Produced by John B. Hare and Carrie R. Lorenz.









THE KALEVALA

THE

EPIC POEM OF FINLAND

INTO ENGLISH

BY

JOHN MARTIN CRAWFORD

[1888]

BOOK II




CONTENTS


  RUNE XXV. Wainamoinen's Wedding-songs
  RUNE XXVI. Origin of the Serpent
  RUNE XXVII. The Unwelcome Guest
  RUNE XXVIII. The Mother's Counsel
  RUNE XXIX. The Isle of Refuge
  RUNE XXX. The Frost-fiend
  RUNE XXXI. Kullerwoinen, Son of Evil
  RUNE XXXII. Kullervo as a Shepherd
  RUNE XXXIII. Kullervo and the Cheat-cake
  RUNE XXXIV. Kullervo finds his Tribe-folk
  RUNE XXXV. Kullervo's Evil Deeds
  RUNE XXXVI. Kullerwoinen's Victory and Death
  RUNE XXXVII Ilmarinen's Bride of Gold
  RUNE XXXVIII. Ilmarinen's Fruitless Wooing
  RUNE XXXIX. Wainamoinen's Sailing
  RUNE XL. Birth of the Harp
  RUNE XLI. Wainamoinen's Harp-songs
  RUNE XLII. Capture of the Sampo
  RUNE XLIII. The Sampo lost in the Sea
  RUNE XLIV. Birth of the Second Harp
  RUNE XLV. Birth of the Nine Diseases
  RUNE XLVI. Otso the Honey-eater
  RUNE XLVII. Louhi steals Sun, Moon, and Fire
  RUNE XLVIII. Capture of the Fire-fish
  RUNE XLIX. Restoration of the Sun and Moon
  RUNE L. Mariatta--Wainamoinen's Departure

  EPILOGUE




THE KALEVALA.



RUNE XXV.


  WAINAMOINEN'S WEDDING-SONGS.


  At the home of Ilmarinen
  Long had they been watching, waiting,
  For the coming of the blacksmith,
  With his bride from Sariola.
  Weary were the eyes of watchers,
  Waiting from the father's portals,
  Looking from the mother's windows;
  Weary were the young knees standing
  At the gates of the magician;
  Weary grew the feet of children,
  Tramping to the walls and watching;
  Worn and torn, the shoes of heroes,
  Running on the shore to meet him.
  Now at last upon a morning
  Of a lovely day in winter,
  Heard they from the woods the rumble
  Of a snow-sledge swiftly bounding.
  Lakko, hostess of Wainola,
  She the lovely Kalew-daughter,
  Spake these words in great excitement:
  "'Tis the sledge of the magician,
  Comes at last the metal-worker
  From the dismal Sariola,
  By his side the Bride of Beauty!
  Welcome, welcome, to this hamlet,
  Welcome to thy mother's hearth-stone,
  To the dwelling of thy father,
  By thine ancestors erected!"
  Straightway came great Ilmarinen
  To his cottage drove the blacksmith,
  To the fireside of his father,
  To his mother's ancient dwelling.
  Hazel-birds were sweetly singing
  On the newly-bended collar;
  Sweetly called the sacred cuckoos
  From the summit of the break-board;
  Merry, jumped the graceful squirrel
  On the oaken shafts and cross-bar.
  Lakko, Kalew's fairest hostess,
  Beauteous daughter of Wainola,
  Spake these words of hearty welcome:
  "For the new moon hopes the village,
  For the sun, the happy maidens,
  For the boat, the swelling water;
  I have not the moon expected,
  For the sun have not been waiting,
  I have waited for my hero,
  Waited for the Bride of Beauty;
  Watched at morning, watched at evening,
  Did not know but some misfortune,
  Some sad fate had overtaken
  Bride and bridegroom on their journey;
  Thought the maiden growing weary,
  Weary of my son's attentions,
  Since he faithfully had promised
  To return to Kalevala,
  Ere his foot-prints had departed
  From the snow-fields of his father.
  Every morn I looked and listened,
  Constantly I thought and wondered
  When his sledge would rumble homeward,
  When it would return triumphant
  To his home, renowned and ancient.
  Had a blind and beggared straw-horse
  Hobbled to these shores awaiting,
  With a sledge of but two pieces,
  Well the steed would have been lauded,
  Had it brought my son beloved,
  Had it brought the Bride of Beauty.
  Thus I waited long, impatient,
  Looking out from morn till even,
  Watching with my head extended,
  With my tresses streaming southward,
  With my eyelids widely opened,
  Waiting for my son's returning
  To this modest home of heroes,
  To this narrow place of resting.
  Finally am I rewarded,
  For the sledge has come triumphant,
  Bringing home my son and hero,
  By his side the Rainbow maiden,
  Red her cheeks, her visage winsome,
  Pride and joy of Sariola.
  "Wizard-bridegroom of Wainola,
  Take thy-courser to the stable,
  Lead him to the well-filled manger,
  To the best of grain and clover;
  Give to us thy friendly greetings,
  Greetings send to all thy people.
  When thy greetings thou hast ended,
  Then relate what has befallen
  To our hero in his absence.
  Hast thou gone without adventure
  To the dark fields of Pohyola,
  Searching for the Maid of Beauty?
  Didst thou scale the hostile ramparts,
  Didst thou take the virgin's mansion,
  Passing o'er her mother's threshold,
  Visiting the halls of Louhi?
  "But I know without the asking,
  See the answer to my question:
  Comest from the North a victor,
  On thy journey well contented;
  Thou hast brought the Northland daughter,
  Thou hast razed the hostile portals,
  Thou hast stormed the forts of Louhi,
  Stormed the mighty walls opposing,
  On thy journey to Pohyola,
  To the village of the father.
  In thy care the bride is sitting,
  In thine arms, the Rainbow-maiden,
  At thy side, the pride of Northland,
  Mated to the highly-gifted.
  Who has told the cruel story,
  Who the worst of news has scattered,
  That thy suit was unsuccessful,
  That in vain thy steed had journeyed?
  Not in vain has been thy wooing,
  Not in vain thy steed has travelled
  To the dismal homes of Lapland;
  He has journeyed heavy laden,
  Shaken mane, and tail, and forelock,
  Dripping foam from lips and nostrils,
  Through the bringing of the maiden,
  With the burden of the husband.
  "Come, thou beauty, from the snow-sledge,
  Come, descend thou from the cross-bench,
  Do not linger for assistance,
  Do not tarry to be carried;
  If too young the one that lifts thee,
  If too proud the one in waiting,
  Rise thou, graceful, like a young bird,
  Hither glide along the pathway,
  On the tan-bark scarlet- colored,
  That the herds of kine have evened,
  That the gentle lambs have trodden,
  Smoothened by the tails of horses.
  Haste thou here with gentle footsteps,
  Through the pathway smooth and tidy,
  On the tiles of even surface,
  On thy second father's court-yard,
  To thy second mother's dwelling,
  To thy brother's place of resting,
  To thy sister's silent chambers.
  Place thy foot within these portals,
  Step across this waiting threshold,
  Enter thou these halls of joyance,
  Underneath these painted rafters,
  Underneath this roof of ages.
  During all the winter evenings,
  Through the summer gone forever,
  Sang the tiling made of ivory,
  Wishing thou wouldst walk upon it;
  Often sang the golden ceiling,
  Hoping thou wouldst walk beneath it,
  And the windows often whistled,
  Asking thee to sit beside them;
  Even on this merry morning,
  Even on the recent evening,
  Sat the aged at their windows,
  On the sea-shore ran the children,
  Near the walls the maidens waited,
  Ran the boys upon the highway,
  There to watch the young bride's coming,
  Coming with her hero-husband.
  "Hail, ye courtiers of Wainola,
  With the heroes of the fathers,
  Hail to thee, Wainola's hamlet,
  Hail, ye halls with heroes peopled,
  Hail, ye rooms with all your inmates,
  Hail to thee, sweet golden moonlight,
  Hail to thee, benignant Ukko,
  Hail companions of the bridegroom!
  Never has there been in Northland
  Such a wedding-train of honor,
  Never such a bride of beauty.
  "Bridegroom, thou beloved hero,
  Now untie the scarlet ribbons,
  And remove the silken muffler,
  Let us see the honey-maiden,
  See the Daughter of the Rainbow.
  Seven years hast thou been wooing,
  Hast thou brought the maid affianced,
  Wainamoinen's Wedding-Songs.
  Hast thou sought a sweeter cuckoo,
  Sought one fairer than the moonlight,
  Sought a mermaid from the ocean?
  But I know without the asking,
  See the answer to my question:
  Thou hast brought the sweet-voiced cuckoo,
  Thou hast found the swan of beauty
  Plucked the sweetest flower of Northland,
  Culled the fairest of the jewels,
  Gathered Pohya's sweetest berry!"
  Sat a babe upon the matting,
  And the young child spake as follows:
  "Brother, what is this thou bringest,
  Aspen-log or trunk of willow,
  Slender as the mountain-linden?
  Bridegroom, well dost thou remember,
  Thou hast hoped it all thy life-time,
  Hoped to bring the Maid of Beauty,
  Thou a thousand times hast said it,
  Better far than any other,
  Not one like the croaking raven,
  Nor the magpie from the border,
  Nor the scarecrow from the corn-fields,
  Nor the vulture from the desert.
  What has this one done of credit,
  In the summer that has ended?
  Where the gloves that she has knitted,
  Where the mittens she has woven?
  Thou hast brought her empty-handed,
  Not a gift she brings thy father;
  In thy chests the nice are nesting,
  Long-tails feeding on thy vestments,
  And thy bride, cannot repair them."
  Lakko hostess of Wainola,
  She the faithful Kalew-daughter,
  Hears the young child's speech in wonder,
  Speaks these words of disapproval:
  Silly prattler, cease thy talking,
  Thou Last spoken in dishonor;
  Let all others be astonished,
  Reap thy malice on thy kindred,
  must not harm the Bride of Beauty,
  Rainbow-daughter of the Northland.
  False indeed is this thy Prattle,
  All thy words are full or evil,
  Fallen from thy tongue of mischief
  From the lips of one unworthy.
  Excellent the hero's young bride,
  Best of all in Sariola,
  Like the strawberry in summer,
  Like the daisy from the meadow,
  Like the cuckoo from the forest,
  Like the bluebird from the aspen,
  Like the redbreast from the heather,
  Like the martin from the linden;
  Never couldst thou find in Ehstland
  Such a virgin as this daughter,
  Such a graceful beauteous maiden,
  With such dignity of Carriage,
  With such arms of pearly whiteness,
  With a neck so fair and lovely.
  Neither is she empty-handed,
  She has brought us furs abundant,
  Brought us many silken garments,
  Richest weavings of Pohyola.
  Many beauteous things the maiden,
  With the spindle has accomplished,
  Spun and woven with her fingers
  Dresses of the finest texture
  She in winter has upfolded,
  Bleached them in the days of spring-time,
  Dried them at the hour of noon-day,
  For our couches finest linen,
  For our heads the softest pillows,
  For our comfort woollen blankets,
  For our necks the silken ribbons."
  To the bride speaks gracious Lakko:
  "Goodly wife, thou Maid of Beauty,
  Highly wert thou praised as daughter,
  In thy father's distant country;
  Here thou shalt be praised forever
  By the kindred of thy husband;
  Thou shalt never suffer sorrow,
  Never give thy heart to grieving;
  In the swamps thou wert not nurtured,
  Wert not fed beside the brooklets;
  Thou wert born 'neath stars auspicious,
  Nurtured from the richest garners,
  Thou wert taken to the brewing
  Of the sweetest beer in Northland.
  "Beauteous bride from Sariola,
  Shouldst thou see me bringing hither
  Casks of corn, or wheat, or barley;
  Bringing rye in great abundance,
  They belong to this thy household;
  Good the plowing of thy husband.
  Good his sowing and his reaping.
  "Bride of Beauty from the Northland,
  Thou wilt learn this home to manage,
  Learn to labor with thy kindred;
  Good the home for thee to dwell in,
  Good enough for bride and daughter.
  At thy hand will rest the milk-pail,
  And the churn awaits thine order;
  It is well here for the maiden,
  Happy will the young bride labor,
  Easy are the resting-benches;
  Here the host is like thy father,
  Like thy mother is the hostess,
  All the sons are like thy brothers,
  Like thy sisters are the daughters.
  "Shouldst thou ever have a longing
  For the whiting of the ocean,
  For thy, father's Northland salmon,
  For thy brother's hazel-chickens,
  Ask them only of thy husband,
  Let thy hero-husband bring them.
  There is not in all of Northland,
  Not a creature of the forest,
  Not a bird beneath the ether,
  Not a fish within the waters,
  Not the largest, nor the smallests
  That thy husband cannot capture.
  It is well here for the maiden,
  Here the bride may live in freedom,
  Need not turn the heavy millstone,
  Need not move the iron pestle;
  Here the wheat is ground by water,
  For the rye, the swifter current,
  While the billows wash the vessels
  And the surging waters rinse them.
  Thou hast here a lovely village,
  Finest spot in all of Northland,
  In the lowlands sweet the verdure,
  in the uplands, fields of beauty,
  With the lake-shore near the hamlet,
  Near thy home the running water,
  Where the goslings swim and frolic,
  Water-birds disport in numbers."
  Thereupon the bride and bridegroom
  Were refreshed with richest viands,
  Given food and drink abundant,
  Fed on choicest bits of reindeer,
  On the sweetest loaves of barley,
  On the best of wheaten biscuits,
  On the richest beer of Northland.
  Many things were on the table,
  Many dainties of Wainola,
  In the bowls of scarlet color,
  In the platters deftly painted,
  Many cakes with honey sweetened,
  To each guest was butter given,
  Many bits of trout and whiting,
  Larger salmon carved in slices,
  With the knives of molten silver,
  Rimmed with gold the silver handles,
  Beer of barley ceaseless flowing,
  Honey-drink that was not purchased,
  In the cellar flows profusely,
  Beer for all, the tongues to quicken,
  Mead and beer the minds to freshen.
  Who is there to lead the singing,
  Lead the songs of Kalevala?
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  The eternal, wise enchanter,
  Quick begins his incantations,
  Straightway sings the songs that follow.
  "Golden brethren, dearest kindred,
  Ye, my loved ones, wise and worthy
  Ye companions, highly-gifted,
  Listen to my simple sayings:
  Rarely stand the geese together,
  Sisters do not mate each other,
  Not together stand the brothers,
  Nor the children of one mother,
  In the countries of the Northland.
  "Shall we now begin the singing,
  Sing the songs of old tradition?
  Singers can but sing their wisdom,
  And the cuckoo call the spring-time,
  And the goddess of the heavens
  Only dyes the earth in beauty;
  So the goddesses of weaving
  Can but weave from dawn till twilight,
  Ever sing the youth of Lapland
  In their straw-shoes full of gladness,
  When the coarse-meat of the roebuck,
  Or of blue-moose they have eaten.
  Wherefore should I not be singing,
  And the children not be chanting
  Of the biscuits of Wainola,
  Of the bread of Kalew-waters?
  Even Sing the lads of Lapland
  In their straw-shoes filled with joyance,
  Drinking but a cup of water,
  Eating but the bitter tan-bark.
  Wherefore should I not be singing,
  And the children not be chanting
  Of the beer of Kalevala,
  Brewed from barley in perfection,
  Dressed in quaint and homely costume,
  As they sit beside their hearth-stones.
  Wherefore should I not be singing,
  And the children too be chanting
  Underneath these painted rafters,
  In these halls renowned and ancient?
  This the place for men to linger,
  This the court-room for the maidens,
  Near the foaming beer of barley,
  Honey-brewed in great abundance,
  Very near, the salmon-waters,
  Near, the nets for trout and whiting,
  Here where food is never wanting,
  Where the beer is ever brewing.
  Here Wainola's sons assemble,
  Here Wainola's daughters gather,
  Here they never eat in trouble,
  Here they live without regretting,
  In the life-time of the landlord,
  While the hostess lives and prospers.
  "Who shall first be sung and lauded?
  Shall it be the bride or bridegroom?
  Let us praise the bridegroom's father,
  Let the hero-host be chanted,
  Him whose home is in the forest,
  Him who built upon the mountains,
  Him who brought the trunks of lindens,
  With their tops and slender branches,
  Brought them to the best of places,
  Joined them skilfully together,
  For the mansion of the nation,
  For this famous hero-dwelling,
  Walls procured upon the lowlands,
  Rafters from the pine and fir-tree,
  From the woodlands beams of oak-wood,
  From the berry-plains the studding,
  Bark was furnished by the aspen,
  And the mosses from the fenlands.
  Trimly builded is this mansion,
  In a haven warmly sheltered;
  Here a hundred men have labored,
  On the roof have stood a thousand,
  As this spacious house was building,
  As this roof was tightly jointed.
  Here the ancient mansion-builder,
  When these rafters were erected,
  Lost in storms his locks of sable,
  Scattered by the winds of heaven.
  Often has the hero-landlord
  On the rocks his gloves forgotten,
  Left his hat upon the willows,
  Lost his mittens in the marshes;
  Oftentimes the mansion-builder,
  In the early hours of morning,
  Ere his workmen had awakened,
  Unperceived by all the village,
  Has arisen from his slumber,
  Left his cabin the snow-fields,
  Combed his locks among the branches,
  Bathed his eyes in dews of morning.
  "Thus obtained the pleasant landlord
  Friends to fill his spacious dwelling,
  Fill his benches with magicians,
  Fill his windows with enchanters,
  Fill his halls with wizard-singers,
  Fill his floors with ancient speakers,
  Fill his ancient court with strangers,
  Fill his hurdles with the needy;
  Thus the Kalew-host is lauded.
  "Now I praise the genial hostess,
  Who prepares the toothsome dinner,
  Fills with plenty all her tables,
  Bakes the honeyed loaves of barley,
  Kneads the dough with magic fingers,
  With her arms of strength and beauty,
  Bakes her bread in copper ovens,
  Feeds her guests and bids them welcome,
  Feeds them on the toothsome bacon,
  On the trout, and pike, and whiting,
  On the rarest fish in ocean,
  On the dainties of Wainola.
  "Often has the faithful hostess
  Risen from her couch in silence,
  Ere the crowing of the watcher,
  To prepare the wedding-banquet,
  Make her tables look attractive.
  Brew the honey-beer of wedlock.
  Excellently has the housewife,
  Has the hostess filled with wisdom,
  Brewed the beer from hops and barley,
  From the corn of Kalevala,
  From the wheat-malt honey-seasoned,
  Stirred the beer with graceful fingers,
  At the oven in the penthouse,
  In the chamber swept and polished.
  Neither did the prudent hostess,
  Beautiful, and full of wisdom,
  Let the barley sprout too freely,
  Lest the beer should taste of black-earth,
  Be too bitter in the brewing,
  Often went she to the garners,
  Went alone at hour of midnight,
  Was not frightened by the black-wolf,
  Did not fear the beasts of woodlands.
  "Now the hostess I have lauded,
  Let me praise the favored suitor,
  Now the honored hero-bridegroom,
  Best of all the village-masters.
  Clothed in purple is the hero,
  Raiment brought from distant nations,
  Tightly fitting to his body;
  Snugly sets his coat of ermine,
  To the floor it hangs in beauty,
  Trailing from his neck and shoulders,
  Little of his vest appearing,
  Peeping through his outer raiment,
  Woven by the Moon's fair daughters,
  And his vestment silver-tinselled.
  Dressed in neatness is the suitor,
  Round his waist a belt of copper,
  Hammered by the Sun's sweet maidens,
  Ere the early fires were lighted,
  Ere the fire had been discovered.
  Dressed in richness is the bridegroom,
  On his feet are silken stockings,
  Silken ribbons on his ankles,
  Gold and silver interwoven.
  Dressed in beauty is the bridegroom,
  On his feet are shoes of deer-skin,
  Like the swans upon the water,
  Like the blue-duck on the sea-waves,
  Like the thrush among the willows,
  Like the water-birds of Northland.
  Well adorned the hero-suitor,
  With his locks of golden color,
  With his gold-beard finely braided,
  Hero-hat upon his forehead,
  Piercing through the forest branches,
  Reaching to the clouds of heaven,
  Bought with countless gold and silver,
  Priceless is the suitor's head-gear.
  "Now the bridegroom has been lauded,
  I will praise the young bride's playmate,
  Day-companion in her childhood,
  In the maiden's magic mansion.
  Whence was brought the merry maiden,
  From the village of Tanikka?
  Thence was never brought the playmate,
  Playmate of the bride in childhood.
  Has she come from distant nations,
  From the waters of the Dwina,
  O'er the ocean far-outstretching?
  Not from Dwina came the maiden,
  Did not sail across the waters;
  Grew as berry in the mountains,
  As a strawberry of sweetness,
  On the fields the child of beauty,
  In the glens the golden flower.
  Thence has come the young bride's playmate,
  Thence arose her fair companion.
  Tiny are her feet and fingers,
  Small her lips of scarlet color,
  Like the maiden's loom of Suomi;
  Eyes that shine in kindly beauty
  Like the twinkling stars of heaven;
  Beam the playmate's throbbing temples
  Like the moonlight on the waters.
  Trinkets has the bride's companion,
  On her neck a golden necklace,
  In her tresses, silken ribbons,
  On her arms are golden bracelets,
  Golden rings upon her fingers,
  Pearls are set in golden ear-rings,
  Loops of gold upon her temples,
  And with pearls her brow is studded.
  Northland thought the Moon was shining
  When her jeweled ear-ringsglistened;
  Thought the Sun had left his station
  When her girdle shone in beauty;
  Thought a ship was homeward sailing
  When her colored head-gear fluttered.
  Thus is praised the bride's companion,
  Playmate of the Rainbow-maiden.
  "Now I praise the friends assembled,
  All appear in graceful manners;
  If the old are wise and silent,
  All the youth are free and merry,
  All the guests are fair and worthy.
  Never was there in Wainola,
  Never will there be in Northland,
  Such a company assembled;
  All the children speak in joyance,
  All the aged move sedately;
  Dressed in white are all the maidens,
  Like the hoar-frost of the morning,
  Like the welcome dawn of spring-time,
  Like the rising of the daylight.
  Silver then was more abundant,
  Gold among the guests in plenty,
  On the hills were money, pockets,
  Money-bags along the valleys,
  For the friends that were invited,
  For the guests in joy assembled.
  All the friends have now been lauded,
  Each has gained his meed of honor."
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Song-deliverer of Northland,
  Swung himself upon the fur-bench
  Or his magic sledge of copper,
  Straightway hastened to his hamlet,
  Singing as he journeyed onward,
  Singing charms and incantations,
  Singing one day, then a second,
  All the third day chanting legends.
  On the rocks the runners rattled,
  Hung the sledge upon a birch-stump,
  Broke it into many pieces,
  With the magic of his singing;
  Double were the runners bended,
  All the parts were torn asunder,
  And his magic sledge was ruined.
  Then the good, old Wainamoinen
  Spake these words in meditation:
  "Is there one among this number,
  In this rising generation,
  Or perchance among the aged,
  In the passing generation,
  That will go to Mana's kingdom,
  To the empire of Tuoni,
  There to get the magic auger
  From the master of Manala,
  That I may repair my snow-sledge,
  Or a second sledge may fashion?"
  What the younger people answered
  Was the answer of the aged:
  "Not among the youth of Northland,
  Nor among the aged heroes,
  Is there one of ample courage,
  That has bravery sufficient,
  To attempt the reckless journey
  To the kingdom of Tuoni,
  To Manala's fields and castles,
  Thence to bring Tuoni's auger,
  Wherewithal to mend thy snow-sledge,
  Build anew thy sledge of magic."
  Thereupon old Wainamoinen,
  The eternal wisdom-singer,
  Went again to Mana's empire,
  To the kingdom of Tuoni,
  Crossed the sable stream of Deathland,
  To the castles of Manala,
  Found the auger of Tuoni,
  Brought the instrument in safety.
  Straightway sings old Wainamoinen,
  Sings to life a purple forest,
  In the forest, slender birches,
  And beside them, mighty oak-trees,
  Shapes them into shafts and runners,
  Moulds them by his will and power,
  Makes anew his sledge of magic.
  On his steed he lays the harness,
  Binds him to his sledge securely,
  Seats himself upon the cross-bench,
  And the racer gallops homeward,
  To the manger filled and waiting,
  To the stable of his master;
  Brings the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Famous bard and wise enchanter,
  To the threshold of his dwelling,
  To his home in Kalevala.




RUNE XXVI.



  ORIGIN OF THE SERPENT.


