brothers of Wainamoinen; a son of Lempi.\nLem\u2019pi-bay. A bay of Finland.\nLem\u2019po. The Evil Principle; same as Hisi, Piru, and Jutas.\nLin\u2019nun-ra\u2019ta (Bird-way). The Milky-way.\nLou\u2019hi. The hostess of Pohyola.\nLow-ya\u2019tar. Tuoni\u2019s blind daughter, and the originator of the Plagues.\nLu\u2019on-no\u2019tar. One of the mystic maidens, and the nurse of Wainamoinen.\nLu\u2019o-to\u2019la. A bay of Finland, named with Joukola.\nLy-lik\u2019ki (Lyylik\u2019ki). Maker of the snow-shoe.\nMaan-e\u2019mo (man-e\u2019mo). The mother of the Earth.\nMa\u2019hi-set (Maa\u2019hi-set). The invisibly small deities of Finnish\nmythology.\nMam\u2019me-lai\u2019nen. The goddess of hidden treasures.\nMa\u2019na. A synonym of Tuoni, the god of death.\nMan\u2019a-lai\u2019nen. The same as Mana.\nMasr\u2019i-at\u2019ta (marja, berry). The Virgin Mary of Finnish mythology.\nMat\u2019ka-Tep\u2019po. The road-god.\nMeh\u2019i-lai\u2019nen. The honey-bee.\nMel\u2019a-tar. The goddess of the helm.\nMet\u2019so-la. The same as Tapiola, the abode of the god of the forest,\nMie-lik\u2019ki. The hostess of the forest.\nMi-merk\u2019ki. A synonym of Mielikki.\nMosk\u2019va. A province of Suomi.\nMu-rik\u2019ki (Muurik\u2019ki). The name of the cow.\nNe\u2019wa. A river of Finland.\nNy-rik\u2019ki. A son of Tapio.\nOs\u2019mo. The same as Osmoinen.\nOs-noi\u2019nen. A synonym of Wainola\u2019s hero.\nOs\u2019mo-tar. The daughter of Osmo; she directs the brewing of the beer\nfor Ilmarinen\u2019s wedding-feast.\nO-ta\u2019va. The Great Bear of the heavens.\nOt\u2019so. The bear of Finland.\nPoe\u2019ivoe. The Sun, and the Sun god.\nPai\u2019nva-tar. The goddess of the summer.\nPak\u2019ka-nen. A synonym of Kura.\nPal-woi\u2019nen. A synonym of Turi, and also of Wirokannas.\nPa\u2019nu. The Fire-Child, born from the sword of Ukko.\nPa\u2019ra. A tripod-deity, presiding over milk and cheese.\nPel\u2019ler-woi\u2019nen. The sower of the forests.\nPen\u2019i-tar. A blind witch of Pohyola; and the mother of the dog.\nPik\u2019ku Mies. The water-pigmy that felled the over-spreading oak-tree\nfor Wainamoinen.\nPil\u2019a-ya\u2019tar (Pilaja\u2019tar). The daughter of the Aspen; and the goddess\nof the Mountain-ash.\nPilt\u2019ti. The maid-servant of Mariatta.\nPi\u2019nmen-to\u2019la. A province of Finland; another name for Pohyola.\nPi\u2019nru. The same as Lempo, Jutas, and Hisi.\nPi\u2019sa. A mountain of Finland.\nPoh\u2019ya (Poh\u2019ja). An abbreviated form for Pohyola.\nPoh-yo\u2019la (Poh-jo\u2019la). The Northland; Lapland.\nPok-ka\u2019nen. The Frost, the son of Puhuri; a synonym of Tiera.\nPuh-hu\u2019ri. The North-wind; the father of Pakkanen.\nRem\u2019men. The father of the hop-vine.\nRe\u2019mu. The same as Remmen.\nRu-o\u2019tus. A persecutor of the Virgin Mariatta.\nRut\u2019ya (Rut\u2019ja). A waterfall of Northland.\nSah\u2019ri (Saari). The home of Kyllikki.\nSam\u2019po. The jewel that Ilmarinen forges from the magic metals; a\ntalisman of success to the possessor; a continual source of strife\nbetween the tribes of the North.\nSamp\u2019sa. A synonym of Pellerwoinen.\nSa\u2019ra. The same as Sariola.\nSar\u2019i-o\u2019la. The same as Pohyola.