  Ahti, living on the island,
  Near the Kauko-point and harbor,
  Plowed his fields for rye and barley,
  Furrowed his extensive pastures,
  Heard with quickened ears an uproar,
  Heard the village in commotion,
  Heard a noise along the sea-shore,
  Heard the foot-steps on the ice-plain,
  Heard the rattle of the sledges;
  Quick his mind divined the reason,
  Knew it was Pohyola's wedding,
  Wedding of the Rainbow-virgin.
  Quick he stopped in disappointment,
  Shook his sable locks in envy,
  Turned his hero-head in anger,
  While the scarlet blood ceased flowing
  Through his pallid face and temples;
  Ceased his plowing and his sowing,
  On the field he left the furrows,
  On his steed he lightly mounted,
  Straightway galloped fleetly homeward
  To his well-beloved mother,
  To his mother old and golden,
  Gave his mother these directions,
  These the words of Lemminkainen:
  "My beloved, faithful mother,
  Quickly bring me beer and viands,
  Bring me food for I am hungry,
  Food and drink for me abundant,
  Have my bath-room quickly heated,
  Quickly set the room in order,
  That I may refresh my body,
  Dress myself in hero-raiment."
  Lemminkainen's aged mother
  Brings her hero food in plenty,
  Beer and viands for the hungry,
  For her thirsting son and hero;
  Quick she heats the ancient bath-room,
  Quickly sets his bath in order.
  Then the reckless Lemminkainen
  Ate his meat with beer inspiring,
  Hastened to his bath awaiting;
  Only was the bullfinch bathing,
  With the many-colored bunting;
  Quick the hero laved his temples,
  Laved himself to flaxen whiteness,
  Quick returning to his mother,
  Spake in haste the words that follow:
  "My beloved, helpful mother,
  Go at once to yonder mountain,
  To the store-house on the hill-top,
  Bring my vest of finest texture,
  Bring my hero-coat of purple,
  Bring my suit of magic colors,
  Thus to make me look attractive,
  Thus to robe myself in beauty."
  First the ancient mother asked him,
  Asked her son this simple question:
  "Whither dost thou go, my hero?
  Dost thou go to hunt the roebuck,
  Chase the lynx upon the mountains,
  Shoot the squirrel in the woodlands?"
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Also known as Kaukomieli:
  "Worthy mother of my being,
  Go I not to hunt the roebuck,
  Chase the lynx upon the mountains,
  Shoot the squirrel on the tree-tops;
  I am going to Pohyola,
  To the feasting of her people.
  Bring at once my purple vestments,
  Straightway bring my nuptial outfit,
  Let me don it for the marriage
  Of the maiden of the Northland."
  But the ancient dame dissented,
  And the wife forebade the husband;
  Two of all the best of heroes,
  Three of nature's fairest daughters,
  Strongly urged wild Lemminkainen
  Not to go to Sariola,
  To Pohyola's great carousal,
  To the marriage-feast of Northland,
  "Since thou hast not been invited,
  Since they do not wish thy presence."
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen.
  These the words of Kaukomieli:
  "Where the wicked are invited,
  There the good are always welcome,
  Herein lies my invitation;
  I am constantly reminded
  By this sword of sharpened edges,
  By this magic blade and scabbard,
  That Pohyola needs my presence."
  Lemminkainen's aged mother
  Sought again to stay her hero:
  "Do not go, my son beloved,
  To the feasting in Pohyola;
  Full of horrors are the highways,
  On the road are many wonders,
  Three times Death appears to frighten,
  Thrice destruction hovers over!"
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen,
  These the words of Kaukomieli:
  "Death is seen by aged people,
  Everywhere they see perdition,
  Death can never frighten heroes,
  Heroes do not fear the spectre;
  Be that as it may, dear mother,
  Tell that I may understand thee,
  Name the first of all destructions,
  Name the first and last destroyers!"
  Lemminkainen's mother answered:
  "I will tell thee, son and hero,
  Not because I wish to speak it,
  But because the truth is worthy;
  I will name the chief destruction,
  Name the first of the destroyers.
  When thou hast a distance journeyed,
  Only one day hast thou travelled,
  Comes a stream along the highway,
  Stream of fire of wondrous beauty,
  In the stream a mighty fire-spout,
  In the spout a rock uprising,
  On the rock a fiery hillock,
  On the top a flaming eagle,
  And his crooked beak he sharpens,
  Sharpens too his bloody talons,
  For the coming of the stranger,
  For the people that approach him."
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli:
  "Women die beneath the eagle,
  Such is not the death of heroes;
  Know I well a magic lotion,
  That will heal the wounds of eagles;
  Make myself a steed of alders,
  That will walk as my companion,
  That will stride ahead majestic;
  As a duck I'll drive behind him,
  Drive him o'er the fatal waters,
  Underneath the flaming eagle,
  With his bloody beak and talons.
  Worthy mother of my being,
  Name the second of destroyers."
  Lemminkainen's mother answered:
  "This the second of destroyers:
  When thou hast a distance wandered,
  Only two clays hast thou travelled,
  Comes a pit of fire to meet thee,
  In the centre of the highway,
  Eastward far the pit extending,
  Stretches endless to the westward,
  Filled with burning coals and pebbles,
  Glowing with the heat of ages;
  Hundreds has this monster swallowed,
  In his jaws have thousands perished,
  Hundreds with their trusty broadswords,
  Thousands on their fiery chargers."
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli:
  "Never will the hero perish
  In the jaws of such a monster;
  Know I well the means of safety,
  Know a remedy efficient:
  I will make of snow a master,
  On the snow-clad fields, a hero,
  Drive the snow-man on before me,
  Drive him through the flaming vortex,
  Drive him through the fiery furnace,
  With my magic broom of copper;
  I will follow in his shadow,
  Follow close the magic image,
  Thus escape the frightful monster,
  With my golden locks uninjured,
  With my flowing beard untangled.
  Ancient mother of my being,
  Name the last of the destructions,
  Name the third of the destroyers."
  Lemminkainen's mother answered:
  "This the third of fatal dangers:
  Hast thou gone a greater distance,
  Hast thou travelled one day longer,
  To the portals of Pohyola,
  To the narrowest of gate-ways,
  There a wolf will rise to meet thee,
  There the black-bear sneak upon thee-,
  In Pohyola's darksome portals,
  Hundreds in their jaws have perished,
  Have devoured a thousand heroes;
  Wherefore will they not destroy thee,
  Since thy form is unprotected?"
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli:
  "Let them eat the gentle lambkins,
  Feed upon their tender tissues,
  They cannot devour this hero;
  I am girded with my buckler,
  Girded with my belt of copper,
  Armlets wear I of the master,
  From the wolf and bear protected,
  Will not hasten to Untamo.
  I can meet the wolf of Lempo,
  For the bear I have a balsam,
  For his mouth I conjure bridles,
  For the wolf, forge chains of iron;
  I will smite them as the willow,
  Chop them into little fragments,
  Thus I'll gain the open court-yard,
  Thus triumphant end my journey."
  Lemminkainen's mother answered:
  "Then thy journey is not ended,
  Greater dangers still await thee,
  Great the wonders yet before thee,
  Horrors three within thy pathway;
  Three great dangers of the hero
  Still await thy reckless footsteps,
  These the worst of all thy dangers:
  When thou hast still farther wandered,
  Thou wilt reach the Court of Pohya,
  Where the walls are forged from iron,
  And from steel the outer bulwark;
  Rises from the earth to heaven,
  Back again to earth returning;
  Double spears are used for railings,
  On each spear are serpents winding,
  On each rail are stinging adders;
  Lizards too adorn the bulwarks,
  Play their long tails in the sunlight,
  Hissing lizards, venomed serpents,
  Jump and writhe upon the rampart,
  Turn their horrid heads to meet thee;
  On the greensward lie the monsters,
  On the ground the things of evil,
  With their pliant tongues of venom,
  Hissing, striking, crawling, writhing;
  One more horrid than the others,
  Lies before the fatal gate-way,
  Longer than the longest rafters,
  Larger than the largest portals;
  Hisses with the tongue of anger,
  Lifts his head in awful menace,
  Raises it to strike none other
  Than the hero of the islands."
  Spake the warlike Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli:
  "By such things the children perish,
  Such is not the death of heroes;
  Know I well the fire to manage,
  I can quench the flames of passion,
  I can meet the prowling wild-beasts,
  Can appease the wrath of serpents,
  I can heal the sting of adders,
  I have plowed the serpent-pastures,
  Plowed the adder-fields of Northland;
  While my hands were unprotected,
  Held the serpents in my fingers,
  Drove the adders to Manala,
  On my hands the blood of serpents,
  On my feet the fat of adders.
  Never will thy hero stumble
  On the serpents of the Northland;
  With my heel I'll crush the monsters,
  Stamp the horrid things to atoms;
  I will banish them from Pohya,
  Drive them to Manala's kingdom,
  Step within Pohyola's mansion,
  Walk the halls of Sariola!"
  Lemminkainen's mother answered:
  "Do not go, my son beloved,
  To the firesides of Pohyola,
  Through the Northland fields and fallows;
  There are warriors with broadswords,
  Heroes clad in mail of copper,
  Are on beer intoxicated,
  By the beer are much embittered;
  They will charm thee, hapless creature,
  On the tips of swords of magic;
  Greater heroes have been conjured,
  Stronger ones have been outwitted."
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Formerly thy son resided
  In the hamlets of Pohyola;
  Laplanders cannot enchant me,
  Nor the Turyalanders harm me
  I the Laplander will conjure,
  Charm him with my magic powers,
  Sing his shoulders wide asunder,
  In his chin I'll sing a fissure,
  Sing his collar-bone to pieces,
  Sing his breast to thousand fragments."
  Lemminkainen's mother answered:
  "Foolish son, ungrateful wizard,
  Boasting of thy former visit,
  Boasting of thy fatal journey!
  Once in Northland thou wert living,
  In the homesteads of Pohyola;
  There thou tried to swim the whirlpool,
  Tasted there the dog-tongue waters,
  Floated down the fatal current,
  Sank beneath its angry billows;
  Thou hast seen Tuoni's river,
  Thou hast measured Mana's waters,
  There to-day thou wouldst be sleeping,
  Had it not been for thy mother!
  What I tell thee well remember,
  Shouldst thou gain Pohyola's chambers,
  Filled with stakes thou'lt find the court-yard,
  These to hold the heads of heroes;
  There thy head will rest forever,
  Shouldst thou go to Sariola."
  Spake the warlike Lemminkainen:
  "Fools indeed may heed thy counsel,
  Cowards too may give attention;
  Those of seven conquest-summers
  Cannot heed such weak advising.
  Bring to me my battle-armor.
  Bring my magic mail of copper,
  Bring me too my father's broadsword,
  Keep the old man's blade from rusting;
  Long it has been cold and idle,
  Long has lain in secret places,
  Long and constantly been weeping,
  Long been asking for a bearer."
  Then he took his mail of copper,
  Took his ancient battle-armor,
  Took his father's sword of magic,
  Tried its point against the oak-wood,
  Tried its edge upon the sorb-tree;
  In his hand the blade was bended,
  Like the limber boughs of willow,
  Like the juniper in summer.
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
  "There is none in Pohya's hamlets,
  In the courts of Sariola,
  That with me can measure broadswords,
  That can meet this blade ancestral."
  From the nail he took a cross-bow,
  Took the strongest from the rafters,
  Spake these words in meditation:
  "I shall recognize as worthy,
  Recognize that one a hero
  That can bend this mighty cross-bow,
  That can break its magic sinews,
  In the hamlets of Pohyola."
  Lemminkainen, filled with courage,
  Girds himself in suit of battle,
  Dons his mighty mail of copper,
  To his servant speaks as follows:
  "Trusty slave, and whom I purchased,
  Whom I bought with gold and silver,
  Quick prepare my fiery charger,
  Harness well my steed of battle;
  I am going to the feasting,
  To the banquet-fields of Lempo."
  Quick obeys the faithful servant,
  Hitches well the noble war-horse,
  Quick prepares the fire-red stallion,
  Speaks these words when all is I ready:
  "I have done what thou hast hidden,
  Ready harnessed is the charger,
  Waiting to obey his master."
  Comes the hour of the departing
  Of the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Right hand ready, left unwilling,
  All his anxious fingers pain him,
  Till at last in full obedience,
  All his members give permission;
  Starts the hero on his journey,
  While the mother gives him counsel,
  At the threshold of the dwelling,
  At the highway of the court-yard:
  "Child of courage, my beloved,
  Son of strength, my wisdom-hero,
  If thou goest to the feasting,
  Shouldst thou reach the great carousal,
  Drink thou only a half a cupful,
  Drink the goblet to the middle,
  Always give the half remaining,
  Give the worse half to another,
  To another more unworthy;
  In the lower half are serpents,
  Worms, and frogs, and hissing lizards,
  Feeding on the slimy bottom."
  Furthermore she tells her hero,
  Gives her son these sage directions,
  On the border of the court-yard,
  At the portals farthest distant:
  "If thou goest to the banquet,
  Shouldst thou reach the great carousal,
  Occupy but half the settle,
  Take but half a stride in walking,
  Give the second half to others,
  To another less deserving;
  Only thus thou'lt be a hero,
  Thus become a son immortal;
  In the guest-rooms look courageous,
  Bravely move about the chambers,
  In the gatherings of heroes,
  With the hosts of magic valor."
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
  Quickly leaped upon the cross-bench
  Of his battle-sledge of wonder,
  Raised his pearl-enamelled birch-rod,
  Snapped his whip above his charger,
  And the steed flew onward fleetly,
  Galloped on his distant journey.
  He had travelled little distance,
  When a flight of hazel-chickens
  Quick arose before his coming,
  Flew before the foaming racer.
  There were left some feathers lying,
  Feathers of the hazel-chickens,
  Lying in the hero's pathway.
  These the reckless Lemminkainen
  Gathered for their magic virtues,
  Put them in his pouch of leather,
  Did not know what things might happen
  On his journey to Pohyola;
  All things have some little value,
  In a strait all things are useful.
  Then he drove a little distance,
  Galloped farther on the highway,
  When his courser neighed in danger,
  And the fleet-foot ceased his running.
  Then the stout-heart, Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Rose upon his seat in wonder,
  Craned his neck and looked about him
  Found it as his mother told him,
  Found a stream of fire opposing;
  Ran the fire-stream like a river,
  Ran across the hero's pathway.
  In the river was a fire-fall,
  In the cataract a fire-rock,
  On the rock a fiery hillock,
  On its summit perched an eagle,
  From his throat the fire was streaming
  To the crater far below him,
  Fire out-shooting from his feathers,
  Glowing with a fiery splendor;
  Long he looked upon the hero,
  Long he gazed on Lemminkainen,
  Then the eagle thus addressed him:
  "Whither art thou driving, Ahti,
  Whither going, Lemminkainen?"
  Kaukomieli spake in answer:
  "To the feastings of Pohyola,
  To the drinking-halls of Louhi,
  To the banquet of her people;
  Move aside and let me journey,
  Move a little from my pathway,
  Let this wanderer pass by thee,
  I am warlike Lemminkainen."
  This the answer of the eagle,
  Screaming from his throat of splendor:
  "Though thou art wild Lemminkainen,
  I shall let thee wander onward,
  Through my fire-throat let thee journey,
  Through these flames shall be thy passage
  To the banquet-halls of Louhi,
  To Pohyola's great carousal!"
  Little heeding, Kaukomieli
  Thinks himself in little trouble,
  Thrusts his fingers in his pockets,
  Searches in his pouch of leather,
  Quickly takes the magic feathers,
  Feathers from the hazel-chickens,
  Rubs them into finest powder,
  Rubs them with his magic fingers
  Whence a flight of birds arises,
  Hazel-chickens from the feathers,
  Large the bevy of the young birds.
  Quick the wizard, Lemminkainen,
  Drives them to the eagle's fire-mouth,
  Thus to satisfy his hunger,
  Thus to quench the fire out-streaming.
  Thus escapes the reckless hero,
  Thus escapes the first of dangers,
  Passes thus the first destroyer,
  On his journey to Pohyola.
  With his whip he strikes his courser,
  With his birch-whip, pearl-enamelled;
  Straightway speeds the fiery charger,
  Noiselessly upon his journey,
  Gallops fast and gallops faster,
  Till the flying steed in terror
  Neighs again and ceases running.
  Lemminkainen, quickly rising,
  Cranes his neck and looks about him,
  Sees his mother's words were truthful,
  Sees her augury well-taken.
  Lo! before him yawned a fire-gulf,
  Stretching crosswise through his pathway;
  Far to east the gulf extending,
  To the west an endless distance,
  Filled with stones and burning pebbles,
  Running streams of burning matter.
  Little heeding, Lemminkainen
  Cries aloud in prayer to Ukko:
  "Ukko, thou O God above me,
  Dear Creator, omnipresent,
  From the north-west send a storm-cloud,
  From the east, dispatch a second,
  From the south send forth a third one;
  Let them gather from the south-west,
  Sew their edges well together,
  Fill thou well the interspaces,
  Send a snow-fall high as heaven,
  Let it fall from upper ether,
  Fall upon the flaming fire-pit,
  On the cataract and whirlpool!"
  Mighty Ukko, the Creator,
  Ukko, father omnipresent,
  Dwelling in the courts of heaven,
  Sent a storm-cloud from the north-west,
  From the east he sent a second,
  From the south despatched a third one,
  Let them gather from the south-west,
  Sewed their edges well together,
  Filled their many interspaces,
  Sent a snow-fall high as heaven,
  From the giddy heights of ether,
  Sent it seething to the fire-pit,
  On the streams of burning matter;
  From the snow-fall in the fire-pond,
  Grows a lake with rolling billows.
  Quick the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Conjures there of ice a passage
  From one border to the other,
  Thus escapes his second danger,
  Thus his second trouble passes.
  Then the reckless Lemminkainen
  Raised his pearl-enamelled birch-rod,
  Snapped his whip above his racer,
  And the steed flew onward swiftly,
  Galloped on his distant journey
  O'er the highway to Pohyola;
  Galloped fast and galloped faster,
  Galloped on a greater distance,
  When the stallion loudly neighing,
  Stopped and trembled on the highway,
  Then the lively Lemminkainen
  Raised himself upon the cross-bench,
  Looked to see what else had happened;
  Lo I a wolf stands at the portals,
  in the passage-way a black-bear,
  At the high-gate of Pohyola,
  At the ending of the journey.
  Thereupon young Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Thrusts his fingers in his pockets,
  Seeks his magic pouch of leather,
  Pulls therefrom a lock of ewe-wool,
  Rubs it firmly in his fingers,
  In his hands it falls to powder;
  Breathes the breath of life upon it,
  When a flock of sheep arises,
  Goats and sheep of sable color;
  On the flock the black-wolf pounces,
  And the wild-bear aids the slaughter,
  While the reckless Lemminkainen
  Rushes by them on his journey;
  Gallops on a little distance,
  To the court of Sariola,
  Finds the fence of molten iron,
  And of steel the rods and pickets,
  In the earth a hundred fathoms,
  To the azure sky, a thousand,
  Double-pointed spears projecting;
  On each spear were serpents twisted,
  Adders coiled in countless numbers,
  Lizards mingled with the serpents,
  Tails entangled pointing earthward,
  While their heads were skyward whirling,
  Writhing, hissing mass of evil.
  Then the stout-heart, Kaukomieli,
  Deeply thought and long considered:
  "It is as my mother told me,
  This the wall that she predicted,
  Stretching from the earth to heaven;
  Downward deep are serpents creeping,
  Deeper still the rails extending;
  High as highest flight of eagles,
  Higher still the wall shoots upward."
  But the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Little cares, nor feels disheartened,
  Draws his broadsword from its scabbard,
  Draws his mighty blade ancestral,
  Hews the wall with might of magic,
  Breaks the palisade in pieces,
  Hews to atoms seven pickets,
  Chops the serpent-wall to fragments;
  Through the breach he quickly passes
  To the portals of Pohyola.
  In the way, a serpent lying,
  Lying crosswise in the entry,
  Longer than the longest rafters,
  Larger than the posts of oak-wood;
  Hundred-eyed, the heinous serpent,
  And a thousand tongues, the monster,
  Eyes as large as sifting vessels,
  Tongues as long as shafts of javelins,
  Teeth as large as hatchet-handles,
  Back as broad as skiffs of ocean.
  Lemminkainen does not venture
  Straightway through this host opposing,
  Through the hundred heads of adders,
  Through the thousand tongues of serpents.
  Spake the magic Lemminkainen:
  "Venomed viper, thing of evil,
  Ancient adder of Tuoni,
  Thou that crawlest in the stubble,
  Through the flower-roots of Lempo,
  Who has sent thee from thy kingdom,
  Sent thee from thine evil coverts,
  Sent thee hither, crawling, writhing,
  In the pathway I would travel?
  Who bestowed thy mouth of venom,
  Who insisted, who commanded,
  Thou shouldst raise thy head toward heaven,
  Who thy tail has given action?
  Was this given by the father,
  Did the mother give this power,
  Or the eldest of the brothers,
  Or the youngest of the sisters,
  Or some other of thy kindred?
  "Close thy mouth, thou thing of evil,
  Hide thy pliant tongue of venom,
  In a circle wrap thy body,
  Coil thou like a shield in silence,
  Give to me one-half the pathway,
  Let this wanderer pass by thee,
  Or remove thyself entirely;
  Get thee hence to yonder heather,
  Quick retreat to bog and stubble,
  Hide thyself in reeds and rushes,
  In the brambles of the lowlands.
  Like a ball of flax enfolding,
  Like a sphere of aspen-branches,
  With thy head and tail together,
  Roll thyself to yonder mountain;
  In the heather is thy dwelling,
  Underneath the sod thy caverns.
  Shouldst thou raise thy head in anger,
  Mighty Ukko will destroy it,
  Pierce it with his steel-tipped arrows,
  With his death-balls made of iron!"
  Hardly had the hero ended,
  When the monster, little heeding,
  Hissing with his tongue in anger,
  Plying like the forked lightning,
  Pounces with his mouth of venom
  At the head of Lemminkainen;
  But the hero, quick recalling,
  Speaks the master-words of knowledge,
  Words that came from distant ages,
  Words his ancestors had taught him,
  Words his mother learned in childhood,
  These the words of Lemminkainen:
  "Since thou wilt not heed mine order,
  Since thou wilt not leave the highway,
  Puffed with pride of thine own greatness,
  Thou shall burst in triple pieces.
  Leave thy station for the borders,
  I will hunt thine ancient mother,
  Sing thine origin of evil,
  How arose thy head of horror;
  Suoyatar, thine ancient mother,
  Thing of evil, thy creator!"
  "Suoyatar once let her spittle
  Fall upon the waves of ocean;
  This was rocked by winds and waters,
  Shaken by the ocean-currents,
  Six years rocked upon the billows,
  Rocked in water seven summers,
  On the blue-back of the ocean,
  On the billows high as heaven;
  Lengthwise did the billows draw it,
  And the sunshine gave it softness,
  To the shore the billows washed it,
  On the coast the waters left it.
  "Then appeared Creation's daughters,
  Three the daughters thus appearing,
  On the roaring shore of ocean,
  There beheld the spittle lying,
  And the daughters spake as follows:
  'What would happen from this spittle,
  Should the breath of the Creator
  Fall upon the writhing matter,
  Breathe the breath of life upon it,
  Give the thing the sense of vision?
  "The Creator heard these measures,
  Spake himself the words that follow:
  'Evil only comes from evil,
  This is the expectoration
  Of fell Suoyatar, its mother;
  Therefore would the thing be evil,
  Should I breathe a soul within it,
  Should I give it sense of vision.'
  "Hisi heard this conversation,
  Ever ready with his mischief,
  Made himself to be creator,
  Breathed a soul into the spittle,
  To fell Suoyatar's fierce anger.
  Thus arose the poison-monster,
  Thus was born the evil serpent,
  This the origin of evil.
  "Whence the life that gave her action'?
  From the carbon-pile of Hisi.
  Whence then was her heart created?
  From the heart-throbs of her mother
  Whence arose her brain of evil?
  From the foam of rolling waters.
  Whence was consciousness awakened?
  From the waterfall's commotion.
  Whence arose her head of venom?
  From the seed-germs of the ivy.
  Whence then came her eyes of fury?
  From the flaxen seeds of Lempo.
  Whence the evil ears for hearing?
  From the foliage of Hisi.
  Whence then was her mouth created?
  This from Suoyatar's foam-currents
  Whence arose thy tongue of anger r
  From the spear of Keitolainen.
  Whence arose thy fangs of poison?
  From the teeth of Mana's daughter.
  Whence then was thy back created?
  From the carbon-posts of Piru.
  How then was thy tail created?
  From the brain of the hobgoblin.
  Whence arose thy writhing entrails?
  From the death-belt of Tuoni.
  "This thine origin, O Serpent,
  This thy charm of evil import,
  Vilest thing of God's creation,
  Writhing, hissing thing of evil,
  With the color of Tuoni,
  With the shade of earth and heaven,
  With the darkness of the storm-cloud.
  Get thee hence, thou loathsome monster,
  Clear the pathway of this hero.
  I am mighty Lemminkainen,
  On my journey to Pohyola,
  To the feastings and carousals,
  In the halls of darksome Northland."
  Thereupon the snake uncoiling,
  Hundred-eyed and heinous monster,
  Crawled away to other portals,
  That the hero, Kaukomieli,
  Might proceed upon his errand,
  To the dismal Sariola,
  To the feastings and carousals
  In the banquet-halls of Pohya.




RUNE XXVII.



  THE UNWELCOME GUEST.


  I have brought young Kaukomieli,
  Brought the Islander and hero,
  Also known as Lemminkainen,
  Through the jaws of death and ruin,
  Through the darkling deeps of Kalma,
  To the homesteads of Pohyola,
  To the dismal courts of Louhi;
  Now must I relate his doings,
  Must relate to all my bearers,
  How the merry Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Wandered through Pohyola's chambers,
  Through the halls of Sariola,
  How the hero went unbidden
  To the feasting and carousal,
  Uninvited to the banquet.
  Lemminkainen full of courage,
  Full of life, and strength, and magic.
  Stepped across the ancient threshold,
  To the centre of the court-room,
  And the floors of linwood trembled,
  Walls and ceilings creaked and murmured.
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen,
  These the words that Ahti uttered:
  "Be ye greeted on my coming,
  Ye that greet, be likewise greeted!
  Listen, all ye hosts of Pohya;
  Is there food about this homestead,
  Barley for my hungry courser,
  Beer to give a thirsty stranger?
  Sat the host of Sariola
  At the east end of the table,
  Gave this answer to the questions:
  "Surely is there in this homestead,
  For thy steed an open stable,
  Never will this host refuse thee,
  Shouldst thou act a part becoming,
  Worthy, coming to these portals,
  Waiting near the birchen rafters,
  In the spaces by the kettles,
  By the triple hooks of iron."
  Then the reckless Lemminkainen
  Shook his sable locks and answered:
  "Lempo may perchance come hither,
  Let him fill this lowly station,
  Let him stand between the kettles,
  That with soot he may be blackened.
  Never has my ancient father,
  Never has the dear old hero,
  Stood upon a spot unworthy,
  At the portals near the rafters;
  For his steed the best of stables,
  Food and shelter gladly furnished,
  And a room for his attendants,
  Corners furnished for his mittens,
  Hooks provided for his snow-shoes,
  Halls in waiting for his helmet.
  Wherefore then should I not find here
  What my father found before me?"
  To the centre walked the hero,
  Walked around the dining table,
  Sat upon a bench and waited,
  On a bench of polished fir-wood,
  And the kettle creaked beneath him.
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "As a guest am I unwelcome,
  Since the waiters bring no viands,
  Bring no dishes to the stranger?"
  Ilpotar, the Northland hostess,
  Then addressed the words that follow:
  "Lemminkainen, thou art evil,
  Thou art here, but not invited,
  Thou hast not the look of kindness,
  Thou wilt give me throbbing temples,
  Thou art bringing pain and sorrow.
  All our beer is in the barley,
  All the malt is in the kernel,
  All our grain is still ungarnered,
  And our dinner has been eaten;
  Yesterday thou shouldst have been here,
  Come again some future season."
  Whereupon wild Lemminkainen
  Pulled his mouth awry in anger,
  Shook his coal-black locks and answered:
  "All the tables here are empty,
  And the feasting-time is over;
  All the beer has left the goblets,
  Empty too are all the pitchers,
  Empty are the larger vessels.
  O thou hostess of Pohyola,
  Toothless dame of dismal Northland,
  Badly managed is thy wedding,
  And thy feast is ill-conducted,
  Like the dogs hast thou invited;
  Thou hast baked the honey-biscuit,
  Wheaten loaves of greatest virtue,
  Brewed thy beer from hops and barley,
  Sent abroad thine invitations,
  Six the hamlets thou hast honored,
  Nine the villages invited
  By thy merry wedding-callers.
  Thou hast asked the poor and lowly,
  Asked the hosts of common people,
  Asked the blind, and deaf, and crippled,
  Asked a multitude of beggars,
  Toilers by the day, and hirelings;
  Asked the men of evil habits,
  Asked the maids with braided tresses,
  I alone was not invited.
  How could such a slight be given,
  Since I sent thee kegs of barley?
  Others sent thee grain in cupfuls,
  Brought it sparingly in dippers,
  While I sent thee fullest measure,
  Sent the half of all my garners,
  Of the richest of my harvest,
  Of the grain that I had gathered.
  Even now young Lemminkainen,
  Though a guest of name and station
  Has no beer, no food, no welcome,
  Naught for him art thou preparing,
  Nothing cooking in thy kettles,
  Nothing brewing in thy cellars
  For the hero of the Islands,
  At the closing of his journey."
  Ilpotar, the ancient hostess,
  Gave this order to her servants:
  "Come, my pretty maiden-waiter,
  Servant-girl to me belonging,
  Lay some salmon to the broiling,
  Bring some beer to give the stranger!"
  Small of stature was the maiden,
  Washer of the banquet-platters,
  Rinser of the dinner-ladles,
  Polisher of spoons of silver,
  And she laid some food in kettles,
  Only bones and beads of whiting,
  Turnip-stalks and withered cabbage,
  Crusts of bread and bits of biscuit.
  Then she brought some beer in pitchers,
  Brought of common drink the vilest,
  That the stranger, Lemminkainen,
  Might have drink, and meat in welcome,
  Thus to still his thirst and hunger.
  Then the maiden spake as follows:
  "Thou art sure a mighty hero,
  Here to drink the beer of Pohya,
  Here to empty all our vessels!"
  Then the minstrel, Lemminkainen,
  Closely handled all the pitchers,
  Looking to the very bottoms;
  There beheld he writhing serpents,
  In the centre adders swimming,
  On the borders worms and lizards.
  Then the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Filled with anger, spake as follows:
  Get ye hence, ye things of evil,
  Get ye hence to Tuonela,
  With the bearer of these pitchers,
  With the maid that brought ye hither,
  Ere the evening moon has risen,
  Ere the day-star seeks the ocean!
  O thou wretched beer of barley,
  Thou hast met with great dishonor,
  Into disrepute hast fallen,
  But I'll drink thee, notwithstanding,
  And the rubbish cast far from me."
  Then the hero to his pockets
  Thrust his first and unnamed finger,
  Searching in his pouch of leather;
  Quick withdraws a hook for fishing,
  Drops it to the pitcher's bottom,
  Through the worthless beer of barley;
  On his fish-book hang the serpents,
  Catches many hissing adders,
  Catches frogs in magic numbers,
  Catches blackened worms in thousands,
  Casts them to the floor before him,
  Quickly draws his heavy broad sword,
  And decapitates the serpents.
  Now he drinks the beer remaining,
  When the wizard speaks as follows:
  "As a guest am I unwelcome,
  Since no beer to me is given
  That is worthy of a hero;
  Neither has a ram been butchered,
  Nor a fattened calf been slaughtered,
  Worthy food for Lemminkainen."
  Then the landlord of Pohyola
  Answered thus the Island-minstrel:
  "Wherefore hast thou journeyed hither,
  Who has asked thee for thy presence?
  Spake in answer Lemminkainen:
  "Happy is the guest invited,
  Happier when not expected;
  Listen, son of Pohylander,
  Host of Sariola, listen:
  Give me beer for ready payment,
  Give me worthy drink for money!"
  Then the landlord of Pohyola,
  In bad humor, full of anger,
  Conjured in the earth a lakelet,
  At the feet of Kaukomieli,
  Thus addressed the Island-hero:
  "Quench thy thirst from yonder lakelet,
  There, the beer that thou deservest!"
  Little heeding, Lemminkainen
  To this insolence made answer:
  "I am neither bear nor roebuck,
  That should drink this filthy water,
  Drink the water of this lakelet."
  Ahti then began to conjure,
  Conjured he a bull before him,
  Bull with horns of gold and silver,
  And the bull drank from the lakelet,
  Drank he from the pool in pleasure.
  Then the landlord of Pohyola
  There a savage wolf created,
  Set him on the floor before him
  To destroy the bull of magic,
  Lemminkainen, full of courage,
  Conjured up a snow-white rabbit,
  Set him on the floor before him
  To attract the wolf's attention.
  Then the landlord of Pohyola
  Conjured there a dog of Lempo,
  Set him on the floor before him
  To destroy the magic rabbit.
  Lemminkainen, full of mischief,
  Conjured on the roof a squirrel,
  That by jumping on the rafters
  He might catch the dog's attention.
  But the master of the Northland
  Conjured there a golden marten,
  And he drove the magic squirrel
  From his seat upon the rafters.
  Lemminkainen, full of mischief,
  Made a fox of scarlet color,
  And it ate the golden marten.
  Then the master of Pohyola
  Conjured there a hen to flutter
  Near the fox of scarlet color.
  Lemminkainen, full of mischief,
  Thereupon a hawk created,
  That with beak and crooked talons
  He might tear the hen to pieces.
  Spake the landlord of Pohyola,
  These the words the tall man uttered:
  "Never will this feast be bettered
  Till the guests are less in number;
  I must do my work as landlord,
  Get thee hence, thou evil stranger,
  Cease thy conjurings of evil,
  Leave this banquet of my people,
  Haste away, thou wicked wizard,
  To thine Island-home and people!
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Thus no hero will be driven,
  Not a son of any courage
  Will be frightened by thy presence,
  Will be driven from thy banquet."
  Then the landlord of Pohyola
  Snatched his broadsword from the rafters,
  Drew it rashly from the scabbard,
  Thus addressing Lemminkainen:
  "Ahti, Islander of evil,
  Thou the handsome Kaukomieli,
  Let us measure then our broadswords,
  Let our skill be fully tested;
  Surely is my broadsword better
  Than the blade within thy scabbard."
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen.
  "That my blade is good and trusty,
  Has been proved on heads of heroes,
  Has on many bones been tested;
  Be that as it may, my fellow,
  Since thine order is commanding,
  Let our swords be fully tested,
  Let us see whose blade is better.
  Long ago my hero-father
  Tested well this sword in battle,
  Never failing in a conflict.
  Should his son be found less worthy?"
  Then he grasped his mighty broadsword,
  Drew the fire-blade from the scabbard
  Hanging from his belt of copper.
  Standing on their hilts their broadswords,
  Carefully their blades were measured,
  Found the sword of Northland's master
  Longer than the sword of Ahti
  By the half-link of a finger.
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen.
  "Since thou hast the longer broadsword,
  Thou shalt make the first advances,
  I am ready for thy weapon."
  Thereupon Pohyola's landlord
  With the wondrous strength of anger,
  Tried in vain to slay the hero,
  Strike the crown of Lemminkainen;
  Chipped the splinters from the rafters,
  Cut the ceiling into fragments,
  Could not touch the Island-hero.
  Thereupon brave Kaukomieli,
  Thus addressed Pohyola's master:
  "Have the rafters thee offended?
  What the crimes they have committed,
  Since thou hewest them in pieces?
  Listen now, thou host of Northland,
  Reckless landlord of Pohyola,
  Little room there is for swordsmen
  In these chambers filled with women;
  We shall stain these painted rafters,
  Stain with blood these floors and ceilings;
  Let us go without the mansion,
  In the field is room for combat,
  On the plain is space sufficient;
  Blood looks fairer in the court-yard,
  Better in the open spaces,
  Let it dye the snow-fields scarlet."
  To the yard the heroes hasten,
  There they find a monstrous ox-skin,
  Spread it on the field of battle;
  On the ox-skin stand the swordsmen.
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
  "Listen well, thou host of Northland,
  Though thy broadsword is the longer,
  Though thy blade is full of horror,
  Thou shalt have the first advantage;
  Use with skill thy boasted broadsword
  Ere the final bout is given,
  Ere thy head be chopped in pieces;
  Strike with skill, or thou wilt perish,
  Strike, and do thy best for Northland."
  Thereupon Pohyola's landlord
  Raised on high his blade of battle,
  Struck a heavy blow in anger,
  Struck a second, then a third time,
  But he could not touch his rival,
  Could Dot draw a single blood-drop
  From the veins of Lemminkainen,
  Skillful Islander and hero.
  Spake the handsome Kaukomieli:
  "Let me try my skill at fencing,
  Let me swing my father's broadsword,
  Let my honored blade be tested!"
  But the landlord of Pohyola,
  Does not heed the words of Ahti,
  Strikes in fury, strikes unceasing,
  Ever aiming, ever missing.
  When the skillful Lemminkainen
  Swings his mighty blade of magic,
  Fire disports along his weapon,
  Flashes from his sword of honor,
  Glistens from the hero's broadsword,
  Balls of fire disporting, dancing,
  On the blade of mighty Ahti,
  Overflow upon the shoulders
  Of the landlord of Pohyola.
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
  "O thou son of Sariola,
  See! indeed thy neck is glowing
  Like the dawning of the morning,
  Like the rising Sun in ocean!"
  Quickly turned Pohyola's landlord,
  Thoughtless host of darksome Northland,
  To behold the fiery splendor
  Playing on his neck and shoulders.
  Quick as lightning, Lemminkainen,
  With his father's blade of battle,
  With a single blow of broadsword,
  With united skill and power,
  Lopped the head of Pohya's master;
  As one cleaves the stalks of turnips,
  As the ear falls from the corn-stalk,
  As one strikes the fins from salmon,
  Thus the head rolled from the shoulders
  Of the landlord of Pohyola,
  Like a ball it rolled and circled.
  In the yard were pickets standing,
  Hundreds were the sharpened pillars,
  And a head on every picket,
  Only one was left un-headed.
  Quick the victor, Lemminkainen,
  Took the head of Pohya's landlord,
  Spiked it on the empty picket.
  Then the Islander, rejoicing,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Quick returning to the chambers,
  Crave this order to the hostess:
  "Evil maiden, bring me water,
  Wherewithal to cleanse my fingers
  From the blood of Northland's master,
  Wicked host of Sariola."
  Ilpotar, the Northland hostess,
  Fired with anger, threatened vengeance,
  Conjured men with heavy broadswords,
  Heroes clad in copper-armor,
  Hundred warriors with their javelins,
  And a thousand bearing cross-bows,
  To destroy the Island-hero,
  For the death of Lemminkainen.
  Kaukomieli soon discovered
  That the time had come for leaving,
  That his presence was unwelcome
  At the feasting of Pohyola,
  At the banquet of her people.




RUNE XXVIII.



  THE MOTHER'S COUNSEL.


  Ahti, hero of the Islands,
  Wild magician, Lemminkainen,
  Also known as Kaukomieli,
  Hastened from the great carousal,
  From the banquet-halls of Louhi,
  From the ever-darksome Northland,
  From the dismal Sariola.
  Stormful strode he from the mansion,
  Hastened like the smoke of battle,
  From the court-yard of Pohyola,
  Left his crimes and misdemeanors
  In the halls of ancient Louhi.
  Then he looked in all directions,
  Seeking for his tethered courser,
  Anxious looked in field and stable,
  But he did not find his racer;
  Found a black thing in the fallow,
  Proved to be a clump of willows.
  Who will well advise the hero,
  Who will give him wise directions,
  Guide the wizard out of trouble,
  Give his hero-locks protection,
  Keep his magic head from danger
  From the warriors of Northland?
  Noise is beard within the village,
  And a din from other homesteads,
  From the battle-hosts of Louhi,
  Streaming from the doors and window,
  Of the homesteads of Pohyola.
  Thereupon young Lemminkainen,
  Handsome Islander and hero,
  Changing both his form and features,
  Clad himself in other raiment,
  Changing to another body,
  Quick became a mighty eagle,
  Soared aloft on wings of magic,
  Tried to fly to highest heaven,
  But the moonlight burned his temples,
  And the sunshine singed his feathers.
  Then entreating, Lemminkainen,
  Island-hero, turned to Ukko,
  This the prayer that Ahti uttered:
  "Ukko, God of love and mercy,
  Thou the Wisdom of the heavens,
  Wise Director of the lightning,
  Thou the Author of the thunder,
  Thou the Guide of all the cloudlets,
  Give to me thy cloak of vapor,
  Throw a silver cloud around me,
  That I may in its protection
  Hasten to my native country,
  To my mother's Island-dwelling,
  Fly to her that waits my coming,
  With a mother's grave forebodings."
  Farther, farther, Lemminkainen
  Flew and soared on eagle-pinions,
  Looked about him, backwards, forwards,
  Spied a gray-hawk soaring near him,
  In his eyes the fire of splendor,
  Like the eyes of Pohyalanders,
  Like the eyes of Pohya's spearmen,
  And the gray-hawk thus addressed him:
  "Ho! There! hero, Lemminkainen,
  Art thou thinking of our combat
  With the hero-heads of Northland?"
  Thus the Islander made answer,
  These the words of Kaukomieli:
  "O thou gray-hawk, bird of beauty,
  Fly direct to Sariola,
  Fly as fast as wings can bear thee;
  When thou hast arrived in safety,
  On the plains of darksome Northland,
  Tell the archers and the spearmen,
  They will never catch the eagle,
  In his journey from Pohyola,
  To his Island-borne and fortress."
  Then the Ahti-eagle hastened
  Straightway to his mother's cottage,
  In his face the look of trouble,
  In his heart the pangs of sorrow.
  Ahti's mother ran to meet him,
  When she spied him in the pathway,
  Walking toward her island-dwelling;
  These the words the mother uttered:
  "Of my sons thou art the bravest,
  Art the strongest of my children;
  Wherefore then comes thine annoyance,
  On returning from Pohyola?
  Wert thou worsted at the banquet,
  At the feast and great carousal?
  At thy cups, if thou wert injured,
  Thou shalt here have better treatment
  Thou shalt have the cup thy father
  Brought me from the hero-castle."
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Worthy mother, thou that nursed me,
  If I had been maimed at drinking,
  I the landlord would have worsted,
  Would have slain a thousand heroes,
  Would have taught them useful lessons."
  Lemminkainen's mother answered:
  "Wherefore then art thou indignant,
  Didst thou meet disgrace and insult,
  Did they rob thee of thy courser?
  Buy thou then a better courser
  With the riches of thy mother,
  With thy father's horded treasures."
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
  "Faithful mother of my being,
  If my steed had been insulted,
  If for him my heart was injured,
  I the landlord would have punished,
  Would have punished all the horsemen,
  All of Pohya's strongest riders."
  Lemminkainen's mother answered:
  "Tell me then thy dire misfortune,
  What has happened to my hero,
  On his journey to Pohyola?
  Have the Northland maidens scorned thee,
  Have the women ridiculed thee?
  If the maidens scorned thy presence.
  If the women gave derision,
  There are others thou canst laugh at,
  Thou canst scorn a thousand women."
  Said the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Honored mother, fond and faithful,
  If the Northland dames had scorned me
  Or the maidens laughed derision,
  I the maidens would have punished,
  Would have scorned a thousand women."
  Lemminkainen's mother answered:
  "Wherefore then are thou indignant,
  Thus annoyed, and heavy-hearted,
  On returning from Pohyola?
  Was thy feasting out of season,
  Was the banquet-beer unworthy,
  Were thy dreams of evil import
  When asleep in darksome Northland?"
  This is Lemminkainen's answer:
  "Aged women may remember
  What they dream on beds of trouble;
  I have seen some wondrous visions,
  Since I left my Island-cottage.
  My beloved, helpful mother,
  Fill my bag with good provisions,
  Flour and salt in great abundance,
  Farther must thy hero wander,
  He must leave his home behind him,
  Leave his pleasant Island-dwelling,
  Journey from this home of ages;
  Men are sharpening their broadswords,
  Sharpening their spears and lances,
  For the death of Lemminkainen."
  Then again the mother questioned,
  Hurriedly she asked the reason:
  "Why the men their swords were whetting,
  Why their spears are being sharpened."
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli:
  "Therefore do they whet their broadswords,
  Therefore sharpen they their lances:
  It is for thy son's destruction,
  At his heart are aimed their lances.
  In the court-yard of Pohyola,
  There arose a great contention,
  Fierce the battle waged against me;
  But I slew the Northland hero,
  Killed the host of Sariola;
  Quick to arms rose Louhi's people,
  All the spears and swords of Northland
  Were directed at thy hero;
  All of Pohya turned against me,
  Turned against a single foeman."
  This the answer of the mother:
  "I had told thee this beforehand,
  I had warned thee of this danger,
  And forbidden thee to journey
  To the hostile fields of Northland.
  Here my hero could have lingered,
  Passed his life in full contentment,
  Lived forever with his mother,
  With his mother for protection,
  In the court-yard with his kindred;
  Here no war would have arisen,
  No contention would have followed.
  Whither wilt thou go, my hero,
  Whither will my loved one hasten,
  To escape thy fierce pursuers,
  To escape from thy misdoings,
  From thy sins to bide in safety,
  From thy crimes and misdemeanors,
  That thy head be not endangered,
  That thy body be not mangled,
  That thy locks be not outrooted?"
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Know I not a spot befitting,
  Do not know a place of safety,
  Where to hide from my pursuers,
  That will give me sure protection
  From the crimes by me committed.
  Helpful mother of my being,
  Where to flee wilt thou advise me?"
  This the answer of the mother:
  "I do not know where I can send thee;
  Be a pine-tree on the mountain,
  Or a juniper in lowlands?
  Then misfortune may befall thee;
  Often is the mountain pine-tree
  Cut in splints for candle-lighters;
  And the juniper is often
  Peeled for fence-posts for the pastures.
  Go a birch-tree to the valleys,
  Or an elm-tree to the glenwood?
  Even then may trouble find thee,
  Misery may overtake thee;
  Often is the lowland birch-tree
  Cut to pieces in the ware-house;
  Often is the elm-wood forest
  Cleared away for other plantings.
  Be a berry on the highlands,
  Cranberry upon the heather,
  Strawberry upon the mountains,
  Blackberry along the fences?
  Even there will trouble find thee,
  There misfortune overtake thee,
  For the berry-maids would pluck thee,
  Silver-tinselled girls would get thee.
  Be a pike then in the ocean,
  Or a troutlet in the rivers?
  Then would trouble overtake thee,
  Would become thy life-companion;
  Then the fisherman would catch thee,
  Catch thee in his net of flax-thread,
  Catch thee with his cruel fish-hook.
  Be a wolf then in the forest,
  Or a black-bear in the thickets?
  Even then would trouble find thee,
  And disaster cross thy pathway;
  Sable hunters of the Northland
  Have their spears and cross-bows ready
  To destroy the wolf and black-bear."
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Know I well the worst of places,
  Know where Death will surely follow,
  Where misfortune's eye would find me;
  Since thou gavest me existence,
  Gavest nourishment in childhood,
  Whither shall I flee for safety,
  Whither hide from death and danger?
  In my view is fell destruction,
  Dire misfortune hovers o'er me;
  On the morrow come the spearmen,
  Countless warriors from Pohya,
  Ahti's head their satisfaction."
  This the answer of the mother:
  "I can name a goodly refuge,
  Name a land of small dimensions,
  Name a distant ocean-island,
  Where my son may live in safety.
  Thither archers never wander,
  There thy head cannot be severed;
  But an oath as strong as heaven,
  Thou must swear before thy mother;
  Thou wilt not for sixty summers
  Join in war or deadly combat,
  Even though thou wishest silver,
  Wishest gold and silver treasures."
  Spake the grateful Lemminkainen:
  "I will swear an oath of honor,
  That I'll not in sixty summers
  Draw my sword in the arena,
  Test the warrior in battle;
  I have wounds upon my shoulders,
  On my breast two scars of broadsword,
  Of my former battles, relies,
  Relies of my last encounters,
  On the battle-fields of Northland,
  In the wars with men and heroes."
  Lemminkainen's mother answered:
  "Go thou, take thy father's vessel,
  Go and bide thyself in safety,
  Travel far across nine oceans;
  In the tenth, sail to the centre,
  To the island, forest-covered,
  To the cliffs above the waters,
  Where thy father went before thee,
  Where he hid from his pursuers,
  In the times of summer conquests,
  In the darksome days of battle;
  Good the isle for thee to dwell in,
  Goodly place to live and linger;
  Hide one year, and then a second,
  In the third return in safety
  To thy mother's island dwelling,
  To thy father's ancient mansion,
  To my hero's place of resting."




RUNE XXIX.



  THE ISLE OF REFUGE.


  Lemminkainen, full of joyance,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Took provisions in abundance,
  Fish and butter, bread and bacon,
  Hastened to the Isle of Refuge,
  Sailed away across the oceans,
  Spake these measures on departing:
  "Fare thee well, mine Island-dwelling,
  I must sail to other borders,
  To an island more protective,
  Till the second summer passes;
  Let the serpents keep the island,
  Lynxes rest within the glen-wood,
  Let the blue-moose roam the mountains,
  Let the wild-geese cat the barley.
  Fare thee well, my helpful mother!
  When the warriors of the Northland,
  From the dismal Sariola,
  Come with swords, and spears, and cross-bows,
  Asking for my head in vengeance,
  Say that I have long departed,
  Left my mother's Island-dwelling,
  When the barley had been garnered."
  Then he launched his boat of copper,
  Threw the vessel to the waters,
  From the iron-banded rollers,
  From the cylinders of oak-wood,
  On the masts the sails he hoisted,
  Spread the magic sails of linen,
  In the stern the hero settled
  And prepared to sail his vessel,
  One hand resting on the rudder.
  Then the sailor spake as follows,
  These the words of Lemminkainen:
  "Blow, ye winds, and drive me onward,
  Blow ye steady, winds of heaven,
  Toward the island in the ocean,
  That my bark may fly in safety
  To my father's place of refuge,
  To the far and nameless island!"
  Soon the winds arose as bidden,
  Rocked the vessel o'er the billows,
  O'er the blue-back of the waters,
  O'er the vast expanse of ocean;
  Blew two months and blew unceasing,
  Blew a third month toward the island,
  Toward his father's Isle of Refuge.
  Sat some maidens on the seaside,
  On the sandy beach of ocean,
  Turned about in all directions,
  Looking out upon the billows;
  One was waiting for her brother,
  And a second for her father,
  And a third one, anxious, waited
  For the coming of her suitor;
  There they spied young Lemminkainen,
  There perceived the hero's vessel
  Sailing o'er the bounding billows;
  It was like a hanging cloudlet,
  Hanging twixt the earth and heaven.
  Thus the island-maidens wondered,
  Thus they spake to one another:
  "What this stranger on the ocean,
  What is this upon the waters?
  Art thou one of our sea-vessels?
  Wert thou builded on this island?
  Sail thou straightway to the harbor,
  To the island-point of landing
  That thy tribe may be discovered."
  Onward did the waves propel it,
  Rocked his vessel o'er the billows,
  Drove it to the magic island,
  Safely landed Lemminkainen
  On the sandy shore and harbor.
  Spake he thus when he had landed,
  These the words that Ahti uttered:
  "Is there room upon this island,
  Is there space within this harbor,
  Where my bark may lie at anchor,
  Where the sun may dry my vessel?"
  This the answer of the virgins,
  Dwellers on the Isle of Refuge:
  "There is room within this harbor,
  On this island, space abundant,
  Where thy bark may lie at anchor,
  Where the sun may dry thy vessel;
  Lying ready are the rollers,
  Cylinders adorned with copper;
  If thou hadst a hundred vessels,
  Shouldst thou come with boats a thousand,
  We would give them room in welcome."
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
  Rolled his vessel in the harbor,
  On the cylinders of copper,
  Spake these words when he had ended:
  "Is there room upon this island,
  Or a spot within these forests,
  Where a hero may be hidden
  From the coming din of battle,
  From the play of spears and arrows?
  Thus replied the Island-maidens:
  "There are places on this island,
  On these plains a spot befitting
  Where to hide thyself in safety,
  Hero-son of little valor.
  Here are many, many castles,
  Many courts upon this island;
  Though there come a thousand heroes,
  Though a thousand spearmen follow,
  Thou canst hide thyself in safety."
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
  "Is there room upon this island,
  Where the birch-tree grows abundant,
  Where this son may fell the forest,
  And may cultivate the fallow?"
  Answered thus the Island-maidens:
  "There is not a spot befitting,
  Not a place upon the island,
  Where to rest thy wearied members,
  Not the smallest patch of birch-wood,
  Thou canst bring to cultivation.
  All our fields have been divided,
  All these woods have been apportioned,
  Fields and forests have their owners."
  Lemminkainen asked this question,
  These the words of Kaukomieli:
  "Is there room upon this island,
  Worthy spot in field or forest,
  Where to Sing my songs of magic,
  Chant my gathered store of wisdom,
  Sing mine ancient songs and legends?"
  Answered thus the Island-maidens:
  "There is room upon this island,
  Worthy place in these dominions,
  Thou canst sing thy garnered wisdom,
  Thou canst chant thine ancient legends,
  Legends of the times primeval,
  In the forest, in the castle,
  On the island-plains and pastures."
  Then began the reckless minstrel
  To intone his wizard-sayings;
  Sang he alders to the waysides,
  Sang the oaks upon the mountains,
  On the oak-trees sang be branches,
  On each branch he sang an acorn,
  On the acorns, golden rollers,
  On each roller, sang a cuckoo;
  Then began the cuckoos, calling,
  Gold from every throat came streaming,
  Copper fell from every feather,
  And each wing emitted silver,
  Filled the isle with precious metals.
  Sang again young Lemminkainen,
  Conjured on, and sang, and chanted,
  Sang to precious stones the sea-sands,
  Sang the stones to pearls resplendent,
  Robed the groves in iridescence,
  Sang the island full of flowers,
  Many-colored as the rainbow.
  Sang again the magic minstrel,
  In the court a well he conjured,
  On the well a golden cover,
  On the lid a silver dipper,
  That the boys might drink the water,
  That the maids might lave their eyelids.
  On the plains he conjured lakelets,
  Sang the duck upon the waters,
  Golden-cheeked and silver-headed,
  Sang the feet from shining copper;
  And the Island-maidens wondered,
  Stood entranced at Ahti's wisdom,
  At the songs of Lemminkainen,
  At the hero's magic power.
  Spake the singer, Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli:
  "I would sing a wondrous legend,
  Sing in miracles of sweetness,
  If within some hall or chamber,
  I were seated at the table.
  If I sing not in the castle,
  In some spot by walls surrounded
  Then I sing my songs to zephyrs,
  Fling them to the fields and forests."
  Answered thus the Island-maidens:
  "On this isle are castle-chambers,
  Halls for use of magic singers,
  Courts complete for chanting legends,
  Where thy singing will be welcome,
  Where thy songs will not be scattered
  To the forests of the island,
  Nor thy wisdom lost in ether."
  Straightway Lemminkainen journeyed
  With the maidens to the castle;
  There he sang and conjured pitchers
  On the borders of the tables,
  Sang and conjured golden goblets
  Foaming with the beer of barley;
  Sang he many well-filled vessels,
  Bowls of honey-drink abundant,
  Sweetest butter, toothsome biscuit,
  Bacon, fish, and veal, and venison,
  All the dainties of the Northland,
  Wherewithal to still his hunger.
  But the proud-heart, Lemminkainen,
  Was not ready for the banquet,
  Did not yet begin his feasting,
  Waited for a knife of silver,
  For a knife of golden handle;
  Quick he sang the precious metals,
  Sang a blade from purest silver,
  To the blade a golden handle,
  Straightway then began his feasting,
  Quenched his thirst and stilled his hunger,
  Charmed the maidens on the island.
  Then the minstrel, Lemminkainen,
  Roamed throughout the island-hamlets,
  To the joy of all the virgins,
  All the maids of braided tresses;
  Wheresoe'er he turned his footsteps,
  There appeared a maid to greet him;
  When his hand was kindly offered,
  There his band was kindly taken;
  When he wandered out at evening,
  Even in the darksome places,
  There the maidens bade him welcome;
  There was not an island-village
  Where there were not seven castles,
  In each castle seven daughters,
  And the daughters stood in waiting,
  Gave the hero joyful greetings,
  Only one of all the maidens
  Whom he did not greet with pleasure.
  Thus the merry Lemminkainen
  Spent three summers in the ocean,
  Spent a merry time in refuge,
  In the hamlets on the island,
  To the pleasure of the maidens,
  To the joy of all the daughters;
  Only one was left neglected,
  She a poor and graceless spinster,
  On the isle's remotest border,
  In the smallest of the hamlets.
  'Then he thought about his journey
  O'er the ocean to his mother,
  To the cottage of his father.
  There appeared the slighted spinster,
  To the Northland son departing,
  Spake these words to Lemminkainen:
  "O, thou handsome Kaukomieli,
  Wisdom-bard, and magic singer,
  Since this maiden thou hast slighted,
  May the winds destroy thy vessel,
  Dash thy bark to countless fragments
  On the ocean-rocks and ledges!"
  Lemminkainen's thoughts were homeward,
  Did not heed the maiden's murmurs,
  Did not rise before the dawning
  Of the morning on the island,
  To the pleasure of the maiden
  Of the much-neglected hamlet.
  Finally at close of evening,
  He resolved to leave the island,
  He resolved to waken early,
  Long before the dawn of morning;
  Long before the time appointed,
  He arose that he might wander
  Through the hamlets of the island,
  Bid adieu to all the maidens,
  On the morn of his departure.
  As he wandered hither, thither,
  Walking through the village path-ways
  To the last of all the hamlets;
  Saw he none of all the castle-,
  Where three dwellings were not standing;
  Saw he none of all the dwellings
  Where three heroes were not watching;
  Saw he none of all the heroes,
  Who was not engaged in grinding
  Swords, and spears, and battle-axes,
  For the death of Lemminkainen.
  And these words the hero uttered:
  "Now alas! the Sun arises
  From his couch within the ocean,
  On the frailest of the heroes,
  On the saddest child of Northland;
  On my neck the cloak of Lempo
  Might protect me from all evil,
  Though a hundred foes assail me,
  Though a thousand archers follow."
  Then he left the maids ungreeted,
  Left his longing for the daughters
  Of the nameless Isle of Refuge,
  With his farewell-words unspoken,
  Hastened toward the island-harbor,
  Toward his magic bark at anchor;
  But he found it burned to ashes,
  Sweet revenge had fired his vessel,
  Lighted by the slighted spinster.
  Then he saw the dawn of evil,
  Saw misfortune hanging over,
  Saw destruction round about him.
  Straightway he began rebuilding
  Him a magic sailing-vessel,
  New and wondrous, full of beauty;
  But the hero needed timber,
  Boards, and planks, and beams, and braces,
  Found the smallest bit of lumber,
  Found of boards but seven fragments,
  Of a spool he found three pieces,
  Found six pieces of the distaff;
  With these fragments builds his vessel,
  Builds a ship of magic virtue,
  Builds the bark with secret knowledge,
  Through the will of the magician;
  Strikes one blow, and builds the first part,
  Strikes a second, builds the centre,
  Strikes a third with wondrous power,
  And the vessel is completed.
  Thereupon the ship he launches,
  Sings the vessel to the ocean,
  And these words the hero utters:
  "Like a bubble swim these waters,
  Like a flower ride the billows;
  Loan me of thy magic feathers,
  Three, O eagle, four, O raven,
  For protection to my vessel,
  Lest it flounder in the ocean!"
  Now the sailor, Lemminkainen,
  Seats himself upon the bottom
  Of the vessel he has builded,
  Hastens on his journey homeward,
  Head depressed and evil-humored,
  Cap awry upon his forehead,
  Mind dejected, heavy-hearted,
  That he could not dwell forever
  In the castles of the daughters
  Of the nameless Isle of Refuge.
  Spake the minstrel, Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli:
  "Leave I must this merry island,
  Leave her many joys and pleasures,
  Leave her maids with braided tresses,
  Leave her dances and her daughters,
  To the joys of other heroes;
  But I take this comfort with me:
  All the maidens on the island,
  Save the spinster who was slighted,
  Will bemoan my loss for ages,
  Will regret my quick departure;
  They will miss me at the dances,
  In the halls of mirth and joyance,
  In the homes of merry maidens,
  On my father's Isle of Refuge."
  Wept the maidens on the island,
  Long lamenting, loudly calling
  To the hero sailing homeward:
  "Whither goest, Lemminkainen,
  Why depart, thou best of heroes?
  Dost thou leave from inattention,
  Is there here a dearth of maidens,
  Have our greetings been unworthy?"
  Sang the magic Lemminkainen
  To the maids as he was sailing,
  This in answer to their calling:
  "Leaving not for want of pleasure,
  Do not go from dearth of women
  Beautiful the island-maidens,
  Countless as the sands their virtues.
  This the reason of my going,
  I am longing for my home-land,
  Longing for my mother's cabins,
  For the strawberries of Northland,
  For the raspberries of Kalew,
  For the maidens of my childhood,
  For the children of my mother."
  Then the merry Lemminkainen
  Bade farewell to all the island;
  Winds arose and drove his vessel
  On the blue-back of the ocean,
  O'er the far-extending waters,
  Toward the island of his mother.
  On the shore were grouped the daughters
  Of the magic Isle of Refuge,
  On the rocks sat the forsaken,
  Weeping stood the island-maidens,
  Golden daughters, loud-lamenting.
  Weep the maidens of the island
  While the sail-yards greet their vision,
  While the copper-beltings glisten;
  Do not weep to lose the sail-yards,
  Nor to lose the copper-beltings;
  Weep they for the loss of Ahti,
  For the fleeing Kaukomieli
  Guiding the departing vessel.
  Also weeps young Lemminkainen,
  Sorely weeps, and loud-lamenting,
  Weeps while he can see the island,
  While the island hill-tops glisten;
  Does not mourn the island-mountains,
  Weeps he only for the maidens,
  Left upon the Isle of Refuge.
  Thereupon sailed Kaukomieli
  On the blue-back of the ocean;
  Sailed one day, and then a second,
  But, alas! upon the third day,
  There arose a mighty storm-wind,
  And the sky was black with fury.
  Blew the black winds from the north-west,
  From the south-east came the whirlwind,
  Tore away the ship's forecastle,
  Tore away the vessel's rudder,
  Dashed the wooden hull to pieces.
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
  Headlong fell upon the waters;
  With his head he did the steering,
  With his hands and feet, the rowing;
  Swam whole days and nights unceasing,
  Swam with hope and strength united,
  Till at last appeared a cloudlet,
  Growing cloudlet to the westward,
  Changing to a promontory,
  Into land within the ocean.
  Swiftly to the shore swam Ahti,
  Hastened to a magic castle,
  Found therein a hostess baking,
  And her daughters kneading barley,
  And these words the hero uttered:
  "O, thou hostess, filled with kindness,
  Couldst thou know my pangs of hunger,
  Couldst thou guess my name and station,
  Thou wouldst hasten to the storehouse,
  Bring me beer and foaming liquor,
  Bring the best of thy provisions,
  Bring me fish, and veal, and bacon,
  Butter, bread, and honeyed biscuits,
  Set for me a wholesome dinner,
  Wherewithal to still my hunger,
  Quench the thirst of Lemminkainen.
  Days and nights have I been swimming,
  Buffeting the waves of ocean,
  Seemed as if the wind protected,
  And the billows gave me shelter,"
  Then the hostess, filled with kindness,
  Hastened to the mountain storehouse,
  Cut some butter, veal, and bacon,
  Bread, and fish, and honeyed biscuit,
  Brought the best of her provisions,
  Brought the mead and beer of barley,
  Set for him a toothsome dinner,
  Wherewithal to still his hunger,
  Quench the thirst of Lemminkainen.
  When the hero's feast had ended,
  Straightway was a magic vessel
  Given by the kindly hostess
  To the weary Kaukomieli,
  Bark of beauty, new and hardy,
  Wherewithal to aid the stranger
  In his journey to his home-land,
  To the cottage of his mother.
  Quickly sailed wild Lemminkainen
  On the blue-back of the ocean;
  Sailed he days and nights unceasing,
  Till at last he reached the borders
  Of his own loved home and country;
  There beheld he scenes familiar,
  Saw the islands, capes, and rivers,
  Saw his former shipping-stations,
  Saw he many ancient landmarks,
  Saw the mountains with their fir-trees,
  Saw the pine-trees on the hill-tops,
  Saw the willows in the lowlands;
  Did not see his father's cottage,
  Nor the dwellings of his mother.
  Where a mansion once had risen,
  There the alder-trees were growing,
  Shrubs were growing on the homestead,
  Junipers within the court-yard.
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "In this glen I played and wandered,
  On these stones I rocked for ages,
  On this lawn I rolled and tumbled,
  Frolicked on these woodland-borders,
  When a child of little stature.
  Where then is my mother's dwelling,
  Where the castles of my father?
  Fire, I fear, has found the hamlet,
  And the winds dispersed the ashes."
  Then he fell to bitter weeping,
  Wept one day and then a second,
  Wept the third day without ceasing;
  Did not mourn the ancient homestead,
  Nor the dwellings of his father;
  Wept he for his darling mother,
  Wept he for the dear departed,
  For the loved ones of the island.
  Then he saw the bird of heaven,
  Saw an eagle flying near him,
  And he asked the bird this question:
  "Mighty eagle, bird majestic,
  Grant to me the information,
  Where my mother may have wandered,
  Whither I may go and find her!"
  But the eagle knew but little,
  Only knew that Ahti's people
  Long ago together perished;
  And the raven also answered
  That his people had been scattered
  By the swords, and spears, and arrows,
  Of his enemies from Pohya.
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
  "Faithful mother, dear departed,
  Thou who nursed me in my childhood,
  Art thou dead and turned to ashes,
  Didst thou perish for my follies,
  O'er thy head are willows weeping,
  Junipers above thy body,
  Alders watching o'er thy slumbers?
  This my punishment for evil,
  This the recompense of folly!
  Fool was I, a son unworthy,
  That I measured swords in Northland
  With the landlord of Pohyola,
  To my tribe came fell destruction,
  And the death of my dear mother,
  Through my crimes and misdemeanors."
  Then the ministrel [sic] looked about him,
  Anxious, looked in all directions,
  And beheld some gentle foot-prints,
  Saw a pathway lightly trodden
  Where the heather had been beaten.
  Quick as thought the path he followed,
  Through the meadows, through the brambles,
  O'er the hills, and through the valleys,
  To a forest, vast and cheerless;
  Travelled far and travelled farther,
  Still a greater distance travelled,
  To a dense and hidden glenwood,
  In the middle of the island;
  Found therein a sheltered cabin,
  Found a small and darksome dwelling
  Built between the rocky ledges,
  In the midst of triple pine-trees;
  And within he spied his mother,
  Found his gray-haired mother weeping.
  Lemminkainen loud rejoices,
  Cries in tones of joyful greetings,
  These the words that Ahti utters:
  "Faithful mother, well-beloved,
  Thou that gavest me existence,
  Happy I, that thou art living,
  That thou hast not yet departed
  To the kingdom of Tuoni,
  To the islands of the blessed,
  I had thought that thou hadst perished,
  Hadst been murdered by my foemen,
  Hadst been slain with bows and arrows.
  Heavy are mine eyes from weeping,
  And my checks are white with sorrow,
  Since I thought my mother slaughtered
  For the sins I had committed!"
  Lemminkainen's mother answered:
  "Long, indeed, hast thou been absent,
  Long, my son, hast thou been living
  In thy father's Isle of Refuge,
  Roaming on the secret island,
  Living at the doors of strangers,
  Living in a nameless country,
  Refuge from the Northland foemen."
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
  "Charming is that spot for living,
  Beautiful the magic island,
  Rainbow-colored was the forest,
  Blue the glimmer of the meadows,
  Silvered were, the pine-tree branches,
  Golden were the heather-blossoms;
  All the woodlands dripped with honey,
  Eggs in every rock and crevice,
  Honey flowed from birch and sorb-tree,
  Milk in streams from fir and aspen,
  Beer-foam dripping from the willows,
  Charming there to live and linger,
  All their edibles delicious.
  This their only source of trouble:
  Great the fear for all the maidens,
  All the heroes filled with envy,
  Feared the coming of the stranger;
  Thought that all the island-maidens,
  Thought that all the wives and daughters,
  All the good, and all the evil,
  Gave thy son too much attention;
  Thought the stranger, Lemminkainen,
  Saw the Island-maids too often;
  Yet the virgins I avoided,
  Shunned the good and shunned the evil,
  Shunned the host of charming daughters,
  As the black-wolf shuns the sheep-fold,
  As the hawk neglects the chickens."