\nSat\u2019ka. A goddess of the sea.\nSa\u2019wa (Sa\u2019wo). The eastern part of Finland.\nSim\u2019a Pil\u2019li (Honey-flute). The flute of Sima-suu.\nSim\u2019a-Suu. One of the maidens of Tapio.\nSin\u2019e-tar. The goddess of the blue sky.\nSi-net\u2019ta-ret. The goddesses of dyeing.\nSuk\u2019ka-mie\u2019li. The goddess of love.\nSuo\u2019mi (swo\u2019mi). The ancient abode of the Finns.\nSuo\u2019ne-tar (swone-tar). The goddess of the veins.\nSuo-wak\u2019ko. An old wizard of Pohyola.\nSuo\u2019ya-tar (Syo\u2019jatar). The mother of the serpent.\nSu\u2019ve-tar (Suve, summer). Goddess of the South-wind\nSu-wan\u2019to-lai\u2019nen. Another name for Wainamoinen.\nTaeh\u2019ti. The Polar Star.\nTa-he\u2019tar. The daughter of the Stars.\nTai\u2019nvas. The firmament in general.\nTa-ni\u2019nka. A magic mansion of Pohja.\nTa\u2019pi-o. The god of the forest.\nTel-le\u2019rvo. A daughter of Tapio.\nTer\u2019he-ne\u2019tar. Daughter of the Fog.\nTie\u2019ra. Same as Kura; the Hoar-frost.\nTont\u2019tu. A little house-spirit.\nTu\u2019a-me\u2019tar. Daughter of the Alder-tree.\nTu-le\u2019tar (Tuule\u2019tar). A goddess of the winds.\nTu-lik\u2019ki (Tuullk\u2019ki). One of the daughters of Tapio.\nTu\u2019o-ne\u2019la. The abode of Tuoni.\nTuo\u2019nen Poi\u2019nka. The son of Tuoni.\nTu\u2019o-ne\u2019tar. The hostess of Death-land; a daughter of Tuoni.\nTu-o\u2019ni. The god of death.\nTu\u2019ri (Tuuri). The god of the Honey-land.\nTurja (tur\u2019ya). Another name for Pohya.\nTur\u2019ya-lan\u2019der. An epithet for one of the tribe of Louhi.\nTur\u2019ya (Tyrja). A name for the waterfall of Rutya.\nUk\u2019ko. The Great Spirit of Finnish mythology; his abode is in Jumala.\nUk\u2019on-koi\u2019nva (Ukko\u2019s dog). The messenger of Ukko; the butterfly.\nU\u2019lap-pa\u2019la. Another term for the abode of Tuoni.\nUn\u2019du-tar. Goddess of the fog.\nU\u2019ni. The god of sleep.\nUn\u2019ta-ma\u2019la. A synonym for \u201cthe dismal Sariola.\u201d\nUn-ta\u2019mo. The god of dreams; the dreamer; a brother of Kalervo, and his\nenemy.\nUn\u2019tar. The same as Undutar.\nUn\u2019to. The same as Untamo.\nUtu-tyt\u2019to. The same as Undutar.\nWai\u2019nam-oi\u2019nen (Vainamoinen). The chief hero of the Kalevala; the hero\nof Wainola, whose mother, Ilmatar, fell from the air into the ocean.\nWai\u2019no (Vai\u2019no). The same as Wainamoinen.\nWai-no\u2019la. The home of Wainamoinen and his people; a synonym of\nKalevala.\nWel-la\u2019mo. The hostess of the waters.\nWet\u2019e-hi\u2019nen. An evil god of the sea.\nWi-pu\u2019nen (Vipu\u2019nen). An old song-giant that swallowed Wainamoinen\nsearching for the \u201clost words.\u201d\nWi\u2019nro-kan\u2019nas (Virokan\u2019nas). Ruler of the wilderness; the slayer of\nthe huge bull of Suomi; the priest that baptizes the son of Mariatta.\nWo\u2019ya-lan\u2019der (Vuojalan\u2019der). An epithet for Laplander.\nWuok\u2019sen (Vuo\u2019ksen). A river in the east of Finland.\nWuok\u2019si. The same as Wuoksen.\n\n\nTHE END.","title":"Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland \u2014 Complete","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":137529}