RUNE XXX.



  THE FROST-FIEND.


  Lemminkainen, reckless minstrel,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Hastens as the dawn is breaking,
  At the dawning of the morning,
  To the resting-place of vessels,
  To the harbor of the island,
  Finds the vessels sorely weeping,
  Hears the wailing of the rigging,
  And the ships intone this chorus:
  "Must we wretched lie forever
  In the harbor of this island,
  Here to dry and fall in pieces?
  Ahti wars no more in Northland,
  Wars no more for sixty summers,
  Even should he thirst for silver,
  Should he wish the gold of battle."
  Lemminkainen struck his vessels
  With his gloves adorned with copper,
  And addressed the ships as follows:
  "Mourn no more, my ships of fir-wood,
  Strong and hardy is your rigging,
  To the wars ye soon may hasten,
  Hasten to the seas of battle;
  Warriors may swarm your cabins
  Ere to-morrow's morn has risen.!'"
  Then the reckless Lemminkainen
  Hastened to his aged mother,
  Spake to her the words that follow:
  "Weep no longer, faithful mother,
  Do not sorrow for thy hero,
  Should he leave for scenes of battle,
  For the hostile fields of Pohya;
  Sweet revenge has fired my spirit,
  And my soul is well determined,
  To avenge the shameful insult
  That the warriors of Northland
  Gave to thee, defenseless woman."
  To restrain him seeks his mother,
  Warns her son again of danger:
  "Do not go, my son beloved,
  To the wars in Sariola;
  There the jaws of Death await thee,
  Fell destruction lies before thee!"
  Lemminkainen, little heeding,
  Still determined, speaks as follows:
  "Where may I secure a swordsman,
  Worthy of my race of heroes,
  To assist me in the combat?
  Often I have heard of Tiera,
  Heard of Kura of the islands,
  This one I will take to help me,
  Magic hero of the broadsword;
  He will aid me in the combat,
  Will protect me from destruction."
  Then he wandered to the islands,
  On the way to Tiera's hamlet,
  These the words that Ahti utters
  As he nears the ancient dwellings:
  Dearest friend, my noble Tiera,
  My, beloved hero-brother,
  Dost thou other times remember,
  When we fought and bled together,
  On the battle-fields of Northland?
  There was not an island-village
  Where there were not seven mansions,
  In each mansion seven heroes,
  And not one of all these foemen
  Whom we did not slay with broadswords,
  Victims of our skill and valor."
  Near the window sat the father
  Whittling out a javelin-handle;
  Near the threshold sat the mother
  Skimming cream and making butter;
  Near the portal stood the brother
  Working on a sledge of birch-wood
  Near the bridge-pass were the sisters
  Washing out their varied garments.
  Spake the father from the window,
  From the threshold spake the mother,
  From the portals spake the brother,
  And the sisters from the bridge-pass:
  "Tiera has no time for combat,
  And his broadsword cannot battle;
  Tiera is but late a bridegroom,
  Still unveiled his bride awaits him."
  Near the hearth was Tiera lying,
  Lying by the fire was Kura,
  Hastily one foot was shoeing,
  While the other lay in waiting.
  From the hook he takes his girdle,
  Buckles it around his body,
  Takes a javelin from its resting,
  Not the largest, nor the smallest,
  Buckles on his mighty scabbard,
  Dons his heavy mail of copper;
  On each javelin pranced a charger,
  Wolves were howling from his helmet,
  On the rings the bears were growling.
  Tiera poised his mighty javelin,
  Launched the spear upon its errand;
  Hurled the shaft across the pasture,
  To the border of the forest,
  O'er the clay-fields of Pohyola,
  O'er the green and fragrant meadows,
  Through the distant bills of Northland.
  Then great Tiera touched his javelin
  To the mighty spear of Ahti,
  Pledged his aid to Lemminkainen,
  As his combatant and comrade.
  Thereupon wild Kaukomieli
  Pushed his boat upon the waters;
  Like the serpent through the heather,
  Like the creeping of the adder,
  Sails the boat away to Pohya,
  O'er the seas of Sariola.
  Quick the wicked hostess, Louhi,
  Sends the black-frost of the heavens
  To the waters of Pohyola,
  O'er the far-extending sea-plains,
  Gave the black-frost these directions:
  "Much-loved Frost, my son and hero,
  Whom thy mother has instructed,
  Hasten whither I may send thee,
  Go wherever I command thee,
  Freeze the vessel of this hero,
  Lemminkainen's bark of magic,
  On the broad back of the ocean,
  On the far-extending waters;
  Freeze the wizard in his vessel,
  Freeze to ice the wicked Ahti,
  That he never more may wander,
  Never waken while thou livest,
  Or at least till I shall free him,
  Wake him from his icy slumber!"
  Frost, the son of wicked parents,
  Hero-son of evil manners,
  Hastens off to freeze the ocean,
  Goes to fasten down the flood-gates,
  Goes to still the ocean-currents.
  As he hastens on his journey,
  Takes the leaves from all the forest,
  Strips the meadows of their verdure,
  Robs the flowers of their colors.
  When his journey he had ended,
  Gained the border of the ocean,
  Gained the sea-shore curved and endless,
  On the first night of his visit,
  Freezes he the lakes and rivers,
  Freezes too the shore of ocean,
  Freezes not the ocean-billows,
  Does not check the ocean-currents.
  On the sea a finch is resting,
  Bird of song upon the waters,
  But his feet are not yet frozen,
  Neither is his head endangered.
  When the second night Frost lingered,
  He began to grow important,
  He became a fierce intruder,
  Fearless grew in his invasions,
  Freezes everything before him;
  Sends the fiercest cold of Northland,
  Turns to ice the boundless waters.
  Ever thicker, thicker, thicker,
  Grew the ice on sea and ocean,
  Ever deeper, deeper, deeper,
  Fell the snow on field and forest,
  Froze the hero's ship of beauty,
  Cold and lifeless bark of Ahti;
  Sought to freeze wild Lemminkainen,
  Freeze him lifeless as his vessel,
  Asked the minstrel for his life-blood,
  For his ears, and feet, and fingers.
  Then the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Angry grew and filled with magic,
  Hurled the black-frost to the fire-god,
  Threw him to the fiery furnace,
  Held him in his forge of iron,
  Then addressed the frost as follows:
  "Frost, thou evil son of Northland,
  Dire and only son of Winter,
  Let my members not be stiffened,
  Neither ears, nor feet, nor fingers,
  Neither let my head be frozen.
  Thou hast other things to feed on,
  Many other beads to stiffen;
  Leave in peace the flesh of heroes,
  Let this minstrel pass in safety,
  Freeze the swamps, and lakes, and rivers,
  Fens and forests, bills and valleys;
  Let the cold stones grow still colder,
  Freeze the willows in the waters,
  Let the aspens freeze and suffer,
  Let the bark peel from the birch-trees,
  Let the Pines burst on the mountains,
  Let this hero pass in safety,
  Do not let his locks be stiffened.
  "If all these prove insufficient,
  Feed on other worthy matters;
  Lot the hot stones freeze asunder,
  Let the flaming rocks be frozen,
  Freeze the fiery blocks of iron,
  Freeze to ice the iron mountains;
  Stiffen well the mighty Wuoksi,
  Let Imatra freeze to silence;
  Freeze the sacred stream and whirlpool,
  Let their boiling billows stiffen,
  Or thine origin I'll sing thee,
  Tell thy lineage of evil.
  Well I know thine evil nature,
  Know thine origin and power,
  Whence thou camest, where thou goest,
  Know thine ancestry of evil.
  Thou wert born upon the aspen,
  Wert conceived upon the willows,
  Near the borders of Pohyola,
  In the courts of dismal Northland;
  Sin-begotten was thy father,
  And thy mother was Dishonor.
  "While in infancy who fed thee
  While thy mother could not nurse thee?
  Surely thou wert fed by adders,
  Nursed by foul and slimy serpents;
  North-winds rocked thee into slumber,
  Cradled thee in roughest weather,
  In the worst of willow-marshes,
  In the springs forever flowing,
  Evil-born and evil-nurtured,
  Grew to be an evil genius,
  Evil was thy mind and spirit,
  And the infant still was nameless,
  Till the name of Frost was given
  To the progeny of evil.
  "Then the young lad lived in hedges,
  Dwelt among the weeds and willows,
  Lived in springs in days of summer,
  On the borders of the marshes,
  Tore the lindens in the winter,
  Stormed among the glens and forests,
  Raged among the sacred birch-trees,
  Rattled in the alder-branches,
  Froze the trees, the shoots, the grasses,
  Evened all the plains and prairies,
  Ate the leaves within the woodlands,
  Made the stalks drop down their blossoms,
  Peeled the bark on weeds and willows.
  "Thou hast grown to large proportions,
  Hast become too tall and mighty;
  Dost thou labor to benumb me,
  Dost thou wish mine ears and fingers,
  Of my feet wouldst thou deprive me?
  Do not strive to freeze this hero,
  In his anguish and misfortune;
  In my stockings I shall kindle
  Fire to drive thee from my presence,
  In my shoes lay flaming faggots,
  Coals of fire in every garment,
  Heated sandstones in my rigging;
  Thus will hold thee at a distance.
  Then thine evil form I'll banish
  To the farthest Northland borders;
  When thy journey is completed,
  When thy home is reached in safety,
  Freeze the caldrons in the castle,
  Freeze the coal upon the hearthstone,
  In the dough, the hands of women,
  On its mother's lap, the infant,
  Freeze the colt beside its mother.
  "If thou shouldst not heed this order,
  I shall banish thee still farther,
  To the carbon-piles of Hisi,
  To the chimney-hearth of Lempo,
  Hurl thee to his fiery furnace,
  Lay thee on the iron anvil,
  That thy body may be hammered
  With the sledges of the blacksmith,
  May be pounded into atoms,
  Twixt the anvil and the hammer.
  "If thou shouldst not heed this order,
  Shouldst not leave me to my freedom,
  Know I still another kingdom,
  Know another spot of resting;
  I shall drive thee to the summer,
  Lead thy tongue to warmer climates,
  There a prisoner to suffer,
  Never to obtain thy freedom
  Till thy spirit I deliver,
  Till I go myself and free thee."
  Wicked Frost, the son of Winter,
  Saw the magic bird of evil
  Hovering above his spirit,
  Straightway prayed for Ahti's mercy,
  These the words the Frost-fiend uttered:
  "Let us now agree together,
  Neither one to harm the other,
  Never in the course of ages,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers
  On the snow-capped hills of Northland.
  If thou hearest that I bring thee
  Cold to freeze thy feet and fingers,
  Hurl me to the fiery furnace,
  Hammer me upon the anvil
  Of the blacksmith, Ilmarinen;
  Lead my tongue to warmer climates,
  Banish me to lands of summer,
  There a prisoner to suffer,
  Nevermore to gain my freedom."
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
  Left his vessel in the ocean,
  Frozen in the ice of Northland,
  Left his warlike boat forever,
  Started on his cheerless journey
  To the borders of Pohyola,
  And the mighty Tiera followed
  In the tracks of his companion.
  On the ice they journeyed northward
  Briskly walked upon the ice-plain,
  Walked one day, and then a second,
  Till the closing of the third day,
  When the Hunger-land approached them,
  When appeared Starvation-island.
  Here the hardy Lemminkainen
  Hastened forward to the castle,
  This the hero's prayer and question;
  "Is there food within this castle,
  Fish or fowl within its larders,
  To refresh us on our journey,
  Mighty heroes, cold and weary?
  When the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Found no food within the castle,
  Neither fish, nor fowl, nor bacon,
  Thus he cursed it and departed:
  "May the fire destroy these chambers,
  May the waters flood this dwelling,
  Wash it to the seas of Mana!"
  Then they hastened onward, onward,
  Hastened on through field and forest,
  Over by-ways long untrodden,
  Over unknown paths and snow-fields;
  Here the hardy Lemminkainen,
  Reckless hero, Kaukomieli,
  Pulled the soft wool from the ledges,
  Gathered lichens from the tree-trunks,
  Wove them into magic stockings,
  Wove them into shoes and mittens,
  On the settles of the hoar-frost,
  In the stinging cold of Northland.
  Then he sought to find some pathway,
  That would guide their wayward footsteps,
  And the hero spake as follows:
  "O thou Tiera, friend beloved,
  Shall we reach our destination,
  Wandering for days together,
  Through these Northland fields and forests?
  Kura thus replies to Ahti:
  "We, alas! have come for vengeance,
  Come for blood and retribution,
  To the battle-fields of Northland,
  To the dismal Sariola,
  Here to leave our souls and bodies,
  Here to starve, and freeze, and perish,
  In the dreariest of places,
  In this sun-forsaken country!
  Never shall we gain the knowledge,
  Never learn it, never tell it,
  Which the pathway that can guide us
  To the forest-beds to suffer,
  To the Pohya-plains to perish,
  In the home-land of the ravens,
  Fitting food for crows and eagles.
  Often do the Northland vultures
  Hither come to feed their fledgelings;
  Hither bring the birds of heaven
  Bits of flesh and blood of heroes;
  Often do the beaks of ravens
  Tear the flesh of kindred corpses,
  Often do the eagle's talons
  Carry bones and trembling vitals,
  Such as ours, to feed their nestlings,
  In their rocky homes and ledges.
  "Oh! my mother can but wonder,
  Never can divine the answer,
  Where her reckless son is roaming,
  Where her hero's blood is flowing,
  Whether in the swamps and lowlands
  Whether in the heat of battle,
  Or upon the waves of the ocean,
  Or upon the hop-feld mountains,
  Or along some forest by-way.
  Nothing can her mind discover
  Of the frailest of her heroes,
  Only think that he has perished.
  Thus the hoary-headed mother
  Weeps and murmurs in her chambers:
  'Where is now my son beloved,
  In the kingdom of Manala?
  Sow thy crops, thou dread Tuoni,
  Harrow well the fields of Kalma!
  Now the bow receives its respite
  From the fingers of my Tiera;
  Bow and arrow now are useless,
  Now the merry birds can fatten
  In the fields, and fens, and forests;
  Bears may live in dens of freedom,
  On the fields may sport the elk-herds.'"
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Thus it is, mine aged mother,
  Thou that gavest me existence!
  Thou hast reared thy broods of chickens,
  Hatched and reared thy flights of white-swans
  All of them the winds have scattered,
  Or the evil Lempo frightened;
  One flew hither, and one thither,
  And a third one, lost forever!
  Think thou of our former pleasures,
  Of our better days together,
  When I wandered like the flowers,
  Like the berry in the meadows.
  Many saw my form majestic,
  Many thought me well-proportioned.
  Now is not as then with Ahti,
  Into evil days have fallen,
  Since I see but storms and darkness!
  Then my eyes beheld but sunshine,
  Then we did not weep and murmur,
  Did not fill our hearts with sorrow,
  When the maids in joy were singing,
  When the virgins twined their tresses;
  Then the women joined in joyance,
  Whether brides were happy-wedded,
  Whether bridegrooms choose discreetly,
  Whether they were wise or unwise.
  "But we must not grow disheartened,
  Let the Island-maidens cheer us;
  Here we are not yet enchanted,
  Not bewitched by magic singing,
  On the paths not left to perish,
  Sink and perish on our journey.
  Full of youth we should not suffer,
  Strong, we should not die unworthy,
  Whom the wizards have enchanted,
  Have bewitched with songs of magic;
  Sorcerers may charm and conquer,
  Bury them within their dungeons,
  Hide them spell-bound in their cabins.
  Let the wizards charm each other,
  And bewitch their magic offspring,
  Bring their tribes to fell destruction.
  Never did my gray-haired father
  Bow submission to a wizard,
  Offer worship to magicians.
  These the words my father uttered,
  These the thoughts his son advances:
  'Guard us, thou O great Creator,
  Shield us, thou O God of mercy,
  With thine arms of grace protect us,
  Help us with thy strength and wisdom,
  Guide the minds of all thy heroes,
  Keep aright the thoughts of women,
  Keep the old from speaking evil,
  Keep the young from sin and folly,
  Be to us a help forever,
  Be our Guardian and our Father,
  That our children may not wander
  From the ways of their Creator,
  From the path that God has given!'"
  Then the hero Lemminkainen,
  Made from cares the fleetest racers,
  Sable racers from his sorrows,
  Reins he made from days of evil,
  From his sacred pains made saddles.
  To the saddle, quickly springing,
  Galloped he away from trouble,
  To his dear and aged mother;
  And his comrade, faithful Tiera,
  Galloped to his Island-dwelling.
  Now departs wild Lemminkainen,
  Brave and reckless Kaukomieli,
  From these ancient songs and legends;
  Only guides his faithful Kura
  To his waiting bride and kindred,
  While these lays and incantations
  Shall be turned to other heroes.




RUNE XXXI.



  KULLERWOINEN SON OF EVIL.


  In the ancient times a mother
  Hatched and raised some swans and chickens,
  Placed the chickens in the brushwood,
  Placed her swans upon the river;
  Came an eagle, hawk, and falcon,
  Scattered all her swans and chickens,
  One was carried to Karyala,
  And a second into Ehstland,
  Left a third at home in Pohya.
  And the one to Ehstland taken
  Soon became a thriving merchant;
  He that journeyed to Karyala
  Flourished and was called Kalervo;
  He that hid away in Pohya
  Took the name of Untamoinen,
  Flourished to his father's sorrow,
  To the heart-pain of his mother.
  Untamoinen sets his fish-nets
  In the waters of Kalervo;
  Kullerwoinen sees the fish-nets,
  Takes the fish home in his basket.
  Then Untamo, evil-minded,
  Angry grew and sighed for vengeance,
  Clutched his fingers for the combat,
  Bared his mighty arms for battle,
  For the stealing of his salmon,
  For the robbing of his fish-nets.
  Long they battled, fierce the struggle,
  Neither one could prove the victor;
  Should one beat the other fiercely,
  He himself was fiercely beaten.
  Then arose a second trouble;
  On the second and the third days,
  Kalerwoinen sowed some barley
  Near the barns of Untamoinen;
  Untamoinen's sheep in hunger
  Ate the crop of Kullerwoinen;
  Kullerwoinen's dog in malice
  Tore Untamo's sheep in pieces;
  Then Untamo sorely threatened
  To annihilate the people
  Of his brother, Kalerwoinen,
  To exterminate his tribe-folk,
  To destroy the young and aged,
  To out-root his race and kingdom;
  Conjures men with broadswords girded,
  For the war he fashions heroes,
  Fashions youth with spears adjusted,
  Bearing axes on their shoulders,
  Conjures thus a mighty army,
  Hastens to begin a battle,
  Bring a war upon his brother.
  Kalerwoinen's wife in beauty
  Sat beside her chamber-window,
  Looking out along the highway,
  Spake these words in wonder guessing:
  "Do I see some smoke arising,
  Or perchance a heavy storm-cloud,
  Near the border of the forest,
  Near the ending of the prairie?"
  It was not some smoke arising,
  Nor indeed a heavy storm-cloud,
  It was Untamoinen's soldiers
  Marching to the place of battle.
  Warriors of Untamoinen
  Came equipped with spears and arrows,
  Killed the people of Kalervo,
  Slew his tribe and all his kindred,
  Burned to ashes many dwellings,
  Levelled many courts and cabins,
  Only, left Kalervo's daughter,
  With her unborn child, survivors
  Of the slaughter of Untamo;
  And she led the hostile army
  To her father's halls and mansion,
  Swept the rooms and made them cheery,
  Gave the heroes home-attentions.
  Time had gone but little distance,
  Ere a boy was born in magic
  Of the virgin, Untamala,
  Of a mother, trouble-laden,
  Him the mother named Kullervo,
  "Pearl of Combat," said Untamo.
  Then they laid the child of wonder,
  Fatherless, the magic infant,
  In the cradle of attention,
  To be rocked, and fed, and guarded;
  But he rocked himself at pleasure,
  Rocked until his locks stood endwise;
  Rocked one day, and then a second,
  Rocked the third from morn till noontide;
  But before the third day ended,
  Kicks the boy with might of magic,
  Forwards, backwards, upwards, downwards,
  Kicks in miracles of power,
  Bursts with might his swaddling garments
  Creeping from beneath his blankets,
  Knocks his cradle into fragments,
  Tears to tatters all his raiment,
  Seemed that he would grow a hero,
  And his mother, Untamala,
  Thought that be, when full of stature,
  When he found his strength and reason,
  Would become a great magician,
  First among a thousand heroes.
  When three months the boy had thriven,
  He began to speak as follows:
  "When my form is full of stature,
  When these arms grow strong and hardy,
  Then will I avenge the murder
  Of Kalervo and his people!"
  Untamoinen bears the saying,
  Speaks these words to those about him;
  "To my tribe he brings destruction,
  In him grows a new Kalervo!"
  Then the heroes well considered,
  And the women gave their counsel,
  How to kill the magic infant,
  That their tribe may live in safety.
  It appeared the boy would prosper;
  Finally, they all consenting,
  He was placed within a basket,
  And with willows firmly fastened,
  Taken to the reeds and rushes,
  Lowered to the deepest waters,
  In his basket there to perish.
  When three nights had circled over,
  Messengers of Untamoinen
  Went to see if he had perished
  In his basket in the waters;
  But the prodigy, was living,
  Had not perished in the rushes;
  He had left his willow-basket,
  Sat in triumph on a billow,
  In his hand a rod of copper,
  On the rod a golden fish-line,
  Fishing for the silver whiting,
  Measuring the deeps beneath him;
  In the sea was little water,
  Scarcely would it fill three measures.
  Untamoinen then reflected,
  This the language of the wizard:
  "Whither shall we take this wonder,
  Lay this prodigy of evil,
  That destruction may o'ertake him,
  Where the boy will sink and perish?"
  Then his messengers he ordered
  To collect dried poles of brushwood,
  Birch-trees with their hundred branches,
  Pine-trees full of pitch and resin,
  Ordered that a pyre be builded,
  That the boy might be cremated,
  That Kullervo thus might perish.
  High they piled the and branches,
  Dried limbs from the sacred birch-tree,
  Branches from a hundred fir-trees,
  Knots and branches full of resign;
  Filled with bark a thousand sledges,
  Seasoned oak, a hundred measures;
  Piled the brushwood to the tree-tops,
  Set the boy upon the summit,
  Set on fire the pile of brushwood,
  Burned one day, and then a second,
  Burned the third from morn till evening.
  When Untamo sent his heralds
  To inspect the pyre and wizard,
  There to learn if young Kullervo
  Had been burned to dust and ashes,
  There they saw the young boy sitting
  On a pyramid of embers,
  In his band a rod of copper,
  Raking coals of fire about him,
  To increase their heat and power;
  Not a hair was burned nor injured,
  Not a ringlet singed nor shrivelled.
  Then Untamo, evil-humored,
  Thus addressed his trusted heralds:
  "Whither shall the boy be taken,
  To what place this thing of evil,
  That destruction may o'ertake him.
  That the boy may sink and perish?"
  Then they hung him to an oak-tree,
  Crucified him in the branches,
  That the wizard there might perish.
  When three days and nights had ended,
  Untamoinen spake as follows:
  "It is time to send my heralds
  To inspect the mighty oak-tree,
  There to learn if young Kullervo
  Lives or dies among the branches."
  Thereupon he sent his servants,
  And the heralds brought this message:
  "Young Kullervo has not perished,
  Has not died among the branches
  Of the oak-tree where we hung him.
  In the oak he maketh pictures
  With a wand between his fingers;
  Pictures hang from all the branches,
  Carved and painted by Kullervo;
  And the heroes, thick as acorns,
  With their swords and spears adjusted,
  Fill the branches of the oak-tree,
  Every leaf becomes a soldier."
  Who can help the grave Untamo
  Kill the boy that threatens evil
  To Untamo's tribe and country,
  Since he will not die by water,
  Nor by fire, nor crucifixion?
  Finally it was decided
  That his body was immortal,
  Could not suffer death nor torture.
  In despair grave Untamoinen
  Thus addressed the boy, Kullervo:
  "Wilt thou live a life becoming,
  Always do my people honor,
  Should I keep thee in my dwelling?
  Shouldst thou render servant's duty,
  Then thou wilt receive thy wages,
  Reaping whatsoe'er thou sowest;
  Thou canst wear the golden girdle,
  Or endure the tongue of censure."
  When the boy had grown a little,
  Had increased in strength and stature,
  He was given occupation,
  He was made to tend an infant,
  Made to rock the infant's cradle.
  These the words of Untamoinen:
  "Often look upon the young child,
  Feed him well and guard from danger,
  Wash his linen in the river,
  Give the infant good attention."
  Young Kullervo, wicked wizard,
  Nurses one day then a second;
  On the morning of the third day,
  Gives the infant cruel treatment,
  Blinds its eyes and breaks its fingers;
  And when evening shadows gather,
  Kills the young child while it slumbers,
  Throws its body to the waters,
  Breaks and burns the infant's cradle.
  Untamoinen thus reflected:
  "Never will this fell Kullervo
  Be a worthy nurse for children,
  Cannot rock a babe in safety;
  Do not know how I can use him,
  What employment I can give him!"
  Then he told the young magician
  He must fell the standing forest,
  And Kullervo gave this answer:
  "Only will I be a hero,
  When I wield the magic hatchet;
  I am young, and fair, and mighty,
  Far more beautiful than others,
  Have the skill of six magicians."
  Thereupon he sought the blacksmith,
  This the order of Kullervo:
  "Listen, O thou metal-artist,
  Forge for me an axe of copper,
  Forge the mighty axe of heroes,
  Wherewith I may fell the forest,
  Fell the birch, and oak, and aspen."
  This behest the blacksmith honors,
  Forges him an axe of copper,
  Wonderful the blade he forges.
  Kullerwoinen grinds his hatchet,
  Grinds his blade from morn till evening,
  And the next day makes the handle;
  Then he hastens to the forest,
  To the upward-sloping mountain,
  To the tallest of the birches,
  To the mightiest of oak-trees;
  There he swings his axe of copper,
  Swings his blade with might of magic,
  Cuts with sharpened edge the aspen,
  With one blow he fells the oak-tree,
  With a second blow, the linden;
  Many trees have quickly fallen,
  By the hatchet of Kullervo.
  Then the wizard spake as follows:
  "This the proper work of Lempo,
  Let dire Hisi fell the forest!"
  In the birch he sank his hatchet,
  Made an uproar in the woodlands,
  Called aloud in tones, of thunder,
  Whistled to the distant mountains,
  Till they echoed to his calling,
  When Kullervo spake as follows:
  "May the forest, in the circle
  Where my voice rings, fall and perish,
  In the earth be lost forever!
  May no tree remain unlevelled,
  May no saplings grow in spring-time,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers,
  Where Kullervo's voice has echoed,
  Where the forest hears my calling;
  Where the ground with seed is planted,
  And the grain shall sprout and flourish,
  May it never come to ripeness,
  Mar the ears of corn be blasted!"
  When the strong man, Untamoinen,
  Went to look at early evening,
  How Kullervo was progressing,
  In his labors in the forest;
  Little was the work accomplished,
  Was not worthy of a here;
  Untamoinen thus reflected:
  "Young Kullervo is not fitted
  For the work of clearing forests,
  Wastes the best of all the timber,
  To my lands he brings destruction;
  I shall set him making fences."
  Then the youth began the building
  Of a fence for Untamoinen;
  Took the trunks of stately fir-trees,
  Trimmed them with his blade for fence-posts,
  Cut the tallest in the woodlands,
  For the railing of his fences;
  Made the smaller poles and cross-bars
  From the longest of the lindens;
  Made the fence without a pass-way,
  Made no wicket in his fences,
  And Kullervo spake these measures.
  "He that does not rise as eagles,
  Does not sail on wings through ether,
  Cannot cross Kullervo's pickets,
  Nor the fences he has builded."
  Untamoinen left his mansion
  To inspect the young boy's labors,
  View the fences of Kullervo;
  Saw the fence without a pass-way,
  Not a wicket in his fences;
  From the earth the fence extended
  To the highest clouds of heaven.
  These the words of Untamoinen:
  "For this work he is not fitted,
  Useless is the fence thus builded;
  Is so high that none can cross it,
  And there is no passage through it:
  He shall thresh the rye and barley."
  Young Kullervo, quick preparing
  Made an oaken flail for threshing,
  Threshed the rye to finest powder,
  Threshed the barley into atoms,
  And the straw to worthless fragments.
  Untamoinen went at evening,
  Went to see Kullervo's threshing,
  View the work of Kullerwoinen;
  Found the rye was ground to powder,
  Grains of barley crushed to atoms,
  And the straw to worthless rubbish.
  Untamoinen then grew angry,
  Spake these words in bitter accents:
  "Kullerwoinen as a workman
  Is a miserable failure;
  Whatsoever work he touches
  Is but ruined by his witchcraft;
  I shall carry him to Ehstland,
  In Karyala I shall sell him
  To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  There to swing the heavy hammer."
  Untamoinen sells Kullervo,
  Trades him off in far Karyala,
  To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  To the master of the metals,
  This the sum received in payment:
  Seven worn and worthless sickles,
  Three old caldrons worse than useless,
  Three old scythes, and hoes, and axes,
  Recompense, indeed, sufficient
  For a boy that will not labor
  For the good of his employer.




RUNE XXXII.



  KULLERVO AS A SHEPHERD.


  Kullerwoinen, wizard-servant
  Of the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Purchased slave from Untamoinen,
  Magic son with sky-blue stockings,
  With a head of golden ringlets,
  In his shoes of marten-leather,
  Waiting little, asked the blacksmith,
  Asked the host for work at morning,
  In the evening asked the hostess,
  These the words of Kullerwoinen:
  "Give me work at early morning,
  In the evening, occupation,
  Labor worthy of thy servant."
  Then the wife of Ilmarinen,
  Once the Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Thinking long, and long debating,
  How to give the youth employment,
  How the purchased slave could labor;
  Finally a shepherd made him,
  Made him keeper of her pastures;
  But the over-scornful hostess,
  Baked a biscuit for the herdsman,
  Baked a loaf of wondrous thickness,
  Baked the lower-half of oat-meal,
  And the upper-half of barley,
  Baked a flint-stone in the centre,
  Poured around it liquid butter,
  Then she gave it to the shepherd,
  Food to still the herdsman's hunger;
  Thus she gave the youth instructions:
  "Do not eat the bread in hunger,
  Till the herd is in the woodlands!"
  Then the wife of Ilmarinen
  Sent her cattle to the pasture,
  Thus addressing Kullerwoinen:
  "Drive the cows to yonder bowers,
  To the birch-trees and the aspens,
  That they there may feed and fatten,
  Fill themselves with milk and butter,
  In the open forest-pastures,
  On the distant hills and mountains,
  In the glens among the birch-trees,
  In the lowlands with the aspens,
  In the golden pine-tree forests,
  In the thickets silver-laden.
  "Guard them, thou O kind Creator,
  Shield them, omnipresent Ukko,
  Shelter them from every danger,
  And protect them from all evil,
  That they may not want, nor wander
  From the paths of peace and plenty.
  As at home Thou didst protect them
  In the shelters and the hurdles,
  Guard them now beneath the heavens,
  Shelter them in woodland pastures,
  That the herds may live and prosper
  To the joy of Northland's hostess,
  And against the will of Lempo.
  "If my herdsman prove unworthy,
  If the shepherd-maids seem evil,
  Let the pastures be their shepherds,
  Let the alders guard the cattle,
  Make the birch-tree their protector,
  Let the willow drive them homeward,
  Ere the hostess go to seek them,
  Ere the milkmaids wait and worry.
  Should the birch-tree not protect them,
  Nor the aspen lend assistance,
  Nor the linden be their keeper,
  Nor the willow drive them homeward,
  Wilt thou give them better herdsmen,
  Let Creation's beauteous daughters
  Be their kindly shepherdesses.
  Thou hast many lovely maidens,
  Many hundreds that obey thee,
  In the Ether's spacious circles,
  Beauteous daughters of creation.
  "Summer-daughter, magic maiden,
  Southern mother of the woodlands,
  Pine-tree daughter, Kateyatar,
  Pihlayatar, of the aspen,
  Alder-maiden, Tapio's daughter,
  Daughter of the glen, Millikki,
  And the mountain-maid, Tellervo,
  Of my herds be ye protectors,
  Keep them from the evil-minded,
  Keep them safe in days of summer,
  In the times of fragrant flowers,
  While the tender leaves are whispering,
  While the Earth is verdure-laden.
  "Summer-daughter, charming maiden,
  Southern mother of the woodlands,
  Spread abroad thy robes of safety,
  Spread thine apron o'er the forest,
  Let it cover all my cattle,
  And protect the unprotected,
  That no evil winds may harm them,
  May not suffer from the storm-clouds.
  Guard my flocks from every danger,
  Keep them from the hands of wild-beasts,
  From the swamps with sinking pathways,
  From the springs that bubble trouble,
  From the swiftly running waters,
  From the bottom of the whirlpool,
  That they may not find misfortune,
  May not wander to destruction,
  In the marshes sink and perish,
  Though against God's best intentions,
  Though against the will of Ukko.
  "From a distance bring a bugle,
  Bring a shepherd's horn from heaven,
  Bring the honey-flute of Ukko,
  Play the music of creation,
  Blow the pipes of the magician,
  Play the flowers on the highlands,
  Charm the hills, and dales, and mount
  Charm the borders of the forest,
  Fill the forest-trees with honey,
  Fill with spice the fountain-borders.
  "For my herds give food and shelter,
  Feed them all on honeyed pastures,
  Give them drink at honeyed fountains
  Feed them on thy golden grasses,
  On the leaves of silver saplings,
  From the springs of life and beauty,
  From the crystal-waters flowing,
  From the waterfalls of Rutya,
  From the uplands green and golden,
  From the glens enriched in silver.
  Dig thou also golden fountains
  On the four sides of the willow,
  That the cows may drink in sweetness,
  And their udders swell with honey,
  That their milk may flow in streamlets;
  Let the milk be caught in vessels,
  Let the cow's gift be not wasted,
  Be not given to Manala.
  "Many are the sons of evil,
  That to Mana take their milkings,
  Give their milk to evil-doers,
  Waste it in Tuoni's empire;
  Few there are, and they the worthy,
  That can get the milk from Mana;
  Never did my ancient mother
  Ask for counsel in the village,
  Never in the courts for wisdom;
  She obtained her milk from Mana,
  Took the sour-milk from the dealers,
  Sweet-milk from the greater distance,
  From the kingdom of Manala,
  From Tuoni's fields and pastures;
  Brought it in the dusk of evening,
  Through the by-ways in the darkness,
  That the wicked should not know it,
  That it should not find destruction.
  "This the language of my mother,
  And these words I also echo:
  Whither does the cow's gift wander,
  Whither has the milk departed?
  Has it gone to feed the strangers,
  Banished to the distant village,
  Gone to feed the hamlet-lover,
  Or perchance to feed the forest,
  Disappeared within the woodlands,
  Scattered o'er the hills and mountains,
  Mingled with the lakes and rivers?
  It shall never go to Mana,
  Never go to feed the stranger,
  Never to the village-lover;
  Neither shall it feed the forest,
  Nor be lost upon the mountains,
  Neither sprinkled in the woodlands,
  Nor be mingled with the waters;
  It is needed for our tables,
  Worthy food for all our children.'
  Summer-daughter, maid of beauty,
  Southern daughter of Creation,
  Give Suotikki tender fodder,
  To Watikki, give pure water,
  To Hermikki milk abundant,
  Fresh provisions to Tuorikki,
  From Mairikki let the milk flow,
  Fresh milk from my cows in plenty,
  Coming from the tips of grasses,
  From the tender herbs and leaflets,
  From the meadows rich in honey,
  From the mother of the forest,
  From the meadows sweetly dripping,
  From the berry-laden branches,
  From the heath of flower-maidens,
  From the verdure, maiden bowers,
  From the clouds of milk-providers,
  From the virgin of the heavens,
  That the milk may flow abundant
  From the cows that I have given
  To the keeping of Kullervo.
  "Rise thou virgin of the valley,
  From the springs arise in beauty,
  Rise thou maiden of the fountain,
  Beautiful, arise in ether,
  Take the waters from the cloudlets,
  And my roaming herds besprinkle,
  That my cows may drink and flourish,
  May be ready for the coming
  Of the shepherdess of evening.
  "O Millikki, forest-hostess,
  Mother of the herds at pasture,
  Send the tallest of thy servants,
  Send the best of thine assistants,
  That my herds may well be guarded,
  Through the pleasant days of summer,
  Given us by our Creator.
  "Beauteous virgin of the woodlands,
  Tapio's most charming daughter,
  Fair Tellervo, forest-maiden,
  Softly clad in silken raiment,
  Beautiful in golden ringlets,
  Do thou give my herds protection,
  In the Metsola dominions,
  On the hills of Tapiola;
  Shield them with thy hands of beauty,
  Stroke them gently with thy fingers,
  Give to them a golden lustre,
  Make them shine like fins of salmon,
  Grow them robes as soft as ermine.
  "When the evening star brings darkness,
  When appears the hour of twilight,
  Send my lowing cattle homeward,
  Milk within their vessels coursing,
  Water on their backs in lakelets.
  When the Sun has set in ocean,
  When the evening-bird is singing,
  Thus address my herds of cattle:
  "Ye that carry horns, now hasten
  To the sheds of Ilmarinen;
  Ye enriched in milk go homeward,
  To the hostess now in waiting,
  Home, the better place for sleeping,
  Forest-beds are full of danger;
  When the evening comes in darkness,
  Straightway journey to the milkmaids
  Building fires to light the pathway
  On the turf enriched in honey,
  In the pastures berry-laden!
  "Thou, O Tapio's son, Nyrikki,
  Forest-son, enrobed in purple,
  Cut the fir-trees on the mountains,
  Cut the pines with cones of beauty,
  Lay them o'er the streams for bridges,
  Cover well the sloughs of quicksand,
  In the swamps and in the lowlands,
  That my herd may pass in safety,
  On their long and dismal journey,
  To the clouds of smoke may hasten,
  Where the milkmaids wait their coming.
  If the cows heed not this order,
  Do not hasten home at evening,
  Then, O service-berry maiden,
  Cut a birch-rod from the glenwood,
  From the juniper, a whip-stick,
  Near to Tapio's spacious mansion,
  Standing on the ash-tree mountain,
  Drive my wayward, lowing cattle,
  Into Metsola's wide milk-yards,
  When the evening-star is rising.
  "Thou, O Otso, forest-apple,
  Woodland bear, with honeyed fingers,
  Let us make a lasting treaty,
  Make a vow for future ages,
  That thou wilt not kill my cattle,
  Wilt not eat my milk-providers;
  That I will not send my hunters
  To destroy thee and thy kindred,
  Never in the days of summer,
  The Creator's warmest season.
  "Dost thou hear the tones of cow-bells,
  Hear the calling of the bugles,
  Ride thyself within the meadow,
  Sink upon the turf in slumber,
  Bury both thine ears in clover,
  Crouch within some alder-thicket
  Climb between the mossy ledges,
  Visit thou some rocky cavern,
  Flee away to other mountains,
  Till thou canst not hear the cow-bells,
  Nor the calling of the herdsmen.
  "Listen, Otso of the woodlands,
  Sacred bear with honeyed fingers,
  To approach the herd of cattle
  Thou thyself art not forbidden,
  But thy tongue, and teeth, and fingers,
  Must not touch my herd in summer,
  Must not harm my harmless creatures.
  Go around the scented meadows,
  Amble through the milky pastures,
  From the tones of bells and shepherds.
  should the herd be on the mountain,
  Go thou quickly to the marshes;
  Should my cattle browse the lowlands,
  Sleep thou then within the thicket;
  Should they feed upon the uplands,
  Thou must hasten to the valley;
  Should the herd graze at the bottom,
  Thou must feed upon the summit.
  "Wander like the golden cuckoo,
  Like the dove of silver brightness,
  Like a little fish in ocean;
  Ride thy claws within thy hair-foot,
  Shut thy wicked teeth in darkness,
  That my herd may not be frightened,
  May not think themselves in danger.
  Leave my cows in peace and plenty,
  Let them journey home in order,
  Through the vales and mountain by-ways,
  Over plains and through the forest,
  Harming not my harmless creatures.
  "Call to mind our former pledges,
  At the river of Tuoni,
  Near the waterfall and whirlpool,
  In the ears of our Creator.
  Thrice to Otso was it granted,
  In the circuit of the summer,
  To approach the land of cow-bells,
  Where the herdsmen's voices echo;
  But to thee it was not granted,
  Otso never had permission
  To attempt a wicked action,
  To begin a work of evil.
  Should the blinding thing of malice
  Come upon thee in thy roamings,
  Should thy bloody teeth feel hunger,
  Throw thy malice to the mountains,
  And thy hunger to the pine-trees,
  Sink thy teeth within the aspens,
  In the dead limbs of the birches,
  Prune the dry stalks from the willows.
  Should thy hunger still impel thee,
  Go thou to the berry-mountain,
  Eat the fungus of the forest,
  Feed thy hunger on the ant-hills,
  Eat the red roots of the bear-tree,
  Metsola's rich cakes of honey,
  Not the grass my herd would feed on.
  Or if Metsola's rich honey
  Should ferment before the eating,
  On the hills of golden color,
  On the mountains filled with silver,
  There is other food for hunger,
  Other drink for thirsting Otso,
  Everlasting will the food be,
  And the drink be never wanting.
  "Let us now agree in honor,
  And conclude a lasting treaty
  That our lives may end in pleasure,
  May be, merry in the summer,
  Both enjoy the woods in common,
  Though our food must be distinctive
  Shouldst thou still desire to fight me,
  Let our contests be in winter,
  Let our wars be, on the snow-fields.
  Swamps will thaw in days of summer,
  Warm, the water in the rivers.
  Therefore shouldst thou break this treaty,
  Shouldst thou come where golden cattle
  Roam these woodland hills and valleys,
  We will slay thee with our cross-bows;
  Should our arrow-men be absent,
  We have here some archer-women,
  And among them is the hostess,
  That can use the fatal weapon,
  That can bring thee to destruction,
  Thus will end the days of trouble
  That thou bringest to our people,
  And against the will of Ukko.
  "Ukko, ruler in the heavens,
  Lend an ear to my entreaty,
  Metamorphose all my cattle,
  Through the mighty force of magic,
  Into stumps and stones convert them,
  If the enemy should wander,
  Near my herd in days of summer.
  "If I had been born an Otso,
  I would never stride and amble
  At the feet of aged women;
  Elsewhere there are hills and valleys,
  Farther on are honey-pastures,
  Where the lazy bear may wander,
  Where the indolent may linger;
  Sneak away to yonder mountain,
  That thy tender flesh may lessen,
  In the blue-glen's deep recesses,
  In the bear-dens of the forest,
  Thou canst move through fields of acorns,
  Through the sand and ocean-pebbles,
  There for thee is tracked a pathway,
  Through the woodlands on the sea-coast,
  To the Northland's farthest limits,
  To the dismal plains of Lapland,
  There 'tis well for thee to lumber,
  There to live will be a pleasure.
  Shoeless there to walk in summer,
  Stockingless in days of autumn,
  On the blue-back of the mountain,
  Through the swamps and fertile lowlands.
  "If thou canst not journey thither,
  Canst not find the Lapland-highway,
  Hasten on a little distance,
  In the bear-path leading northward.
  To the grove of Tuonela,
  To the honey-plains of Kalma,
  Swamps there are in which to wander,
  Heaths in which to roam at pleasure,
  There are Kiryos, there are Karyos,
  And of beasts a countless number,
  With their fetters strong as iron,
  Fattening within the forest.
  Be ye gracious, groves and mountains,
  Full of grace, ye darksome thickets,
  Peace and, plenty to my cattle,
  Through the pleasant days of summer,
  The Creator's warmest season.
  "Knippana, O King of forests,
  Thou the gray-beard of the woodlands,
  Watch thy dogs in fen and fallow,
  Lay a sponge within one nostril,
  And an acorn in the other,
  That they may not scent my cattle;
  Tie their eyes with silken fillets,
  That they may not see my herdlings,
  May not see my cattle grazing.
  "Should all this seem inefficient,
  Drive away thy barking children,
  Let them run to other forests,
  Let them hunt in other marshes,
  From these verdant strips of meadow,
  From these far outstretching borders,
  Hide thy dogs within thy caverns,
  Firmly tie thy yelping children,
  Tie them with thy golden fetters,
  With thy chains adorned with silver,
  That they may not do me damage,'
  May not do a deed of mischief.
  Should all this prove inefficient,
  Thou, O Ukko, King of heaven.
  Wise director, full of mercy,
  Hear the golden words I utter,
  Hear a voice that breathes affection,
  From the alder make a muzzle,
  For each dog, within the kennel;
  Should the alder prove too feeble,
  Cast a band of purest copper;
  Should the copper prove a failure,
  Forge a band of ductile iron;
  Should the iron snap asunder,
  In each nose a small-ring fasten,
  Made of molten gold and silver,
  Chain thy dogs in forest-caverns,
  That my herd may not be injured.
  Then the wife of Ilmarinen,
  Life-companion of the blacksmith,
  Opened all her yards and stables,
  Led her herd across the meadow,
  Placed them in the herdman's keeping,
  In the care of Kullerwoinen.




RUNE XXXIII.



  KULLERVO AND THE CHEAT-CAKE.


  Thereupon the lad, Kullervo,
  Laid his luncheon in his basket,
  Drove the herd to mountain-pastures,
  O'er the hills and through the marshes,
  To their grazings in the woodlands,
  Speaking as he careless wandered:
  "Of the youth am I the poorest,
  Hapless lad and full of trouble,
  Evil luck to me befallen!
  I alas! must idly wander
  O'er the hills and through the valleys,
  As a watch-dog for the cattle!"
  Then she sat upon the greensward,
  In a sunny spot selected,
  Singing, chanting words as follow:
  "Shine, O shine, thou Sun of heaven,
  Cast thy rays, thou fire of Ukko,
  On the herdsman of the blacksmith,
  On the head of Kullerwoinen,
  On this poor and luckless shepherd,
  Not in Ilmarinen's smithy,
  Nor the dwellings of his people;
  Good the table of the hostess,
  Cuts the best of wheaten biscuit,
  Honey-cakes she cuts in slices,
  Spreading each with golden butter;
  Only dry bread has the herdsman,
  Eats with pain the oaten bread-crusts,'
  Filled with chaff his and biscuit,
  Feeds upon the worst of straw-bread,
  Pine-tree bark, the broad he feeds on,
  Sipping water from the birch-bark,
  Drinking from the tips of grasses I
  Go, O Sun, and go, O barley,
  Haste away, thou light of Ukko,
  Hide within the mountain pine-trees,
  Go, O wheat, to yonder thickets,
  To the trees of purple berries,
  To the junipers and alders,
  Safely lead the herdsman homeward
  To the biscuit golden-buttered,
  To the honeyed cakes and viands!"
  While the shepherd lad was singing
  Kullerwoinen's song and echo,
  Ilmarinen's wife was feasting
  On the sweetest bread of Northland,
  On the toothsome cakes of barley,
  On the richest of provisions;
  Only laid aside some cabbage,
  For the herdsman, Kullerwoinen;
  Set apart some wasted fragments,
  Leavings of the dogs at dinner,
  For the shepherd, home returning.
  From the woods a bird came flying,
  Sang this song to Kullerwoinen:
  "'Tis the time for forest-dinners,
  For the fatherless companion
  Of the herds to eat his viands,
  Eat the good things from his basket!"
  Kullerwoinen heard the songster,
  Looked upon the Sun's long shadow,
  Straightway spake the words that follow:
  "True, the singing of the song-bird,
  It is time indeed for feasting,
  Time to eat my basket-dinner."
  Thereupon young Kullerwoinen
  Called his herd to rest in safety,
  Sat upon a grassy hillock,
  Took his basket from his shoulders,
  Took therefrom the and oat-loaf,
  Turned it over in his fingers,
  Carefully the loaf inspected,
  Spake these words of ancient wisdom:
  "Many loaves are fine to look on,
  On the outside seem delicious,
  On the inside, chaff and tan-bark!"
  Then the shepherd, Kullerwoinen,
  Drew his knife to cut his oat-loaf,
  Cut the hard and arid biscuit;
  Cuts against a stone imprisoned,
  Well imbedded in the centre,
  Breaks his ancient knife in pieces;
  When the shepherd youth, Kullervo,
  Saw his magic knife had broken,
  Weeping sore, he spake as follows:
  "This, the blade that I bold sacred,
  This the one thing that I honor,
  Relic of my mother's people!
  On the stone within this oat-loaf,
  On this cheat-cake of the hostess,
  I my precious knife have broken.
  How shall I repay this insult,
  How avenge this woman's malice,
  What the wages for deception?"
  From a tree the raven answered:
  "O thou little silver buckle,
  Only son of old Kalervo,
  Why art thou in evil humor,
  Wherefore sad in thy demeanor?
  Take a young shoot from the thicket,
  Take a birch-rod from the valley,
  Drive thy herd across the lowlands,
  Through the quicksands of the marshes;
  To the wolves let one half wander,
  To the bear-dens, lead the other;
  Sing the forest wolves together,
  Sing the bears down from the mountains,
  Call the wolves thy little children,
  And the bears thy standard-bearers;
  Drive them like a cow-herd homeward,
  Drive them home like spotted cattle,
  Drive them to thy master's milk-yards;
  Thus thou wilt repay the hostess
  For her malice and derision."
  Thereupon the wizard answered,
  These the words of Kullerwoinen:
  "Wait, yea wait, thou bride of Hisi!
  Do I mourn my mother's relic,
  Mourn the keep-sake thou hast broken?
  Thou thyself shalt mourn as sorely
  When thy, cows come home at evening!"
  From the tree he cuts a birch-wand,
  From the juniper a whip-stick,
  Drives the herd across the lowlands,
  Through the quicksands of the marshes,
  To the wolves lets one half wander,
  To the bear-dens leads the other;
  Calls the wolves his little children,
  Calls the bears his standard-bearers,
  Changes all his herd of cattle
  Into wolves and bears by magic.
  In the west the Sun is shining,
  Telling that the night is coming.
  Quick the wizard, Kullerwoinen,
  Wanders o'er the pine-tree mountain,
  Hastens through the forest homeward,
  Drives the wolves and bears before him
  Toward the milk-yards of the hostess;
  To the herd he speaks as follows,
  As they journey on together:
  "Tear and kill the wicked hostess,
  Tear her guilty flesh in pieces,
  When she comes to view her cattle,
  When she stoops to do her milking!"
  Then the wizard, Kullerwoinen,
  From an ox-bone makes a bugle,
  Makes it from Tuonikki's cow-horn,
  Makes a flute from Kiryo's shin-bone,
  Plays a song upon his bugle,
  Plays upon his flute of magic,
  Thrice upon the home-land hill-tops,
  Six times near the coming gate-ways.
  Ilmarinen's wife and hostess
  Long had waited for the coming
  Of her herd with Kullerwoinen,
  Waited for the milk at evening,
  Waited for the new-made butter,
  Heard the footsteps in the cow-path,
  On the heath she beard the bustle,
  Spake these joyous words of welcome:
  "Be thou praised, O gracious Ukko,
  That my herd is home returning!
  But I hear a bugle sounding,
  'Tis the playing of my herdsman,
  Playing on a magic cow-horn,
  Bursting all our ears with music!"
  Kullerwoinen, drawing nearer,
  To the hostess spake as follows:
  "Found the bugle in the woodlands,
  And the flute among the rushes;
  All thy herd are in the passage,
  All thy cows within the hurdles,
  This the time to build the camp-fire,
  This the time to do the milking!"
  Ilmarinen's wife, the hostess,
  Thus addressed an aged servant:
  "Go, thou old one, to the milking,
  Have the care of all my cattle,
  Do not ask for mine assistance,
  Since I have to knead the biscuit."
  Kullerwoinen spake as follows:
  "Always does the worthy hostess,
  Ever does the wisdom-mother
  Go herself and do the milking,
  Tend the cows within the hurdles!"
  Then the wife of Ilmarinen
  Built a field-fire in the passage,
  Went to milk her cows awaiting,
  Looked upon her herd in wonder,
  Spake these happy words of greeting:
  "Beautiful, my herd of cattle,
  Glistening like the skins of lynxes,
  Hair as soft as fur of ermine,
  Peaceful waiting for the milk-pail!"
  On the milk-stool sits the hostess,
  Milks one moment, then a second,
  Then a third time milks and ceases;
  When the bloody wolves disguising,
  Quick attack the hostess milking,
  And the bears lend their assistance,
  Tear and mutilate her body
  With their teeth and sharpened fingers.
  Kullerwoinen, cruel wizard,
  Thus repaid the wicked hostess,
  Thus repaid her evil treatment.
  Quick the wife of Ilmarinen
  Cried aloud in bitter anguish,
  Thus addressed the youth, Kullervo:
  "Evil son, thou bloody herdsman,
  Thou hast brought me wolves in malice,
  Driven bears within my hurdles!
  These the words of Kullerwoinen:
  "Have I evil done as shepherd,
  Worse the conduct of the hostess;
  Baked a stone inside my oat-cake,
  On the inside, rock and tan-bark,
  On the stone my knife, was broken,
  Treasure of my mother's household,
  Broken virtue of my people!"
  Ilmarinen's wife made answer:
  "Noble herdsman, Kullerwoinen,
  Change, I pray thee, thine opinion,
  Take away thine incantations,
  From the bears and wolves release me,
  Save me from this spell of torture
  I will give thee better raiment,
  Give the best of milk and butter,
  Set for thee the sweetest table;
  Thou shalt live with me in welcome,
  Need not labor for thy keeping.
  If thou dost not free me quickly,
  Dost not break this spell of magic,
  I shall sink into the Death-land,
  Shall return to Tuonela."
  This is Kullerwoinen's answer:
  "It is best that thou shouldst perish,
  Let destruction overtake thee,
  There is ample room in Mana,
  Room for all the dead in Kalma,
  There the worthiest must slumber,
  There must rest the good and evil."
  Ilmarinen's wife made answer:
  "Ukko, thou O God in heaven,
  Span the strongest of thy cross-bows,
  Test the weapon by thy wisdom,
  Lay an arrow forged from copper,
  On the cross-bow of thy forging;
  Rightly aim thy flaming arrow,
  With thy magic hurl the missile,
  Shoot this wizard through the vitals,
  Pierce the heart of Kullerwoinen
  With the lightning of the heavens,
  With thine arrows tipped with copper."
  Kullerwoinen prays as follows:
  "Ukko, God of truth and justice.
  Do not slay thy magic servant,
  Slay the wife of Ilmarinen,
  Kill in her the worst of women,
  In these hurdles let her perish,
  Lest she wander hence in freedom,
  To perform some other mischief,
  Do some greater deed of malice!"
  Quick as lightning fell the hostess,
  Quick the wife of Ilmarinen
  Fell and perished in the hurdles,
  On the ground before her cottage
  Thus the death of Northland's hostess,
  Cherished wife of Ilmarinen,
  Once the Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Wooed and watched for many summers,
  Pride and joy of Kalevala!




RUNE XXXIV.



  KULLERVO FINDS HIS TRIBE-FOLK.


  Kullerwoinen, young magician,
  In his beauteous, golden ringlets,
  In his magic shoes of deer-skin,
  Left the home of Ilmarinen
  Wandered forth upon his journey,
  Ere the blacksmith heard the tidings
  Of the cruel death and torture
  Of his wife and joy-companion,
  Lest a bloody fight should follow.
  Kullerwoinen left the smithy,
  Blowing on his magic bugle,
  Joyful left the lands of Ilma,
  Blowing blithely on the heather,
  Made the distant hills re-echo,
  Made the swamps and mountains tremble,
  Made the heather-blossoms answer
  To the music of his cow-horn,
  In its wild reverberations,
  To the magic of his playing.
  Songs were heard within the smithy,
  And the blacksmith stopped and listened,
  Hastened to the door and window,
  Hastened to the open court-yard,
  If perchance he might discover
  What was playing on the heather,
  What was sounding through the forest.
  Quick he learned the cruel story,
  Learned the cause of the rejoicing,
  Saw the hostess dead before him,
  Knew his beauteous wife had perished,
  Saw the lifeless form extended,
  In the court-yard of his dwelling.
  Thereupon the metal-artist
  Fell to bitter tears and wailings,
  Wept through all the dreary night-time,
  Deep the grief that settled o'er him,
  Black as night his darkened future,
  Could not stay his tears of sorrow.
  Kullerwoinen hastened onward,
  Straying, roaming, hither, thither,
  Wandered on through field and forest,
  O'er the Hisi-plains and woodlands.
  When the darkness settled o'er him,
  When the bird of night was flitting,
  Sat the fatherless at evening,
  The forsaken sat and rested
  On a hillock of the forest.
  Thus he murmured, heavy-hearted:
  "Why was I, alas! created,
  Why was I so ill-begotten,
  Since for months and years I wander,
  Lost among the ether-spaces?
  Others have their homes to dwell in,
  Others hasten to their firesides
  As the evening gathers round them:
  But my home is in the forest,
  And my bed upon the heather,
  And my bath-room is the rain-cloud.
  "Never didst thou, God of mercy,
  Never in the course of ages,
  Give an infant birth unwisely;
  Wherefore then was I created,
  Fatherless to roam in ether,
  Motherless and lone to wander?
  Thou, O Ukko, art my father,
  Thou hast given me form and feature;
  As the sea-gull on the ocean,
  As the duck upon the waters,
  Shines the Sun upon the swallow,
  Shines as bright upon the sparrow,
  Gives the joy-birds song and gladness,
  Does not shine on me unhappy;
  Nevermore will shine the sunlight,
  Never will the moonlight glimmer
  On this hapless son and orphan;
  Do not know my hero-father,
  Cannot tell who was my mother;
  On the shore, perhaps the gray-duck
  Left me in the sand to perish.
  Young was I and small of stature,
  When my mother left me orphaned;
  Dead, my father and my mother,
  Dead, my honored tribe of heroes;
  Shoes they left me that are icy,
  Stockings filled with frosts of ages,
  Let me on the freezing ice-plains
  Fall to perish in the rushes;
  From the giddy heights of mountains
  Let me tumble to destruction.
  "O, thou wise and good Creator,
  Why my birth and what my service?
  I shall never fall and perish
  On the ice-plains, in the marshes,
  Never be a bridge in swamp-land,
  Not while I have arms of virtue
  That can serve my honored kindred!"
  Then Kullervo thought to journey
  To the village of Untamo,
  To avenge his father's murder,
  To avenge his mother's tortures,
  And the troubles of his tribe-folk.
  These the words of Kullerwoinen:
  "Wait, yea wait, thou Untamoinen,
  Thou destroyer of my people;
  When I meet thee in the combat,
  I will slay thee and thy kindred,
  I will burn thy homes to ashes!"
  Came a woman on the highway,
  Dressed in blue, the aged mother,
  To Kullervo spake as follows:
  "Whither goest, Kullerwoinen,
  Whither hastes the wayward hero?
  Kullerwoinen gave this answer:
  "I have thought that I would journey
  To the far-off land of strangers,
  To the village of Untamo,
  To avenge my father's murder,
  To avenge my mother's tortures,
  And the troubles of my tribe-folk."
  Thus the gray-haired woman answered:
  "Surely thou dost rest in error,
  For thy tribe has never perished,
  And thy mother still is living
  With thy father in the Northland,
  Living with the old Kalervo."
  "O, thou ancient dame beloved,
  Worthy mother of the woodlands,
  Tell me where my father liveth,
  Where my loving mother lingers!"
  "Yonder lives thine aged father,
  And thy loving mother with him,
  On the farthest shore of Northland,
  On the long-point of the fish-lake!"
  "Tell me, O thou woodland-mother,
  How to journey to my people,
  How to find mine honored tribe-folk."
  "Easy is the way for strangers:
  Thou must journey through the forest,
  Hasten to the river-border,
  Travel one day, then a second,
  And the third from morn till even,
  To the north-west, thou must journey.
  If a mountain comes to meet thee,
  Go around the nearing mountain,
  Westward bold thy weary journey,
  Till thou comest to a river,
  On thy right hand flowing eastward;
  Travel to the river border,
  Where three water-falls will greet thee;
  When thou comest to a headland,
  On the point thou'lt see a cottage
  Where the fishermen assemble;
  In this cottage is thy father,
  With thy mother and her daughters,
  Beautiful thy maiden sisters."
  Kullerwoinen, the magician,
  Hastens northward on his journey,
  Walks one day, and then a second,
  Walks the third from morn till evening;
  To the north-west walks Kullervo,
  Till a mountain comes to meet him,
  Walks around the nearing mountain;
  Westward, westward, holds his journey,
  Till he sees a river coming;
  Hastens to the river border,
  Walks along the streams and rapids
  Till three waterfalls accost him;
  Travels till he meets a headland,
  On the point he spies a cottage,
  Where the fishermen assemble.
  Quick he journeys to the cabin,
  Quick he passes through the portals
  Of the cottage on the headland,
  Where he finds his long-lost kindred;
  No one knows the youth, Kullervo,
  No one knows whence comes the stranger,
  Where his home, nor where he goeth.
  These the words of young Kullervo:
  "Dost thou know me not, my mother,
  Dost thou know me not, my father?
  I am hapless Kullerwoinen
  Whom the heroes of Untamo
  Carried to their distant country,
  When my height was but a hand-breadth."
  Quick the hopeful mother answers:
  "O my worthy son, beloved,
  O my precious silver-buckle,
  Hast thou with thy mind of magic,
  Wandered through the fields of Northland
  Searching for thy home and kindred?
  As one dead I long have mourned thee,
  Had supposed thee, in Manala.
  Once I had two sons and heroes,
  Had two good and beauteous daughters,
  Two of these have long been absent,
  Elder son and elder daughter;
  For the wars my son departed,
  While my daughter strayed and perished
  If my son is home returning,
  Yet my daughter still is absent,
  Kullerwoinen asked his mother:
  "Whither did my sister wander,
  What direction did she journey?
  This the answer of the mother:
  "This the story of thy sister:
  Went for berries to the woodlands,
  To the mountains went my daughter,
  Where the lovely maiden vanished,
  Where my pretty berry perished,
  Died some death beyond my knowledge,
  Nameless is the death she suffered.
  Who is mourning for the daughter?
  No one mourns her as her mother,
  Walks and wanders, Mourns and searches,
  For her fairest child and daughter;
  Therefore did the mother wander,
  Searching for thy lovely sister,
  Like the bear she roamed the forest,
  Ran the glenways like the adder,
  Searched one day and then a second,
  Searched the third from morn till even,
  Till she reached the mountain-summit,
  There she called and called her daughter,
  Till the distant mountains answered,
  Called to her who had departed:
  I Where art thou, my lovely maiden,
  Come my daughter to thy mother!'
  "Thus I called, and sought thy sister,
  This the answer of the mountains,
  Thus the hills and valleys echoed:
  'Call no more, thou weeping mother,
  Weep no more for the departed;
  Nevermore in all thy lifetime,
  Never in the course of ages,
  Will she join again her kindred,
  At her brother's landing-places,
  In her father's humble dwelling.'"




RUNE XXXV.



  KULLERVO'S EVIL DEEDS.


  Kullerwionen, youthful wizard,
  In his blue and scarlet stockings,
  Henceforth lingered with his parents;
  But he could not change his nature,
  Could not gain a higher wisdom,
  Could not win a better judgment;
  As a child he was ill-nurtured,
  Early rocked in stupid cradles,
  By a nurse of many follies,
  By a minister of evil.
  To his work went Kullerwoinen,
  Strove to make his labors worthy;
  First, Kullervo went a-fishing,
  Set his fishing-nets in ocean;
  With his hands upon the row-locks,
  Kullerwoinen spake as follows:
  "Shall I pull with all my forces,
  Pull with strength of youthful heroes,
  Or with weakness of the aged?"
  From the stern arose a gray-beard,
  And he answered thus Kullervo:
  "Pull with all thy youthful vigor;
  Shouldst thou row with magic power,
  Thou couldst not destroy this vessel,
  Couldst not row this boat to fragments."
  Thereupon the youth, Kullervo,
  Rowed with all his youthful vigor,
  With the mighty force of magic,
  Rowed the bindings from the vessel,
  Ribs of juniper he shattered,
  Rowed the aspen-oars to pieces.
  When the aged sire, Kalervo,
  Saw the work of Kullerwoinen,
  He addressed his son as follows:
  "Dost not understand the rowing;
  Thou hast burst the bands asunder,
  Bands of juniper and willow,
  Rowed my aspen-boat to pieces;
  To the fish-nets drive the salmon,
  This, perchance, will suit thee better."
  Thereupon the son, Kullervo,
  Hastened to his work as bidden,
  Drove the salmon to the fish-nets,
  Spake in innocence as follows:
  "Shall I with my youthful vigor
  Scare the salmon to the fish-nets,
  Or with little magic vigor
  Shall I drive them to their capture?
  Spake the master of the fish-nets:
  "That would be but work of women,
  Shouldst thou use but little power
  In the frighting of the salmon!"
  Kullerwoinen does as bidden,
  Scares the salmon with the forces
  Of his mighty arms and shoulders,
  With the strength of youth and magic,
  Stirs the water thick with black-earth,
  Beats the scare-net into pieces,
  Into pulp he beats the salmon.
  When the aged sire, Kalervo,
  Saw the work of Kullerwoinen,
  To his son these words he uttered:
  "Dost not understand this labor,
  For this work thou art not suited,
  Canst not scare the perch and salmon
  To the fish-nets of thy father;
  Thou hast ruined all my fish-nets,
  Torn my scare-net into tatters,
  Beaten into pulp the whiting,
  Torn my net-props into fragments,
  Beaten into bits my wedges.
  Leave the fishing to another;
  See if thou canst pay the tribute,
  Pay my yearly contribution;
  See if thou canst better travel,
  On the way show better judgment!"
  Thereupon the son, Kullervo,
  Hapless youth in purple vestments,
  In his magic shoes of deer-skin,
  In his locks of golden color,
  Sallied forth to pay the taxes,
  Pay the tribute for his people.
  When the youth had paid the tribute,
  Paid the yearly contribution,
  He returned to join the snow-sledge,
  Took his place upon the cross-bench,
  Snapped his whip above the courser,
  And began his journey homeward;
  Rattled on along the highway,
  Measured as he galloped onward
  Wainamoinen's hills and valleys,
  And his fields in cultivation.
  Came a golden maid to meet him,
  On her snow-shoes came a virgin,
  O'er the hills of Wainamoinen,
  O'er his cultivated lowlands.
  Quick the wizard-son, Kullervo,
  Checked the motion of his racer,
  Thus addressed the charming maiden
  "Come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge,
  In my fur-robes rest and linger!"
  As she ran, the maiden answered:
  "Let the Death-maid sit beside thee,
  Rest and linger in thy fur-robes!"
  Thereupon the youth, Kullervo,
  Snapped his whip above the courser;
  Fleet as wind he gallops homeward,
  Dashes down along the highway;
  With the roar of falling waters,
  Gallops onward, onward, onward,
  O'er the broad-back of the ocean,
  O'er the icy plains of Lapland.
  Comes a winsome maid to meet him,
  Golden-haired, and wearing snow-shoes,
  On the far outstretching ice-plains;
  Quick the wizard checks his racer,
  Charmingly accosts the maiden,
  Chanting carefully these measures:
  "Come, thou beauty, to my snow-sledge,
  Hither come, and rest, and linger!
  Tauntingly the maiden answered:
  "Take Tuoni to thy snow-sledge,
  At thy side let Manalainen
  Sit with thee, and rest, and linger!"
  Quick the wizard, Kullerwoinen,
  Struck his fiery, prancing racer,
  With the birch-whip of his father.
  Like the lightning flew the fleet-foot,
  Galloped on the highway homeward;
  O'er the hills the snow-sledge bounded,
  And the coming mountains trembled.
  Kullerwoinen, wild magician,
  Measures, on his journey homeward,
  Northland's far-extending borders,
  And the fertile plains of Pohya.
  Comes a beauteous maid to meet him,
  With a tin-pin on her bosom,
  On the heather of Pohyola,
  O'er the Pohya-hills and moorlands.
  Quick the wizard son, Kullervo,
  Holds the bridle of his courser,
  Charmingly intones these measures:
  "Come, fair maiden, to my snow-sledge,
  In these fur-robes rest, and linger;
  Eat with me the golden apples,
  Eat the hazel-nut in joyance,
  Drink with me the beer delicious,
  Eat the dainties that I give thee."
  This the answer of the maiden
  With the tin-pin on her bosom:
  "I have scorn to give thy snow-sledge,
  Scorn for thee, thou wicked wizard;
  Cold is it beneath thy fur-robes,
  And thy sledge is chill and cheerless.
  Thereupon the youth, Kullervo,
  Wicked wizard of the Northland,
  Drew the maiden to his snow-sledge,
  Drew her to a seat beside him,
  Quickly in his furs enwrapped her;
  And the tin-adorned made answer,
  These the accents of the maiden:
  "Loose me from thy magic power,
  Let me leave at once thy presence,
  Lest I speak in wicked accents,
  Lest I say the prayer of evil;
  Free me now as I command thee,
  Or I'll tear thy sledge to pieces,
  Throw these fur-robes to the north-winds."
  Straightway wicked Kullerwoinen,
  Evil wizard and magician,
  Opens all his treasure-boxes,
  Shows the maiden gold and silver,
  Shows her silken wraps of beauty,
  Silken hose with golden borders,
  Golden belts with silver buckles,
  Jewelry that dims the vision,
  Blunts the conscience of the virgin.
  Silver leads one to destruction,
  Gold entices from uprightness.
  Kullerwoinen, wicked wizard,
  Flatters lovingly the maiden,
  One hand on the reins of leather,
  One upon the maiden's shoulder;
  Thus they journey through the evening,
  Pass the night in merry-making.
  When the day-star led the morning,
  When the second day was dawning,
  Then the maid addressed Kullervo,
  Questioned thus the wicked wizard:
  "Of what tribe art thou descended,
  Of what race thy hero-father?
  Tell thy lineage and kindred.`
  This, Kullervo's truthful answer:
  "Am not from a mighty nation,
  Not the greatest, nor the smallest,
  But my lineage is worthy:
  Am Kalervo's son of folly,
  Am a child of contradictions,
  Hapless son of cold misfortune.
  Tell me of thy race of heroes,
  Tell thine origin and kindred."
  This the answer of the maiden:
  "Came not from a race primeval,
  Not the largest, nor the smallest,
  But my lineage is worthy;
  Am Kalervo's wretched daughter,
  Am his long-lost child of error,
  Am a maid of contradictions,
  Hapless daughter of misfortune.
  "When a child I lived in plenty
  In the dwellings of my mother;
  To the woods I went for berries,
  Went for raspberries to uplands,
  Gathered strawberries on mountains,
  Gathered one day then a second;
  But, alas! upon the third day,
  Could not find the pathway homeward,
  Forestward the highways led me,
  All the footpaths, to the woodlands.
  Long I sat in bitter weeping,
  Wept one day and then a second,
  Wept the third from morn till even.
  Then I climbed a. lofty mountain,
  There I called in wailing accents,
  And the woodlands gave this answer,
  Thus the distant hills re-echoed:
  'Call no longer, foolish virgin,
  All thy calls and tears are useless;
  There is none to give thee answer,
  Far away, thy home and people.'
  "On the third and on the fourth days,
  On the fifth, and sixth, and seventh,
  Constantly I sought to perish;
  But in vain were all my efforts,
  Could not die upon the mountains.
  If this wretched maid had perished,
  In the summer of the third year,
  She had fed earth's vegetation,
  She had blossomed as a flower,
  Knowing neither pain nor sorrow."
  Scarcely had the maiden spoken,
  When she bounded from the snow-sledge,
  Rushed upon the rolling river,
  To the cataract's commotion,
  To the fiery stream and whirlpool.
  Thus Kullervo's lovely sister
  Hastened to her own destruction,
  To her death by fire and water,
  Found her peace in Tuonela,
  In the sacred stream of Mana.
  Then the wicked Kullerwoinen
  Fell to weeping, sorely troubled,
  Wailed, and wept, and heavy-hearted,
  Spake these words in bitter sorrow:
  "Woe is me, my life hard-fated!
  I have slain my virgin-sister,
  Shamed the daughter of my mother;
  Woe to thee, my ancient father!
  Woe to thee, my gray-haired mother!
  Wherefore was I born and nurtured,
  Why this hapless child's existence?
  Better fate to Kullerwoinen,
  Had he never seen the daylight,
  Or, if born, had never thriven
  In these mournful days of evil!
  Death has failed to do his duty,
  Sickness sinned in passing by me,
  Should have slain me in the cradle,
  When the seventh day had ended!"
  Thereupon he slips the collar
  Of his prancing royal racer,
  Mounts the silver-headed fleet-foot,
  Gallops like the lightning homeward;
  Gallops only for a moment,
  When he halts his foaming courser
  At the cabin of his father.
  In the court-yard stood the mother,
  Thus the wicked son addressed her:
  "Faithful mother, fond and tender,
  Hadst thou slain me when an infant,
  Smoked my life out in the chamber,
  In a winding-sheet hadst thrown me
  To the cataract and whirlpool,
  In the fire hadst set my cradle,
  After seven nights had ended,
  Worthy would have been thy service.
  Had the village-maidens asked thee:
  'Where is now the little cradle,
  Wherefore is the bath-room empty?'
  This had been a worthy answer:
  'I have burned the wizard's cradle,
  Cast the infant to the fire-dogs;
  In the bath-room corn is sprouting,
  From the barley malt is brewing.'"
  Thereupon the aged mother
  Asks her wizard-son these questions:
  "What has happened to my hero,
  What new fate has overcome thee?
  Comest thou as from Tuoni,
  From the castles of Manala?"
  This, Kullervo's frank confession:
  "Infamous the tale I bring thee,
  My confession is dishonor:
  On the way I met a maiden,
  Met thy long-lost, wayward daughter,
  Did not recognize my sister,
  Fatal was the sin committed!
  When the taxes had been settled,
  When the tribute had been gathered,
  Came a matchless maid to meet me,
  Whom I witless led to sorrow,
  This my mother's long-lost daughter.
  When she saw in me her brother,
  Quick she bounded from the snow-sledge,
  Hastened to the roaring waters,
  To the cataract's commotion,
  To the fiery stream and whirlpool,
  Hastened to her full destruction.
  "Now, alas! must I determine,
  Now must find a spot befitting,
  Where thy sinful son may perish;
  Tell me, all-forgiving mother,
  Where to end my life of trouble;
  Let me stop the black-wolf's howling,
  Let me satisfy the hunger
  Of the vicious bear of Northland;
  Let the shark or hungry sea-dog
  Be my dwelling-place hereafter!"
  This the answer of the mother:
  "Do not go to stop the howling
  Of the hungry wolf of Northland;
  Do not haste to still the black-bear
  Growling in his forest-cavern;
  Let not shark, nor vicious sea-dog
  Be thy dwelling-place hereafter.
  Spacious are the rooms of Suomi,
  Limitless the Sawa-borders,
  Large enough to hide transgression,
  Man's misdeeds to hide for ages,
  With his sins and evil actions.
  Six long years man's sins lie hidden
  In the border-land of Kalma,
  Even nine for magic heroes,
  Till the years bring consolation,
  Till they quiet all his mourning."
  Kullerwoinen, wicked wizard,
  Answers thus his grieving mother:
  "I can never hide from sorrow,
  Cannot flee from my misconduct;
  To the jaws of death I hasten,
  To the open courts of Kalma,
  To the hunting-grounds of Pohya,
  To the battle-fields of heroes.
  Untamoinen still is living,
  Unmolested roams the wicked,
  Unavenged my father's grievance,
  Unavenged my mother's tortures,
  Unavenged the wrongs I suffer!"




RUNE XXXVI.



  KULLERWOINEN'S VICTORY AND DEATH.


  Kullerwionen, wicked wizard,
  In his purple-colored stockings,
  Now prepares himself for battle;
  Grinds a long time on his broadsword,
  Sharpens well his trusty weapon,
  And his mother speaks as follows:
  "Do not go, my son beloved,
  Go not to the wars, my hero,
  Struggle not with hostile spearsmen.
  Whoso goes to war for nothing,
  Undertakes a fearful combat,
  Undertakes a fatal issue;
  Those that war without a reason
  Will be slaughtered for their folly,
  Easy prey to bows and arrows.
  Go thou with a goat to battle,
  Shouldst thou go to fight the roebuck,
  'Tis the goat that will be vanquished,
  And the roebuck will be slaughtered;
  With a frog thou'lt journey homeward,
  Victor, with but little honor!"
  These the words of Kullerwoinen:
  "Shall not journey through the marshes,
  Shall not sink upon the heather,
  On the home-land of the raven,
  Where the eagles scream at day-break.
  When I yield my life forever,
  Bravely will I fall in battle,
  Fall upon the field of glory,
  Beautiful to die in armor,
  And the clang and clash of armies,
  Beautiful the strife for conquest!
  Thus Kullervo soon will hasten
  To the kingdom of Tuoni,
  To the realm of the departed,
  Undeformed by wasting sickness."
  This the answer of the mother:
  "If thou diest in the conflict,
  Who will stay to guard thy father,
  Who will give thy sire protection?"
  These the words of Kullerwoinen:
  "Let him die upon the court-yard,
  Sleeping out his life of sorrow!"
  "Who then will protect thy mother,
  Be her shield in times of danger?"
  "Let her die within the stable,
  Or the cabin where she lingers!"
  "Who then will defend thy brother,
  Give him aid in times of trouble?"
  "Let him die within the forest,
  Sleep his life away unheeded!"
  "Who will comfort then thy sister,
  Who will aid her in affliction?"
  "Let her sink beneath the waters,
  Perish in the crystal fountain,
  Where the brook flows on in beauty,
  Like a silver serpent winding
  Through the valley to the ocean!"
  Thereupon the wild Kullervo
  Hastens from his home to battle,
  To his father speaks, departing:
  "Fare thou well, my aged father!
  Wilt thou weep for me, thy hero,
  When thou hearest I have perished,
  Fallen from thy tribe forever,
  Perished on the field of glory?"
  Thus the father speaks in answer:
  "I shall never mourn the downfall
  Of my evil son, Kullervo;
  Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
  Shall beget a second hero
  That will do me better service,
  That will think and act in wisdom."
  Kullerwoinen gives this answer:
  "Neither shall I mourn thy downfall,
  Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
  I shall make a second father,
  Make the head from loam and sandstone,
  Make the eyes from swamp-land berries,
  Make the beard from withered sea-grass,
  Make the feet from roots of willow,
  Make the form from birch-wood fungus."
  Thereupon the youth, Kullervo,
  To his brother speaks as follows:
  "Fare thou well, beloved brother!
  Wilt thou weep for me departed,
  Shouldst thou hear that I have perished,
  Fallen on the field of battle?"
  This the answer of the brother:
  "I shall never mourn the downfall
  Of my brother, Kullerwoinen,
  Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
  I shall find a second brother;
  Find one worthier and wiser!"
  This is Kullerwoinen's answer:
  "Neither shall I mourn thy downfall,
  Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
  I shall form a second brother,
  Make the head from dust and ashes,
  Make the eyes from pearls of ocean,
  Make the beard from withered verdure,
  Make the form from pulp of birch-wood."
  To his sister speaks Kullervo:
  "Fare thou well, beloved sister!
  Surely thou wilt mourn my downfall,
  Weep for me when I have perished,
  When thou hearest I have fallen
  In the heat and din of battle,
  Fallen from thy race forever!"
  But the sister makes this answer:
  "Never shall I mourn thy downfall,
  Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
  I shall seek a second brother,
  Seek a brother, purer, better,
  One that will not shame his sister!"
  Kullerwoinen thus makes answer:
  "Neither shall I mourn thee fallen,
  Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
  I shall form a second sister,
  Make the head from whitened marble,
  Make the eyes from golden moonbeams,
  Make the tresses from the rainbow,
  Make the ears from ocean-flowers,
  And her form from gold and silver.
  "Fare thou well, beloved mother,
  Mother, beautiful and faithful!
  Wilt thou weep when I have perished,
  Fallen on the field of glory,
  Fallen from thy race forever?"
  Thus the mother speaks in answer:
  "Canst not fathom love maternal,
  Canst not smother her affection;
  Bitterly I'll mourn thy downfall,
  I would weep if thou shouldst perish,
  Shouldst thou leave my race forever;
  I would weep in court or cabin,
  Sprinkle all these fields with tear-drops,
  Weep great rivers to the ocean,
  Weep to melt the snows of Northland,
  Make the hillocks green with weeping,
  Weep at morning, weep at evening,
  Weep three years in bitter sorrow
  O'er the death of Kullerwoinen!"
  Thereupon the wicked wizard
  Went rejoicing to the combat;
  In delight to war he hastened
  O'er the fields, and fens, and fallows,
  Shouting loudly on the heather,
  Singing o'er the hills and mountains,
  Rushing through the glens and forests,
  Blowing war upon his bugle.
  Time had gone but little distance,
  When a messenger appearing,
  Spake these words to Kullerwoinen:
  "Lo! thine aged sire has perished,
  Fallen from thy race forever;
  Hasten home and do him honor,
  Lay him in the lap of Kalma."
  Kullerwoinen inade this answer:
  "Has my aged father perished,
  There is home a sable stallion
  That will take him to his slumber,
  Lay him in the lap of Kalma."
  Then Kullervo journeyed onward,
  Calling war upon his bugle,
  Till a messenger appearing,
  Brought this word to Kullerwoinen:
  "Lo! thy brother too has perished,
  Dead he lies within the forest,
  Manalainen's trumpet called him;
  Home return and do him honor,
  Lay him in the lap of Kalma."
  Kullerwoinen thus replying:
  "Has my hero-brother perished,
  There is home a sable stallion
  That will take him' to his slumber,
  Lay him in the lap of Kalma."
  Young Kullervo journeyed onward
  Over vale and over mountain,
  Playing on his reed of battle,
  Till a messenger appearing
  Brought the warrior these tidings:
  "Lo! thy sister too has perished,
  Perished in the crystal fountain,
  Where the waters flow in beauty,
  Like a silver serpent winding
  Through the valley to the ocean;
  Home return and do her honor,
  Lay her in the lap of Kalma."
  These the words of Kullerwoinen:
  "Has my beauteous sister perished,
  Fallen from my race forever,
  There is home a sable filly
  That will take her to her resting,
  Lay her in the lap of Kalma."
  Still Kullervo journeyed onward,
  Through the fens he went rejoicing,
  Sounding war upon his bugle,
  Till a messenger appearing
  Brought to him these words of sorrow:
  "Lo! thy mother too has perished,
  Died in anguish, broken-hearted;
  Home return and do her honor,
  Lay her in the lap of Kalma."
  These the measures of Kullervo:
  "Woe is me, my life hard-fated,
  That my mother too has perished,
  She that nursed me in my cradle,
  Made my couch a golden cover,
  Twirled for me the spool and spindle!
  Lo! Kullervo was not present
  When his mother's life departed;
  May have died upon the mountains,
  Perished there from cold and hunger.
  Lave the dead form of my mother
  In the crystal waters flowing;
  Wrap her in the robes of ermine,
  Tie her hands with silken ribbon,
  Take her to the grave of ages,
  Lay her in the lap of Kalma.
  Bury her with songs of mourning,
  Let the singers chant my sorrow;
  Cannot leave the fields of battle
  While Untamo goes unpunished,
  Fell destroyer of my people."
  Kullerwoinen journeyed onward,
  Still rejoicing, to the combat,
  Sang these songs in supplication:
  "Ukko, mightiest of rulers,
  Loan to me thy sword of battle,
  Grant to me thy matchless weapon,
  And against a thousand armies
  I will war and ever conquer."
  Ukko, gave the youth his broadsword,
  Gave his blade of magic powers
  To the wizard, Kullerwoinen.
  Thus equipped, the mighty hero
  Slew the people of Untamo,
  Burned their villages to ashes;
  Only left the stones and ovens,
  And the chimneys of their hamlets.
  Then the conqueror, Kullervo,
  Turned his footsteps to his home-land,
  To the cabin of his father;
  To his ancient fields and forests.
  Empty did he find the cabin,
  And the forests were deserted;
  No one came to give him greeting,
  None to give the hand of welcome;
  Laid his fingers on the oven,
  But he found it cold and lifeless;
  Then he knew to satisfaction
  That his mother lived no longer;
  Laid his hand upon the fire-place,
  Cold and lifeless were the hearth-stones;
  Then he knew to satisfaction
  That his sister too had perished;
  Then he sought the landing-places,
  Found no boats upon the rollers;
  Then he knew to satisfaction
  That his brother too had perished;
  Then he looked upon the fish-nets,
  And he found them torn and tangled;
  And he knew to satisfaction
  That his father too had perished.
  Bitterly he wept and murmured,
  Wept one day, and then a second,
  On the third day spake as follows:
  "Faithful mother, fond and tender,
  Why hast left me here to sorrow
  In this wilderness of trouble?
  But thou dost not hear my calling,
  Though I sing in magic accents,
  Though my tear-drops speak lamenting,
  Though my heart bemoans thine absence.
  From her grave awakes the mother,
  To Kullervo speaks these measures:
  "Thou has still the dog remaining,
  He will lead thee to the forest;
  Follow thou the faithful watcher,
  Let him lead thee to the woodlands,
  To the farthest woodland border,
  To the caverns of the wood-nymphs;
  Kullerwoinen's Victory and Death
  There the forest maidens linger,
  They will give thee food and shelter,
  Give my hero joyful greetings."
  Kullerwoinen, with his watch-dog,
  Hastens onward through the forest,
  Journeys on through fields and fallows;
  Journeys but a little distance,
  Till he comes upon the summit
  Where he met his long-lost sister;
  Finds the turf itself is weeping,
  Finds the glen-wood filled with sorrow,
  Finds the heather shedding tear-drops,
  Weeping are the meadow-flowers,
  O'er the ruin of his sister.
  Kullerwoinen, wicked wizard,
  Grasps the handle of his broadsword,
  Asks the blade this simple question:
  "Tell me, O my blade of honor,
  Dost thou wish to drink my life-blood,
  Drink the blood of Kullerwoinen?"
  Thus his trusty sword makes answer,
  Well divining his intentions:
  Why should I not drink thy life-blood,
  Blood of guilty Kullerwoinen,
  Since I feast upon the worthy,
  Drink the life-blood of the righteous?"
  Thereupon the youth, Kullervo,
  Wicked wizard of the Northland,
  Lifts the mighty sword of Ukko,
  Bids adieu to earth and heaven;
  Firmly thrusts the hilt in heather,
  To his heart he points the weapon,
  Throws his weight upon his broadsword,
  Pouring out his wicked life-blood,
  Ere be journeys to Manala.
  Thus the wizard finds destruction,
  This the end of Kullerwoinen,
  Born in sin, and nursed in folly.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  As he hears the joyful tidings,
  Learns the death of fell Kullervo,
  Speaks these words of ancient wisdom:
  "O, ye many unborn nations,
  Never evil nurse your children,
  Never give them out to strangers,
  Never trust them to the foolish!
  If the child is not well nurtured,
  Is not rocked and led uprightly,
  Though he grow to years of manhood,
  Bear a strong and shapely body,
  He will never know discretion,
  Never eat. the bread of honor,
  Never drink the cup of wisdom."




RUNE XXXVII.



  ILMARINEN'S BRIDE OF GOLD.


  Ilmarinen, metal-worker,
  Wept one day, and then a second,
  Wept the third from morn till evening,
  O'er the death of his companion,
  Once the Maiden of the Rainbow;
  Did not swing his heavy hammer,
  Did not touch its copper handle,
  Made no sound within his smithy,
  Made no blow upon his anvil,
  Till three months had circled over;
  Then the blacksmith spake as follows:
  "Woe is me, unhappy hero!
  Do not know how I can prosper;
  Long the days, and cold, and dreary,
  Longer still the nights, and colder;
  I am weary in the evening,
  In the morning still am weary,
  Have no longing for the morning,
  And the evening is unwelcome;
  Have no pleasure in the future,
  All my pleasures gone forever,
  With my faithful life-companion
  Slaughtered by the hand of witchcraft!
  Often will my heart-strings quiver
  When I rest within my chamber,
  When I wake at dreamy midnight,
  Half-unconscious, vainly searching
  For my noble wife departed."
  Wifeless lived the mourning blacksmith,
  Altered in his form and features;
  Wept one month and then another,
  Wept three months in full succession.
  Then the magic metal-worker
  Gathered gold from deeps of ocean,
  Gathered silver from the mountains,
  Gathered many heaps of birch-wood.
  Filled with faggots thirty sledges,
  Burned the birch-wood into ashes,
  Put the ashes in the furnace,
  Laid the gold upon the embers,
  Lengthwise laid a piece of silver
  Of the size of lambs in autumn,
  Or the fleet-foot hare in winter;
  Places servants at the bellows,
  Thus to melt the magic metals.
  Eagerly the servants labor,
  Gloveless, hatless, do the workmen
  Fan the flames within the furnace.
  Ilmarinen, magic blacksmith,
  Works unceasing at his forging,
  Thus to mould a golden image,
  Mould a bride from gold and silver;
  But the workmen fail their master,
  Faithless stand they at the bellows.
  Wow the artist, Ilmarinen,
  Fans the flame with force of magic,
  Blows one day, and then a second,
  Blows the third from morn till even;
  Then he looks within the furnace,
  Looks around the oven-border,
  Hoping there to see an image
  Rising from the molten metals.
  Comes a lambkin from the furnace,
  Rising from the fire of magic,
  Wearing hair of gold and copper,
  Laced with many threads of silver;
  All rejoice but Ilmarinen
  At the beauty of the image.
  This the language of the blacksmith:
  "May the wolf admire thy graces;
  I desire a bride of beauty
  Born from molten gold and silver!"
  Ilmarinen, the magician,
  To the furnace threw the lambkin;
  Added gold in great abundance,
  And increased the mass of silver,
  Added other magic metals,
  Set the workmen at the bellows;
  Zealously the servants labor,
  Gloveless, hatless, do the workmen
  Fan the flames within the furnace.
  Ilmarinen, wizard-forgeman,
  Works unceasing with his metals,
  Moulding well a golden image,
  Wife of molten gold and silver;
  But the workmen fail their master,
  Faithless do they ply the bellows.
  Now the artist, Ilmarinen,
  Fans the flames by force of magic;
  Blows one day, and then a second,
  Blows a third from morn till evening,
  When he looks within the furnace,
  Looks around the oven-border,
  Hoping there, to see an image
  Rising from the molten metals.
  From the flames a colt arises,
  Golden-maned and silver-headed,
  Hoofs are formed of shining copper.
  All rejoice but Ilmarinen
  At the wonderful creation;
  This the language of the blacksmith;
  "Let the bears admire thy graces;
  I desire a bride of beauty
  Born of many magic metals."
  Thereupon the wonder-forger
  Drives the colt back to the furnace,
  Adds a greater mass of silver,
  And of gold the rightful measure,
  Sets the workmen at the bellows.
  Eagerly the servants labor,
  Gloveless, hatless, do the workmen
  Fan the flames within the furnace.
  Ilmarinen, the magician,
  Works unceasing at his witchcraft,
  Moulding well a golden maiden,
  Bride of molten gold and silver;
  But the workmen fail their master,
  Faithlessly they ply the bellows.
  Now the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Fans the flames with magic powers,
  Blows one day, and then a second,
  Blows a third from morn till even;
  Then he looks within his furnace,
  Looks around the oven-border,
  Trusting there to see a maiden
  Coming from the molten metals.
  From the fire a virgin rises,
  Golden-haired and silver-headed,
  Beautiful in form and feature.
  All are filled with awe and wonder,
  But the artist and magician.
  Ilmarinen, metal-worker,
  Forges nights and days unceasing,
  On the bride of his creation;
  Feet he forges for the maiden,
  Hands and arms, of gold and silver;
  But her feet are not for walking,
  Neither can her arms embrace him.
  Ears he forges for the virgin,
  But her ears are not for hearing;
  Forges her a mouth of beauty,
  Eyes he forges bright and sparkling;
  But the magic mouth is speechless,
  And the eyes are not for seeing.
  Spake the artist, Ilmarinen:
  "This, indeed, a priceless maiden,
  Could she only speak in wisdom,
  Could she breathe the breath of Ukko!"
  Thereupon he lays the virgin
  On his silken couch of slumber,
  On his downy place of resting.
  Ilmarinen heats his bath-room,
  Makes it ready for his service,
  Binds together silken brushes,
  Brings three cans of crystal water,
  Wherewithal to lave the image,
  Lave the golden maid of beauty.
  When this task had been completed,
  Ilmarinen, hoping, trusting,
  Laid his golden bride to slumber,
  On his downy couch of resting;
  Ordered many silken wrappings,
  Ordered bear-skins, three in number,
  Ordered seven lambs-wool blankets,
  Thus to keep him warm in slumber,
  Sleeping by the golden image
  Re had forged from magic metals.
  Warm the side of Ilmarinen
  That was wrapped in furs and blankets;
  Chill the parts beside the maiden,
  By his bride of gold and silver;
  One side warm, the other lifeless,
  Turning into ice from coldness.
  Spake the artist, Ilmarinen:
  "Not for me was born this virgin
  From the magic molten metals;
  I shall take her to Wainola,
  Give her to old Wainamoinen,
  As a bride and life-companion,
  Comfort to him in his dotage."
  Ilmarinen, much disheartened,
  Takes the virgin to Wainola,
  To the plains of Kalevala,
  To his brother speaks as follows:
  "O, thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Look with favor on this image;
  Make the maiden fair and lovely,
  Beautiful in form and feature,
  Suited to thy years declining!"
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Looked in wonder on the virgin,
  On the golden bride of beauty,
  Spake these words to Ilmarinen:
  "Wherefore dost thou bring this maiden,
  Wherefore bring to Wainamoinen
  Bride of molten gold and silver?
  Spake in answer Ilmarinen:
  "Wherefore should I bring this image,
  But for purposes the noblest?
  I have brought her as companion
  To thy life in years declining,
  As a joy and consolation,
  When thy days are full of trouble!"
  Spake the good, old Wainamoinen:
  "Magic brother, wonder-forger,
  Throw the virgin to the furnace,
  To the flames, thy golden image,
  Forge from her a thousand trinkets.
  Take the image into Ehstland,
  Take her to the plains of Pohya,
  That for her the mighty powers
  May engage in deadly contest,
  Worthy trophy for the victor;
  Not for me this bride of wonder,
  Neither for my worthy people.
  I shall never wed an image
  Born from many magic metals,
  Never wed a silver maiden,
  Never wed a golden virgin."
  Then the hero of the waters
  Called together all his people,
  Spake these words of ancient wisdom:
  "Every child of Northland, listen,
  Whether poor, or fortune-favored:
  Never bow before an image
  Born of molten gold and silver:
  Never while the sunlight brightens,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers,
  Choose a maiden of the metals,
  Choose a bride from gold created
  Cold the lips of golden maiden,
  Silver breathes the breath of sorrow."




RUNE XXXVIII.



  ILMARINEN'S FRUITLESS WOOING.


  Ilmarinen, the magician,
  The eternal metal-artist,
  Lays aside the golden image,
  Beauteous maid of magic metals;
  Throws the harness on his courser,
  Binds him to his sledge of birch-wood,
  Seats himself upon the cross-bench,
  Snaps the whip above the racer,
  Thinking once again to journey
  To the mansions of Pohyola,
  There to woo a bride in honor,
  Second daughter of the Northland.
  On he journeyed, restless, northward,
  Journeyed one day, then a second,
  So the third from morn till evening,
  When he reached a Northland-village
  On the plains of Sariola.
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Standing in the open court-yard,
  Spied the hero, Ilmarinen,
  Thus addressed the metal-worker:
  "Tell me how my child is living,
  How the Bride of Beauty prospers,
  As a daughter to thy mother."
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Head bent down and brow dejected,
  Thus addressed the Northland hostess:
  "O, thou dame of Sariola,
  Do not ask me of thy daughter,
  Since, alas I in Tuonela
  Sleeps the Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Sleeps in death the Bride, of Beauty,
  Underneath the fragrant heather,
  In the kingdom of Manala.
  Come I for a second daughter,
  For the fairest of thy virgins.
  Beauteous hostess of Pohyola,
  Give to me thy youngest maiden,
  For my former wife's compartments,
  For the chambers of her sister."
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Spake these words to Ilmarinen:
  "Foolish was the Northland-hostess,
  When she gave her fairest virgin,
  In the bloom of youth and beauty
  To the blacksmith of Wainola,
  Only to be led to Mana,
  Like a lambkin to the slaughter!
  I shall never give my daughter,
  Shall not give my youngest maiden
  Bride of thine to be hereafter,
  Life-companion at thy fireside.
  Sooner would I give the fair one
  To the cataract and whirlpool,
  To the river of Manala,
  To the waters of Tuoni!"
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Drew away his head, disdainful,
  Shook his sable locks in anger,
  Entered to the inner court-room,
  Where the maiden sat in waiting,
  Spake these measures to the daughter:
  "Come with me, thou bright-eyed maiden,
  To the cottage where thy sister
  Lived and lingered in contentment,
  Baked for me the toothsome biscuit,
  Brewed for me the beer of barley,
  Kept my dwelling-place in order."
  On the floor a babe was lying,
  Thus he sang to Ilmarinen:
  "Uninvited, leave this mansion,
  Go, thou stranger, from this dwelling;
  Once before thou camest hither,
  Only bringing pain and trouble,
  Filling all our hearts with sorrow.
  Fairest daughter of my mother,
  Do not give this suitor welcome,
  Look not on his eyes with pleasure,
  Nor admire his form and features.
  In his mouth are only wolf-teeth,
  Cunning fox-claws in his mittens,
  In his shoes art only bear-claws,
  In his belt a hungry dagger;
  Weapons these of blood and murder,
  Only worn by the unworthy."
  Then the daughter spake as follows
  To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:
  "Follow thee this maid will never,
  Never heed unworthy suitors;
  Thou hast slain the Bride of Beauty,
  Once the Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Thou wouldst also slay her sister.
  I deserve a better suitor,
  Wish a truer, nobler husband,
  Wish to ride in richer sledges,
  Have a better home-protection;
  Never will I sweep the cottage
  And the coal-place of a blacksmith."
  Then the hero, Ilmarinen,
  The eternal metal-artist,
  Turned his head away, disdainful,
  Shook his sable locks in anger,
  Quickly seized the trembling maiden,
  Held her in his grasp of iron,
  Hastened from the court of Louhi
  To his sledge upon the highway.
  In his sleigh he seats the virgin,
  Snugly wraps her in his far-robes,
  Snaps his whip above the racer,
  Gallops on the high-road homeward;
  With one hand the reins be tightens,
  With the other holds the maiden.
  Speaks the virgin-daughter, weeping:
  We have reached the lowland-berries,
  Here the herbs of water-borders;
  Leave me here to sink and perish
  As a child of cold misfortune.
  Wicked Ilmarinen, listen!
  If thou dost not quickly free me,
  I will break thy sledge to pieces,
  Throw thy fur-robes to the north-winds."
  Ilmarinen makes this answer:
  "When the blacksmith builds his snow-sledge,
  All the parts are hooped with iron;
  Therefore will the beauteous maiden
  Never beat my sledge to fragments."
  Then the silver-tinselled daughter
  Wept and wailed in bitter accents,
  Wrung her hands in desperation,
  Spake again to Ilmarinen:
  "If thou dost not quickly free me,
  I shall change to ocean-salmon,
  Be a whiting of the waters."
  "Thou wilt never thus escape me,
  As a pike I'll fleetly follow."
  Then the maiden of Pohyola
  Wept and wailed in bitter accents,
  Wrung her hands in desperation,
  Spake again to Ilmarinen;
  "If thou dost not quickly free me,
  I shall hasten to the forest,
  Mid the rocks become an ermine!"
  "Thou wilt never thus escape me,
  As a serpent I will follow."
  Then the beauty of the Northland,
  Wailed and wept in bitter accents,
  Wrung her hands in desperation,
  Spake once more to Ilmarinen:
  "Surely, if thou dost not free me,
  As a lark I'll fly the ether,
  Hide myself within the storm-clouds."
  "Neither wilt thou thus escape me,
  As an eagle I will follow."
  They had gone but little distance,
  When the courser shied and halted,
  Frighted at some passing object;
  And the maiden looked in wonder,
  In the snow beheld some foot-prints,
  Spake these words to Ilmarinen:
  Who has run across our highway?"
  "'Tis the timid hare", he answered.
  Thereupon the stolen maiden
  Sobbed, and moaned, in deeps of sorrow,
  Heavy-hearted, spake these measures:
  "Woe is me, ill-fated virgin!
  Happier far my life hereafter,
  If the hare I could but follow
  To his burrow in the woodlands!
  Crook-leg's fur to me is finer
  Than the robes of Ilmarinen."
  Ilmarinen, the magician,
  Tossed his head in full resentment,
  Galloped on the highway homeward,
  Travelled but a little distance,
  When again his courser halted,
  Frighted at some passing stranger.
  Quick the maiden looked and wondered,
  In the snow beheld some foot-prints,
  Spake these measures to the blacksmith:
  Who has crossed our snowy pathway?"
  "'Tis a fox", replied the minstrel.
  Thereupon the beauteous virgin
  Moaned again in depths of anguish,
  Sang these accents, heavy-hearted:
  "Woe is me, ill-fated maiden!
  Happier far my life hereafter,
  With the cunning fox to wander,
  Than with this ill-mannered suitor;
  Reynard's fur to me is finer
  Than the robes of Ilmarinen."
  Thereupon the metal-worker
  Shut his lips in sore displeasure,
  Hastened on the highway homeward;
  Travelled but a little distance,
  When again his courser halted.
  Quick the maiden looked in wonder,
  in the snow beheld some foot-prints,
  Spake these words to the magician:
  Who again has crossed our pathway?"
  "'Tis the wolf", said Ilmarinen.
  Thereupon the fated daughter
  Fell again to bitter weeping,
  And Intoned these words of sorrow:
  "Woe is me, a hapless maiden!
  Happier far my life hereafter,
  Brighter far would be my future,
  If these tracks I could but follow;
  On the wolf the hair is finer
  Than the furs of Ilmarinen,
  Faithless suitor of the Northland."
  Then the minstrel of Wainola
  Closed his lips again in anger,
  Shook his sable locks, resentful,
  Snapped the whip above the racer,
  And the steed flew onward swiftly,
  O'er the way to Kalevala,
  To the village of the blacksmith.
  Sad and weary from his journey,
  Ilmarinen, home-returning,
  Fell upon his couch in slumber,
  And the maiden laughed derision.
  In the morning, slowly waking,
  Head confused, and locks dishevelled,
  Spake the wizard, words as follow:
  "Shall I set myself to singing
  Magic songs and incantations?
  Shall I now enchant this maiden
  To a black-wolf on the mountains,
  To a salmon of the ocean?
  Shall not send her to the woodlands,
  All the forest would be frighted;
  Shall not send her to the waters,
  All the fish would flee in terror;
  This my sword shall drink her life-blood,
  End her reign of scorn and hatred."
  Quick the sword feels his intention,
  Quick divines his evil purpose,
  Speaks these words to Ilmarinen:
  "Was not born to drink the life-blood
  Of a maiden pure and lovely,
  Of a fair but helpless virgin."
  Thereupon the magic minstrel,
  Filled with rage, began his singing;
  Sang the very rocks asunder,
  Till the distant hills re-echoed;
  Sang the maiden to a sea-gull,
  Croaking from the ocean-ledges,
  Calling from the ocean-islands,
  Screeching on the sandy sea-coast,
  Flying to the winds opposing.
  When his conjuring had ended,
  Ilmarinen joined his snow-sledge,
  Whipped his steed upon a gallop,
  Hastened to his ancient smithy,
  To his home in Kalevala.
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Comes to meet him on the highway,
  Speaks these words to the magician:
  "Ilmarinen, worthy brother,
  Wherefore comest heavy-hearted
  From the dismal Sariola?
  Does Pohyola live and prosper?
  Spake the minstrel, Ilmarinen:
  "Why should not Pohyola prosper?
  There the Sampo grinds unceasing,
  Noisy rocks the lid in colors;
  Grinds one day the flour for eating,
  Grinds the second flour for selling,
  Grinds the third day flour for keeping;
  Thus it is Pohyola prospers.
  While the Sampo is in Northland,
  There is plowing, there is sowing,
  There is growth of every virtue,
  There is welfare never-ending."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Ilmarinen, artist-brother,
  Where then is the Northland-daughter,
  Far renowned and beauteous maiden,
  For whose hand thou hast been absent?
  These the words of Ilmarinen:
  "I have changed the hateful virgin
  To a sea-gull on the ocean;
  Now she calls above the waters,
  Screeches from the ocean-islands;
  On the rocks she calls and murmurs
  Vainly calling for a suitor."




RUNE XXXIX.



  WAINAMOINEN'S SAILING.


  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,
  Spake these words to Ilmarinen:
  "O thou wonder-working brother,
  Let us go to Sariola,
  There to gain the magic Sampo,
  There to see the lid in colors."
  Ilmarinen gave this answer:
  "Hard indeed to seize the Sampo,
  Neither can the lid be captured
  From the never-pleasant Northland,
  From the dismal Sariola.
  Louhi took away the Sampo,
  Carried off the lid in colors
  To the stone-mount of Pohyola;
  Hid it in the copper mountain,
  Where nine locks secure the treasure.
  Many young roots sprout around it,
  Grow nine fathoms deep in sand-earth,
  One great root beneath the mountain,
  In the cataract a second,
  And a third beneath the castle
  Built upon the mount of ages."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Brother mine, and wonder-worker,
  Let us go to Sariola,
  That we may secure the Sampo;
  Let us build a goodly vessel,
  Bring the Sampo to Wainola,
  Bring away the lid in colors,
  From the stone-berg of Pohyola,
  From the copper-bearing mountain.
  Where the miracle lies anchored."
  Ilmarinen thus made answer:
  "By the land the way is safer,
  Lempo travels on the ocean,
  Ghastly Death upon his shoulder;
  On the sea the waves will drift us,
  And the storm-winds wreck our vessel;
  Then our bands must do the rowing,
  And our feet must steer us homeward."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Safe indeed by land to journey,
  But the way is rough and trying,
  Long the road and full of turnings;
  Lovely is the ship on ocean,
  Beautiful to ride the billows,
  Journey easy o'er the waters,
  Sailing in a trusty vessel;
  Should the West-wind cross our pathway,
  Will the South-wind drive us northward.
  Be that as it may, my brother,
  Since thou dost not love the water,
  By the land then let us journey.
  Forge me now the sword of battle,
  Forge for me the mighty fire-sword,
  That I may destroy the wild-beasts,
  Frighten all the Northland people,
  As we journey for the Sampo
  To the cold and dismal village,
  To the never-pleasant Northland,
  To the dismal Sariola."
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  The eternal forger-artist,
  Laid the metals in the furnace,
  In the fire laid steel and iron,
  In the hot-coals, gold and silver,
  Rightful measure of the metals;
  Set the workmen at the furnace,
  Lustily they plied the bellows.
  Like the wax the iron melted,
  Like the dough the hard steel softened,
  Like the water ran the silver,
  And the liquid gold flowed after.
  Then the minstrel, Ilmarinen,
  The eternal wonder-forger,
  Looks within his magic furnace,
  On the border of his oven,
  There beholds the fire-sword forming,
  Sees the blade with golden handle;
  Takes the weapon from the furnace,
  Lays it on his heavy anvil
  For the falling of the hammer;
  Forges well the blade of magic,
  Well the heavy sword be tempers,
  Ornaments the hero-weapon
  With the finest gold and silver.
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  Comes to view the blade of conquest,
  Lifts admiringly the fire-sword,
  Then these words the hero utters:
  "Does the weapon match the soldier,
  Does the handle suit the bearer?
  Yea, the blade and hilt are molded
  To the wishes of the minstrel."
  On the sword-point gleams the moonlight,
  On the blade the sun is shining,
  On the hilt the bright stars twinkle,
  On the edge a horse is neighing,
  On the handle plays a kitten,
  On the sheath a dog is barking.
  Wainamoinen wields his fire-sword,
  Tests it on the iron-mountain,
  And these words the hero utters:
  "With this broadsword I could quickly
  Cleave in twain the mount of Pohya,
  Cut the flinty rocks asunder."
  Spake the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:
  "Wherewith shall I guard from danger,
  How protect myself from evil,
  From the ills by land and water?
  Shall I wear an iron armor,
  Belt of steel around my body?
  Stronger is a man in armor,
  Safer in a mail of copper."
  Now the time has come to journey
  To the never-pleasant Northland;
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  And his brother, Ilmarinen,
  Hasten to the field and forest,
  Searching for their fiery coursers,
  In each shining belt a bridle,
  With a harness on their shoulders.
  In the woods they find a race;
  In the glen a steed of battle,
  Ready for his master's service.
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  And the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Throw the harness on the courser,
  Hitch him to the sledge of conquest,
  Hasten on their journey Northward;
  Drive along the broad-sea's margin
  Till they bear some one lamenting
  On the strand hear something wailing
  Near the landing-place of vessels.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Speaks these words in wonder, guessing,
  "This must be some maiden weeping,
  Some fair daughter thus lamenting;
  Let us journey somewhat nearer,
  To discover whence this wailing."
  Drew they nearer, nearer, nearer,
  Hoping thus to find a maiden
  Weeping on the sandy sea-shore.
  It was not a maiden weeping,
  But a vessel, sad, and lonely,
  Waiting on the shore and wailing.
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Why art weeping, goodly vessel,
  What the cause of thy lamenting?
  Art thou mourning for thy row-locks,
  Is thy rigging ill-adjusted?
  Dost thou weep since thou art anchored
  On the shore in times of trouble?"
  Thus the war-ship spake in answer:
  "To the waters would this vessel
  Haste upon the well-tarred rollers,
  As a happy maiden journeys
  To the cottage of her husband.
  I, alas! a goodly vessel,
  Weep because I lie at anchor,
  Weep and wail because no hero
  Sets me free upon the waters,
  Free to ride the rolling billows.
  It was said when I was fashioned,
  Often sung when I was building,
  That this bark should be for battle,
  Should become a mighty war-ship,
  Carry in my hull great treasures,
  Priceless goods across the ocean.
  Never have I sailed to conquest,
  Never have I carried booty;
  Other vessels not as worthy
  To the wars are ever sailing,
  Sailing to the songs of battle.
  Three times in the summer season
  Come they home with treasures laden,
  In their hulls bring gold and silver;
  I, alas! a worthy vessel,
  Many months have lain at anchor,
  I, a war-ship well constructed,
  Am decaying in the harbor,
  Never having sailed to conquest;
  Worms are gnawing at my vitals,
  In my hull their dwelling-places,
  And ill-omened birds of heaven
  Build their nests within my rigging;
  Frogs and lizards of the forest
  Play about my oars and rudder;
  Three times better for this vessel
  Were he but a valley birch-tree,
  Or an aspen on the heather,
  With the squirrels in his branches,
  And the dogs beneath them barking!"
  Wainamoinen, old and faithfull
  Thus addressed the ship at anchor:
  "Weep no more, thou goodly vessel,
  Man-of-war, no longer murmur;
  Thou shalt sail to Sariola,
  Sing the war-songs of the Northland,
  Sail with us to deadly combat.
  Wert thou built by the Creator,
  Thou canst sail the roughest waters,
  Sidewise journey o'er the ocean;
  Dost not need the hand to touch thee,
  Dost not need the foot to turn thee,
  Needing nothing to propel thee."
  Thus the weeping boat made answer:
  "Cannot sail without assistance,
  Neither can my brother-vessels
  Sail unaided o'er the waters,
  Sail across the waves undriven."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Should I lead thee to the broad-sea,
  Wilt thou journey north unaided,
  Sail without the help of rowers,
  Sail without the aid of south-winds,
  Sail without the b elm to guide thee?
  Thus the wailing ship replying:
  Cannot sail without assistance,
  Neither can my brother-vessels
  Sail without the aid of rowers,
  Sail without the help of south-winds,
  Nor without the helm to guide them."
  These the words of Wainamoinen:
  "Wilt thou run with aid of oarsmen
  When the south-winds give assistance,
  Guided by a skillful pilot?"
  This the answer of the war-ship:
  "Quickly can I course these waters,
  When my oars are manned by rowers,
  When my sails are filled with south-winds,
  All my goodly brother-vessels
  Sail the ocean with assistance,
  When the master holds the rudder."
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Left the racer on the sea-side,
  Tied him to the sacred birch-tree,
  Hung the harness on a willow,
  Rolled the vessel to the waters,
  Sang the ship upon the broad-sea,
  Asked the boat this simple question:
  "O thou vessel, well-appearing
  From the mighty oak constructed,
  Art thou strong to carry treasures
  As in view thou art commanding?
  Thus the goodly ship made answer:
  "Strong am I to carry treasures,
  In my hull a golden cargo;
  I can bear a hundred oarsmen,
  And of warriors a thousand."
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  Then began his wondrous singing.
  On one side the magic vessel,
  Sang he youth with golden virtues,
  Bearded youth with strength of heroes,
  Sang them into mail of copper.
  On the other side the vessel,
  Sang he silver-tinselled maidens,
  Girded them with belts of copper,
  Golden rings upon their fingers.
  Sings again the great magician,
  Fills the magic ship with heroes,
  Ancient heroes, brave and mighty;
  Sings them into narrow limits,
  Since the young men came before them.
  At the helm himself be seated,
  Near the last beam of the vessel,
  Steered his goodly boat in joyance,
  Thus addressed the willing war-ship:
  "Glide upon the trackless waters,
  Sail away, my ship of magic,
  Sail across the waves before thee,
  Speed thou like a dancing bubble,
  Like a flower upon the billows!"
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Set the young men to the rowing,
  Let the maidens sit in waiting.
  Eagerly the youthful heroes
  Bend the oars and try the row-locks,
  But the distance is not lessened.
  Then the minstrel, Wainamoinen,
  Set the maidens to the rowing,
  Let the young men rest in waiting.
  Eagerly the merry maidens
  Bend the aspen-oars in rowing,
  But the distance is not lessened.
  Then the master, Wainamoinen,
  Set the old men to the rowing,
  Let the youth remain in waiting.
  Lustily the aged heroes
  Bend and try the oars of aspen,
  But the distance is not lessened.
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Grasped the oars with master-magic,
  And the boat leaped o'er the surges,
  Swiftly sped across the billows;
  Far and wide the oars resounded,
  Quickly was the distance lessened.
  With a rush and roar of waters
  Ilmarinen sped his vessel,
  Benches, ribs, and row-locks creaking,
  Oars of aspen far resounding;
  Flap the sails like wings of moor-cocks,
  And the prow dips like a white-swan;
  In the rear it croaks like ravens,
  Loud the oars and rigging rattle.
  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen
  Sitting by the bending rudder,
  Turns his magic vessel landward,
  To a jutting promontory,
  Where appears a Northland-village.
  On the point stands Lemminkainen,
  Kaukomieli, black magician,
  Ahti, wizard of Wainola,
  Wishing for the fish of Pohya,
  Weeping for his fated dwelling,
  For his perilous adventures,
  Hard at work upon a vessel,
  On the sail-yards of a fish-boat,
  Near the hunger-point and island,
  Near the village-home deserted.
  Good the ears of the magician,
  Good the wizard's eyes for seeing;
  Casts his vision to the South-east,
  Turns his eyes upon the sunset,
  Sees afar a wondrous rainbow,
  Farther on, a cloudlet hanging;
  But the bow was a deception,
  And the cloudlet a delusion;
  'Tis a vessel swiftly sailing,
  'Tis a war-ship flying northward,
  O'er the blue-back of the broad-sea,
  On the far-extending waters,
  At the helm the master standing,
  At the oars a mighty hero.
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Do not know this wondrous vessel,
  Not this well-constructed war-ship,
  Coming from the distant Suomi,
  Rowing for the hostile Pohya."
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
  Called aloud in tones of thunder
  O'er the waters to the vessel;
  Made the distant hills re-echo
  With the music of his calling:
  "Whence this vessel on the waters,
  Whose the war-ship sailing hither?"
  Spake the master of the vessel
  To the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Who art thou from fen or forest,
  Senseless wizard from the woodlands,
  That thou dost not know this vessel,
  Magic war-ship of Wainola?
  Dost not know him at the rudder,
  Nor the hero at the row-locks?"
  Spake the wizard, Lemminkainen:
  "Well I know the helm-director,
  And I recognize the rower;
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  At the helm directs the vessel;
  Ilmarinen does the rowing.
  Whither is the vessel sailing,
  Whither wandering, my heroes?
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "We are sailing to the Northland,
  There to gain the magic Sampo,
  There to get the lid in colors,
  From the stone-berg of Pohyola,
  From the copper-bearing mountain."
  Spake the evil Lemminkainen:
  "O, thou good, old Wainamoinen,
  Take me with thee to Pohyola,
  Make me third of magic heroes,
  Since thou goest for the Sampo,
  Goest for the lid in colors;
  I shall prove a valiant soldier,
  When thy wisdom calls for fighting;
  I am skilled in arts of warfare!"
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Gave assent to Ahti's wishes;
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
  Hastened to Wainola's war-ship,
  Bringing floats of aspen-timber,
  To the ships of Wainamoinen.
  Thus the hero of the Northland
  Speaks to reckless Lemminkainen:
  "There is aspen on my vessel,
  Aspen-floats in great abundance,
  And the boat is heavy-laden.
  Wherefore dost thou bring the aspen
  To the vessel of Wainola?"
  Lemminkainen gave this answer:
  "Not through caution sinks a vessel,
  Nor a hay-stack by its proppings;
  Seas abound in hidden dangers,
  Heavy storms arise and threaten
  Fell destruction to the sailor
  That would brave the angry billows."
  Spake the good, old Wainamoinen:
  "Therefore is this warlike vessel
  Built of trusty steel and copper,
  Trimmed and bound in toughest iron,
  That the winds may, not destroy it,
  May not harm my ship of magic."




RUNE XL.



  BIRTH OF THE HARP.


  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Onward steered his goodly vessel,
  From the isle of Lemminkainen,
  From the borders of the village;
  Steered his war-ship through the waters,
  Sang it o'er the ocean-billows,
  Joyful steered it to Pohyola.
  On the banks were maidens standing,
  And the daughters spake these measures:
  "List the music on the waters!
  What this wonderful rejoicing,
  What this singing on the billows?
  Far more beautiful this singing,
  This rejoicing on the waters,
  Than our ears have heard in Northland."
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  Steered his wonder-vessel onward,
  Steered one day along the sea-shore,
  Steered the next through shallow waters,
  Steered the third day through the rivers.
  Then the reckless Lemminkainen
  Suddenly some words remembered,
  He had heard along the fire-stream
  Near the cataract and whirlpool,
  And these words the hero uttered:
  "Cease, O cataract, thy roaring,
  Cease, O waterfall, thy foaming!
  Maidens of the foam and current,
  Sitting on the rocks in water,
  On the stone-blocks in the river,
  Take the foam and white-capped billows
  In your arms and still their anger,
  That our ships may pass in safety!
  Aged dame beneath the eddy,
  Thou that livest in the sea-foam,
  Swimming, rise above the waters,
  Lift thy head above the whirlpool,
  Gather well the foam and billows
  In thine arms and still their fury,
  That our ship may pass in safety!
  Ye, O rocks beneath the current,
  Underneath the angry waters,
  Lower well your heads of danger,
  Sink below our magic vessel,
  That our ship may pass in safety!
  "Should this prayer prove inefficient,
  Kimmo, hero son of Kammo,
  Bore an outlet with thine auger,
  Cut a channel for this vessel
  Through the rocks beneath the waters,
  That our ship may pass in safety!
  Should all this prove unavailing,
  Hostess of the running water,
  Change to moss these rocky ledges,
  Change this vessel to an air-bag,
  That between these rocks and billows
  It may float, and pass in safety!
  "Virgin of the sacred whirlpool,
  Thou whose home is in the river,
  Spin from flax of strongest fiber,
  Spin a thread of crimson color,
  Draw it gently through the water,
  That the thread our ship may follow,
  And our vessel pass in safety!
  Goddess of the helm, thou daughter
  Of the ocean-winds and sea-foam,
  Take thy helm endowed with mercy,
  Guide our vessel through these dangers,
  Hasten through these floods enchanted,
  Passing by the house of envy,
  By the gates of the enchanters,
  That our ship may pass in safety!
  "Should this prayer prove inefficient,
  Ukko, Ruler of creation,
  Guide our vessel with thy fire-sword,
  Guide it with thy blade of lightning,
  Through the dangers of these rapids,
  Through the cataract and whirlpool,
  That our ship may pass in safety!"
  Thereupon old Wainamoinen
  Steered his boat through winds and waters,
  Through the rocky chinks and channels,
  Through the surges wildly tossing;
  And the vessel passed in safety
  Through the dangers of the current,
  Through the sacred stream and whirlpool.
  As it gains the open waters,
  Gains at length the broad-lake's bosom,
  Suddenly its motion ceases,
  On some object firmly anchored.
  Thereupon young Ilmarinen,
  With the aid of Lemminkainen,
  Plunges in the lake the rudder,
  Struggles with the aid of magic;
  But he cannot move the vessel,
  Cannot free it from its moorings.
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Thus addresses his companion:
  "O thou hero, Lemminkainen,
  Stoop and look beneath this war-ship,
  See on what this boat is anchored,
  See on what our craft is banging,
  In this broad expanse of water,
  In the broad-lake's deepest soundings,
  If upon some rock or tree-snag,
  Or upon some other hindrance."
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
  Looked beneath the magic vessel,
  Peering through the crystal waters,
  Spake and these the words be uttered:
  "Does not rest upon a sand-bar,
  Nor upon a rock, nor tree-snag,
  But upon the back and shoulders
  Of the mighty pike of Northland,
  On the fin-bones of the monster."
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  Spake these words to Lemminkainen:
  "Many things we find in water,
  Rocks, and trees, and fish, and sea-duck;
  Are we on the pike's broad shoulders,
  On the fin-bones of the monster,
  Pierce the waters with thy broadsword,
  Cut the monster into pieces."
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen,
  Reckless wizard, filled with courage,
  Pulls his broadsword from his girdle,
  From its sheath, the bone-divider,
  Strikes with might of magic hero,
  Headlong falls into the water;
  And the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Lifts the wizard from the river,
  Speaks these words to dripping Ahti:
  "Accidents will come to mortals,
  Accidents will come to heroes,
  By the hundreds, by the thousands,
  Even to the gods above us!"
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Drew his broadsword from his girdle,
  From its sheath his blade of honor,
  Tried to slay the pike of Northland
  With the weapon of his forging;
  But he broke his sword in pieces,
  Did not harm the water-monster.
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  Thus addresses his companions
  "Poor apologies for heroes!
  When occasion calls for victors,
  When we need some great magician,
  Need a hero filled with valor,
  Then the arm that comes is feeble,
  And the mind insane or witless,
  Strength and reason gone to others!"
  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen,
  Miracle of strength and wisdom,
  Draws his fire-sword from his girdle,
  Wields the mighty blade of magic,
  Strikes the waters as the lightning,
  Strikes the pike beneath the vessel,
  And impales, the mighty monster;
  Raises him above the surface,
  In the air the pike he circles,
  Cuts the monster into pieces;
  To the water falls the pike-tail,
  To the ship the head and body;
  Easily the ship moves onward.
  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,
  To the shore directs his vessel,
  On the strand the boat he anchors,
  Looks in every nook and corner
  For the fragments of the monster;
  Gathers well the parts together,
  Speaks these words to those about him:
  "Let the oldest of the heroes
  Slice for me the pike of Northland,
  Slice the fish to fitting morsels."
  Answered all the men and heroes,
  And the maidens spake, assenting:
  "Worthier the catcher's fingers,
  Wainamoinen's hands are sacred!"
  Thereupon the wise magician
  Drew a fish-knife from his girdle,
  Sliced the pike to fitting morsels,
  Spake again to those about him:
  "Let the youngest of the maidens
  Cook for me the pike of Northland,
  Set for me a goodly dinner!"
  All the maidens quick responded,
  All the virgins vied in cooking;
  Neither could outdo the other,
  Thus the pike was rendered toothsome.
  Feasted all the old magicians,
  Feasted all the younger heroes,
  Feasted all the men and maidens;
  On the rocks were left the fish-bones,
  Only relics of their feasting.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Looked upon the pile of fragments,
  On the fish-bones looked and pondered,
  Spake these words in meditation:
  "Wondrous things might be constructed
  From the relies of this monster,
  Were they in the blacksmith's furnace,
  In the hands of the magician,
  In the hands of Ilmarinen."
  Spake the blacksmith of Wainola:
  "Nothing fine can be constructed
  From the bones and teeth of fishes
  By the skillful forger-artist,
  By the hands of the magician."
  These the words of Wainamoinen:
  "Something wondrous might be builded
  From these jaws, and teeth, and fish-bones;
  Might a magic harp be fashioned,
  Could an artist be discovered
  That could shape them to my wishes."
  But he found no fish-bone artist
  That could shape the harp of joyance
  From the relies of their feasting,
  From the jaw-bones of the monster,
  To the will of the magician.
  Thereupon wise Wainamoinen
  Set himself at work designing;
  Quick became a fish-bone artist,
  Made a harp of wondrous beauty,
  Lasting joy and pride of Suomi.
  Whence the harp's enchanting arches?
  From the jaw-bones of the monster.
  Whence the necessary harp-pins?
  From the pike-teeth firmly fastened.
  Whence the sweetly singing harp-strings?
  From the tail of Lempo's stallion.
  Thus was born the harp of magic
  From the mighty pike of Northland,
  From the relies from the feasting
  Of the heroes of Wainola.
  All the young men came to view it,
  All the aged with their children,
  Mothers with their beauteous daughters,
  Maidens with their golden tresses;
  All the people on the islands
  Came to view the harp of joyance,
  Pride and beauty of the Northland.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Let the aged try the harp-strings,
  Gave it to the young magicians,
  To the dames and to their daughters,
  To the maidens, silver-tinselled,
  To the singers of Wainola.
  When the young men touched the harp-strings,
  Then arose the notes of discord;
  When the aged played upon it,
  Dissonance their only music.
  Spake the wizard, Lemminkainen:
  "O ye witless, worthless children,
  O ye senseless, useless maidens,
  O ye wisdom-lacking heroes,
  Cannot play this harp of magic,
  Cannot touch the notes of concord!
  Give to me this thing or beauty,
  Hither bring the harp of fish-bones,
  Let me try my skillful fingers."
  Lemminkainen touched the harp-strings,
  Carefully the strings adjusted,
  Turned the harp in all directions,
  Fingered all the strings in sequence,
  Played the instrument of wonder,
  But it did not speak in concord,
  Did not sing the notes of joyance.
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "There is none among these maidens,
  None among these youthful heroes,
  None among the old magicians
  That can play the harp of magic,
  Touch the notes of joy and pleasure.
  Let us take the harp to Pohya,
  There to find a skillful player
  That can touch the strings in concord."
  Then they sailed to Sariola,
  To Pohyola took the wonder,
  There to find the harp a master.
  All the heroes of Pohyola,
  All the boys and all the maidens,
  Ancient dames, and bearded minstrels,
  Vainly touched the harp of beauty.
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Took the harp-strings in her fingers;
  All the youth of Sariola,
  Youth of every tribe and station,
  Vainly touched the harp of fish-bone;
  Could not find the notes of joyance,
  Dissonance their only pleasure;
  Shrieked the harp-strings like the whirlwinds,
  All the tones wore harsh and frightful.
  In a corner slept a blind man,
  Lay a gray-beard on the oven,
  Rousing from his couch of slumber,
  Murmured thus within his corner:
  "Cease at once this wretched playing,
  Make an end of all this discord;
  It benumbs mine ears for hearing,
  Racks my brain, despoils my senses,
  Robs me of the sweets of sleeping.
  If the harp of Suomi's people
  True delight cannot engender,
  Cannot bring the notes of pleasure,
  Cannot sing to sleep the aged,
  Cast the thing upon the waters,
  Sink it in the deeps of ocean,
  Take it back to Kalevala,
  To the home of him that made it,
  To the bands of its creator."
  Thereupon the harp made answer,
  To the blind man sang these measures:
  "Shall not fall upon the waters,
  Shall not sink within the ocean;
  I will play for my creator,
  Sing in melody and concord
  In the fingers of my master."
  Carefully the harp was carried
  To the artist that had made it
  To the hands of its creator,
  To the feet of Wainamoinen.




RUNE XLI.



  WAINAMOINEN'S HARP-SONGS.


  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  The eternal wisdom-singer,
  Laves his hands to snowy whiteness,
  Sits upon the rock of joyance,
  On the stone of song be settles,
  On the mount of silver clearness,
  On the summit, golden colored;
  Takes the harp by him created,
  In his hands the harp of fish-bone,
  With his knee the arch supporting,
  Takes the harp-strings in his fingers,
  Speaks these words to those assembled:
  "Hither come, ye Northland people,
  Come and listen to my playing,
  To the harp's entrancing measures,
  To my songs of joy and gladness."
  Then the singer of Wainola
  Took the harp of his creation,
  Quick adjusting, sweetly tuning,
  Deftly plied his skillful fingers
  To the strings that he had fashioned.
  Now was gladness rolled on gladness,
  And the harmony of pleasure
  Echoed from the hills and mountains:
  Added singing to his playing,
  Out of joy did joy come welling,
  Now resounded marvelous music,
  All of Northland stopped and listened.
  Every creature in the forest,
  All the beasts that haunt the woodlands,
  On their nimble feet came bounding,
  Came to listen to his playing,
  Came to hear his songs of joyance.
  Leaped the squirrels from the branches,
  Merrily from birch to aspen;
  Climbed the ermines on the fences,
  O'er the plains the elk-deer bounded,
  And the lynxes purred with pleasure;
  Wolves awoke in far-off swamp-lands,
  Bounded o'er the marsh and heather,
  And the bear his den deserted,
  Left his lair within the pine-wood,
  Settled by a fence to listen,
  Leaned against the listening gate-posts,
  But the gate-posts yield beneath him;
  Now he climbs the fir-tree branches
  That he may enjoy and wonder,
  Climbs and listens to the music
  Of the harp of Wainamoinen.
  Tapiola's wisest senior,
  Metsola's most noble landlord,
  And of Tapio, the people,
  Young and aged, men and maidens,
  Flew like red-deer up the mountains
  There to listen to the playing,
  To the harp, of Wainamoinen.
  Tapiola's wisest mistress,
  Hostess of the glen and forest,
  Robed herself in blue and scarlet,
  Bound her limbs with silken ribbons,
  Sat upon the woodland summit,
  On the branches of a birch-tree,
  There to listen to the playing,
  To the high-born hero's harping,
  To the songs of Wainamoinen.
  All the birds that fly in mid-air
  Fell like snow-flakes from the heavens,
  Flew to hear the minstrel's playing,
  Hear the harp of Wainamoinen.
  Eagles in their lofty eyrie
  Heard the songs of the enchanter;
  Swift they left their unfledged young ones,
  Flew and perched around the minstrel.
  From the heights the hawks descended,
  From the clouds down swooped the falcon,
  Ducks arose from inland waters,
  Swans came gliding from the marshes;
  Tiny finches, green and golden,
  Flew in flocks that darkened sunlight,
  Came in myriads to listen;
  Perched upon the head and shoulders
  Of the charming Wainamoinen,
  Sweetly singing to the playing
  Of the ancient bard and minstrel.
  And the daughters of the welkin,
  Nature's well-beloved daughters,
  Listened all in rapt attention;
  Some were seated on the rainbow,
  Some upon the crimson cloudlets,
  Some upon the dome of heaven.
  In their hands the Moon's fair daughters
  Held their weaving-combs of silver;
  In their hands the Sun's sweet maidens
  Grasped the handles of their distaffs,
  Weaving with their golden shuttles,
  Spinning from their silver spindles,
  On the red rims of the cloudlets,
  On the bow of many colors.
  As they hear the minstrel playing,
  Hear the harp of Wainamoinen,
  Quick they drop their combs of silver,
  Drop the spindles from their fingers,
  And the golden threads are broken,
  Broken are the threads of silver.
  All the fish in Suomi-waters
  Heard the songs of the magician,
  Came on flying fins to listen
  To the harp of Wainamoinen.
  Came the trout with graceful motions,
  Water-dogs with awkward movements,
  From the water-cliffs the salmon,
  From the sea-caves came the whiting,
  From the deeper caves the bill-fish;
  Came the pike from beds of sea-fern,
  Little fish with eyes of scarlet,
  Leaning on the reeds and rushes,
  With their heads above the surface;
  Came to bear the harp of joyance,
  Hear the songs of the enchanter.
  Ahto, king of all the waters,
  Ancient king with beard of sea-grass,
  Raised his head above the billows,
  In a boat of water-lilies,
  Glided to the coast in silence,
  Listened to the wondrous singing,
  To the harp of Wainamoinen.
  These the words the sea-king uttered:
  "Never have I heard such playing,
  Never heard such strains of music,
  Never since the sea was fashioned,
  As the songs of this enchanter,
  This sweet singer, Wainamoinen."
  Satko's daughters from the blue-deep,
  Sisters of the wave-washed ledges,
  On the colored strands were sitting,
  Smoothing out their sea-green tresses
  With the combs of molten silver,
  With their silver-handled brushes,
  Brushes forged with golden bristles.
  When they hear the magic playing,
  Hear the harp of Wainamoinen,
  Fall their brushes on the billows,
  Fall their combs with silver handles
  To the bottom of the waters,
  Unadorned their heads remaining,
  And uncombed their sea-green tresses.
  Came the hostess of the waters,
  Ancient hostess robed in flowers,
  Rising from her deep sea-castle,
  Swimming to the shore in wonder,
  Listened to the minstrel's playing,
  To the harp of Wainamoinen.
  As the magic tones re-echoed,
  As the singer's song out-circled,
  Sank the hostess into slumber,
  On the rocks of many colors,
  On her watery couch of joyance,
  Deep the sleep that settled o'er her.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Played one day and then a second,
  Played the third from morn till even.
  There was neither man nor hero,
  Neither ancient dame, nor maiden,
  Not in Metsola a daughter,
  Whom he did not touch to weeping;
  Wept the young, and wept the aged,
  Wept the mothers, wept the daughters
  Wept the warriors and heroes
  At the music of his playing,
  At the songs of the magician.
  Wainamoinen's tears came flowing,
  Welling from the master's eyelids,
  Pearly tear-drops coursing downward,
  Larger than the whortle-berries,
  Finer than the pearls of ocean,
  Smoother than the eggs of moor-hens,
  Brighter than the eyes of swallows.
  From his eves the tear-drops started,
  Flowed adown his furrowed visage,
  Falling from his beard in streamlets,
  Trickled on his heaving bosom,
  Streaming o'er his golden girdle,
  Coursing to his garment's border,
  Then beneath his shoes of ermine,
  Flowing on, and flowing ever,
  Part to earth for her possession,
  Part to water for her portion.
  As the tear-drops fall and mingle,
  Form they streamlets from the eyelids
  Of the minstrel, Wainamoinen,
  To the blue-mere's sandy margin,
  To the deeps of crystal waters,
  Lost among the reeds and rushes.
  Spake at last the ancient minstrel:
  "Is there one in all this concourse,
  One in all this vast assembly
  That can gather up my tear-drops
  From the deep, pellucid waters?"
  Thus the younger heroes answered,
  Answered thus the bearded seniors:
  "There is none in all this concourse,
  None in all this vast assembly,
  That can gather up thy tear-drops
  From the deep, pellucid waters."
  Spake again wise Wainamoinen:
  "He that gathers up my tear-drops
  From the deeps of crystal waters
  Shall receive a beauteous plumage."
  Came a raven, flying, croaking,
  And the minstrel thus addressed him:
  "Bring, O raven, bring my tear-drops
  From the crystal lake's abysses;
  I will give thee beauteous plumage,
  Recompense for golden service."
  But the raven failed his master.
  Came a duck upon the waters,
  And the hero thus addressed him:
  "Bring O water-bird, my tear-drops;
  Often thou dost dive the deep-sea,
  Sink thy bill upon the bottom
  Of the waters thou dost travel;
  Dive again my tears to gather,
  I will give thee beauteous plumage,
  Recompense for golden service."
  Thereupon the duck departed,
  Hither, thither, swam, and circled,
  Dived beneath the foam and billow,
  Gathered Wainamoinen's tear-drops
  From the blue-sea's pebbly bottom,
  From the deep, pellucid waters;
  Brought them to the great magician,
  Beautifully formed and colored,
  Glistening in the silver sunshine,
  Glimmering in the golden moonlight,
  Many-colored as the rainbow,
  Fitting ornaments for heroes,
  Jewels for the maids of beauty.
  This the origin of sea-pearls,
  And the blue-duck's beauteous plumage.




RUNE XLII.



  CAPTURE OF THE SAMPO.


  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  With the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  With the reckless son of Lempo,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  On the sea's smooth plain departed,
  On the far-extending waters,
  To the village, cold and dreary,
  To the never-pleasant Northland,
  Where the heroes fall and perish.
  Ilmarinen led the rowers
  On one side the magic war-ship,
  And the reckless Lemminkainen
  Led the rowers on the other.
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  Laid his hand upon the rudder,
  Steered his vessel o'er the waters,
  Through the foam and angry billows
  To Pohyola's place of landing,
  To the cylinders of copper,
  Where the war-ships lie at anchor.
  When they had arrived at Pohya,
  When their journey they had ended,
  On the land they rolled their vessel,
  On the copper-banded rollers,
  Straightway journeyed to the village,
  Hastened to the halls and hamlets
  Of the dismal Sariola.
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Thus addressed the stranger-heroes:
  Magic heroes of Wainola,
  What the tidings ye are bringing
  To the people of my village?"
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel.
  Gave this answer to the hostess:
  "All the hosts of Kalevala
  Are inquiring for the Sampo,
  Asking for the lid in colors;
  Hither have these heroes journeyed
  To divide the priceless treasure.
  Thus the hostess spake in answer:
  "No one would divide a partridge,
  Nor a squirrel, with three heroes;
  Wonderful the magic Sampo,
  Plenty does it bring to Northland;
  And the colored lid re-echoes
  From the copper-bearing mountains,
  From the stone-berg of Pohyola,
  To the joy of its possessors."
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Thus addressed the ancient Louhi:
  "If thou wilt not share the Sampo,
  Give to us an equal portion,
  We will take it to Wainola,
  With its lid of many colors,
  Take by force the hope of Pohya."
  Thereupon the Northland hostess
  Angry grew and sighed for vengeance;
  Called her people into council,
  Called the hosts of Sariola,
  Heroes with their trusted broadswords,
  To destroy old Wainamoinen
  With his people of the Northland.
  Wainamoinen, wise and ancient,
  Hastened to his harp of fish-bone,
  And began his magic playing;
  All of Pohya stopped and listened,
  Every warrior was silenced
  By the notes of the magician;
  Peaceful-minded grew the soldiers,
  All the maidens danced with pleasure,
  While the heroes fell to weeping,
  And the young men looked in wonder.
  Wainamoinen plays unceasing,
  Plays the maidens into slumber,
  Plays to sleep the young and aged,
  All of Northland sleeps and listens.
  Wise and wondrous Wainamoinen,
  The eternal bard and singer,
  Searches in his pouch of leather,
  Draws therefrom his slumber-arrows,
  Locks the eyelids of the sleepers,
  Of the heroes of Pohyola,
  Sings and charms to deeper slumber
  All the warriors of the Northland.
  Then the heroes of Wainola
  Hasten to obtain the Sampo,
  To procure the lid in colors
  From the copper-bearing mountains.
  From behind nine locks of copper,
  In the stone-berg of Pohyola.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Then began his wondrous singing,
  Sang in gentle tones of magic,
  At the entrance to the mountain,
  At the border of the stronghold;
  Trembled all the rocky portals,
  And the iron-banded pillars
  Fell and crumbled at his singing.
  Ilmarinen, magic blacksmith,
  Well anointed all the hinges,
  All the bars and locks anointed,
  And the bolts flew back by magic,
  All the gates unlocked in silence,
  Opened for the great magician.
  Spake the minstrel Wainamoinen:
  "O thou daring Lemminkainen,
  Friend of mine in times of trouble,
  Enter thou within the mountain,
  Bring away the wondrous Sampo,
  Bring away the lid in colors!"
  Quick the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Ever ready for a venture,
  Hastens to the mountain-caverns,
  There to find the famous Sampo,
  There to get the lid in colors;
  Strides along with conscious footsteps,
  Thus himself he vainly praises:
  "Great am I and full of glory,
  Wonder-hero, son of Ukko,
  I will bring away the Sampo,
  Turn about the lid in colors,
  Turn it on its magic hinges!"
  Lemminkainen finds the wonder,
  Finds the Sampo in the mountain,
  Labors long with strength heroic,
  Tugs with might and main to turn it;
  Motionless remains the treasure,
  Deeper sinks the lid in colors,
  For the roots have grown about it,
  Grown nine fathoms deep in sand-earth.
  Lived a mighty ox in Northland,
  Powerful in bone and sinew,
  Beautiful in form and color,
  Horns the length of seven fathoms,
  Mouth and eyes of wondrous beauty.
  Lemminkainen, reckless hero,
  Harnesses the ox in pasture,
  Takes the master-plow of Pohya,
  Plows the roots about the Sampo,
  Plows around the lid in colors,
  And the sacred Sampo loosens,
  Falls the colored lid in silence.
  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen
  Brings the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Brings the daring Lemminkainen,
  Lastly brings the magic Sampo,
  From the stone-berg of Pohyola,
  From the copper-bearing mountain,
  Hides it in his waiting vessel,
  In the war-ship of Wainola.
  Wainamoinen called his people,
  Called his crew of men and maidens,
  Called together all his heroes,
  Rolled his vessel to the water,
  Into billowy deeps and dangers.
  Spake the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:
  "Whither shall we take the Sampo,
  Whither take the lid in colors,
  From the stone-berg of Pohyola,
  From this evil spot of Northland?"
  Wainamoinen, wise and faithful,
  Gave this answer to the question:
  "Thither shall we take the Sampo,
  Thither take the lid in colors,
  To the fog-point on the waters,
  To the island forest-covered;
  There the treasure may be hidden,
  May remain in peace for ages,
  Free from trouble, free from danger,
  Where the sword will not molest it."
  Then the minstrel, Wainamoinen,
  Joyful, left the Pohya borders,
  Homeward sailed, and happy-hearted,
  Spake these measures on departing:
  "Turn, O man-of-war, from Pohya,
  Turn thy back upon the strangers,
  Turn thou to my distant country!
  Rock, O winds, my magic vessel,
  Homeward drive my ship, O billows,
  Lend the rowers your assistance,
  Give the oarsmen easy labor,
  On this vast expanse of waters!
  Give me of thine oars, O Ahto,
  Lend thine aid, O King of sea-waves,
  Guide as with thy helm in safety,
  Lay thy hand upon the rudder,
  And direct our war-ship homeward;
  Let the hooks of metal rattle
  O'er the surging of the billows,
  On the white-capped waves' commotion."
  Then the master, Wainamoinen,
  Guided home his willing vessel;
  And the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  With the lively Lemminkainen,
  Led the mighty host of rowers,
  And the war-ship glided homeward
  O'er the sea's unruffled surface,
  O'er the mighty waste of waters.
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Once before I rode these billows,
  There were viands for the heroes,
  There was singing for the maidens;
  But to-day I hear no singing,
  Hear no songs upon the vessel,
  Hear no music on the waters."
  Wainamoinen, wise and ancient,
  Answered thus wild Lemminkainen:
  "Let none sing upon the blue-sea,
  On the waters, no rejoicing;
  Singing would prolong our journey,
  Songs disturb the host of rowers;
  Soon will die the silver sunlight,
  Darkness soon will overtake us,
  On this evil waste of waters,
  On this blue-sea, smooth and level."
  These the words of Lemminkainen:
  "Time will fly on equal pinions
  Whether we have songs or silence;
  Soon will disappear the daylight,
  And the night as quickly follow,
  Whether we be sad or joyous."
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  O'er the blue backs of the billows,
  Steered one day, and then a second,
  Steered the third from morn till even,
  When the wizard, Lemminkainen,
  Once again addressed the master:
  "Why wilt thou, O famous minstrel,
  Sing no longer for thy people,
  Since the Sampo thou hast captured,
  Captured too the lid in colors?"
  These the words of Wainamoinen:
  "'Tis not well to sing too early!
  Time enough for songs of joyance
  When we see our home-land mansions,
  When our journeyings have ended!"
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "At the helm, if I were sitting,
  I would sing at morn and evening,
  Though my voice has little sweetness;
  Since thy songs are not forthcoming
  Listen to my wondrous singing!"
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Raised his voice above the waters,
  O'er the sea his song resounded;
  But his measures were discordant,
  And his notes were harsh and frightful.
  Sang the wizard, Lemminkainen,
  Screeched the reckless Kaukomieli,
  Till the mighty war-ship trembled;
  Far and wide was heard his singing,
  Heard his songs upon the waters,
  Heard within the seventh village,
  Heard beyond the seven oceans.
  Sat a crane within the rushes,
  On a hillock clothed in verdure,
  And the crane his toes was counting;
  Suddenly he heard the singing
  Of the wizard, Lemminkainen;
  And the bird was justly frightened
  At the songs of the magician.
  Then with horrid voice, and screeching,
  Flew the crane across the broad-sea
  To the lakes of Sariola,
  O'er Pohyola's hills and hamlets,
  Screeching, screaming, over Northland,
  Till the people of the darkness
  Were awakened from their slumbers.
  Louhi hastens to her hurdles,
  Hastens to her droves of cattle,
  Hastens also to her garners,
  Counts her herds, inspects her store-house;
  Undisturbed she finds her treasures.
  Quick she journeys to the entrance
  To the copper-bearing mountain,
  Speaks these words as she approaches:
  "Woe is me, my life hard-fated,
  Woe to Louhi, broken-hearted!
  Here the tracks of the destroyers,
  All my locks and bolts are broken
  By the hands of cruel strangers!
  Broken are my iron hinges,
  Open stand the mountain-portals
  Leading to the Northland-treasure.
  Has Pohyola lost her Sampo?"
  Then she hastened to the chambers
  Where the Sampo had been grinding;
  But she found the chambers empty,
  Lid and Sampo gone to others,
  From the stone-berg of Pohyola,
  From behind nine locks of copper,
  In the copper-bearing mountain.
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Angry grew and cried for vengeance;
  As she found her fame departing,
  Found her-strength fast disappearing,
  Thus addressed the sea-fog virgin:
  "Daughter of the morning-vapors,
  Sift thy fogs from distant cloud-land,
  Sift the thick air from the heavens,
  Sift thy vapors from the ether,
  On the blue-back of the broad-sea,
  On the far extending waters,
  That the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Friend of ocean-wave and billow,
  May not baffle his pursuers!
  "Should this prayer prove unavailing,
  Iku-Turso, son of Old-age,
  Raise thy head above the billows,
  And destroy Wainola's heroes,
  Sink them to thy deep sea-castles,
  There devour them at thy pleasure;
  Bring thou back the golden Sampo
  To the people of Pohyola!
  "Should these words be ineffective,
  Ukko, mightiest of rulers,
  Golden king beyond the welkin,
  Sitting on a throne of silver,
  Fill thy skies with heavy storm-clouds,
  Call thy fleetest winds about thee,
  Send them o'er the seven broad-seas,
  There to find the fleeing vessel,
  That the ancient Wainamoinen
  May not baffle his pursuers!"
  Quick the virgin of the vapors
  Breathed a fog upon the waters,
  Made it settle on the war-ship
  Of the heroes of the Northland,
  Held the minstrel, Wainamoinen,
  Anchored in the fog and darkness;
  Bound him one day, then a second,
  Then a third till dawn of morning,
  In the middle of the blue-sea,
  Whence he could not flee in safety
  From the wrath of his pursuers.
  When the third night had departed,
  Resting in the sea, and helpless,
  Wainamoinen spake as follows,
  "Not a man of strength and courage,
  Not the weakest of the heroes,
  Who upon the sea will suffer,
  Sink and perish in the vapors,
  Perish in the fog and darkness!"
  With his sword he smote the billows,
  From his magic blade flowed honey;
  Quick the vapor breaks, and rises,
  Leaves the waters clear for rowing;
  Far extend the sky and waters,
  Large the ring of the horizon,
  And the troubled sea enlarges.
  Time had journeyed little distance,
  Scarce a moment had passed over,
  When they heard a mighty roaring,
  Heard a roaring and a rushing
  Near the border of the vessel,
  Where the foam was shooting skyward
  O'er the boat of Wainamoinen.
  Straightway youthful Ilmarinen
  Sank in gravest apprehension,
  From his cheeks the blood departed;
  Pulled his cap down o'er his forehead,
  Shook and trembled with emotion.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Casts his eyes upon the waters
  Near the broad rim of his war-ship;
  There perceives an ocean-wonder
  With his head above the sea-foam.
  Wainamoinen, brave and mighty,
  Seizes quick the water-monster,
  Lifts him by his ears and questions:
  "Iku-Turso, son of Old-age,
  Why art rising from the blue-sea?
  Wherefore dost thou leave thy castle,
  Show thyself to mighty heroes,
  To the heroes of Wainola?"
  Iku-Turso, son of Old-age,
  Ocean monster, manifested
  Neither pleasure, nor displeasure,
  Was not in the least affrighted,
  Did not give the hero answer.
  Whereupon the ancient minstrel,
  Asked the second time the monster,
  Urgently inquired a third time:
  "Iku-Turso, son of Old-age,
  Why art rising from the waters,
  Wherefore dost thou leave the blue-sea?
  Iku-Turso gave this answer:
  For this cause I left my castle
  Underneath the rolling billows:
  Came I here with the intention
  To destroy the Kalew-heroes,
  And return the magic Sampo
  To the people of Pohyola.
  If thou wilt restore my freedom,
  Spare my life, from pain and sorrow,
  I will quick retrace my journey,
  Nevermore to show my visage
  To the people of Wainola,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers
  On the hills of Kalevala!"
  Then the singer, Wainamoinen,
  Freed the monster, Iku-Turso,
  Sent him to his deep sea-castles,
  Spake these words to him departing:
  "Iku-Turso, son of Old-age,
  Nevermore arise from ocean,
  Nevermore let Northland-heroes
  See thy face above the waters I
  Nevermore has Iku-Turso
  Risen to the ocean-level;
  Never since have Northland sailors
  Seen the head of this sea-monster.
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Onward rowed his goodly vessel,
  Journeyed but a little distance,
  Scarce a moment had passed over,
  When the King of all creators,
  Mighty Ukko of the heavens,
  Made the winds blow full of power,
  Made the storms arise in fury,
  Made them rage upon the waters.
  From the west the winds came roaring,
  From the north-east came in anger,
  Winds came howling from the south-west,
  Came the winds from all directions,
  In their fury, rolling, roaring,
  Tearing branches from the lindens,
  Hurling needles from the pine-trees,
  Blowing flowers from the heather,
  Grasses blowing from the meadow,
  Tearing up the very bottom
  Of the deep and boundless blue-sea.
  Roared the winds and lashed the waters
  Till the waves were white with fury;
  Tossed the war-ship high in ether,
  Tossed away the harp of fish-bone,
  Magic harp of Wainamoinen,
  To the joy of King Wellamo,
  To the pleasure of his people,
  To the happiness of Ahto,
  Ahto, rising from his caverns,
  On the floods beheld his people
  Carry off the harp of magic
  To their home below the billows.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Heavy-hearted, spake these measures:
  "I have lost what I created,
  I have lost the harp of joyance;
  Now my strength has gone to others,
  All my pleasure too departed,
  All my hope and comfort vanished!
  Nevermore the harp of fish-bone
  Will enchant the hosts of Suomi!"
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Sorrow-laden, spake as follows:
  "Woe is me, my life hard-fated!
  Would that I had never journeyed
  On these waters filled with dangers,
  On the rolling waste before me,
  In this war-ship false and feeble.
  Winds and storms have I encountered,
  Wretched days of toil and trouble,
  I have witnessed in the Northland;
  Never have I met such dangers
  On the land, nor on the ocean,
  Never in my hero life-time!"
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Spake and these the words he uttered:
  "Weep no more, my goodly comrades,
  In my bark let no one murmur;
  Weeping cannot mend disaster,
  Tears can never still misfortune,
  Mourning cannot save from evil.
  "Sea, command thy warring forces,
  Bid thy children cease their fury!
  Ahto, still thy surging billows!
  Sink, Wellamo, to thy slumber,
  That our boat may move in safety.
  Rise, ye storm-winds, to your kingdoms,
  Lift your heads above the waters,
  To the regions of your kindred,
  To your people and dominions;
  Cut the trees within the forest,
  Bend the lindens of the valley,
  Let our vessel sail in safety!"
  Then the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Handsome wizard, Kaukomieli,
  Spake these words in supplication:
  "Come, O eagle, Turyalander,
  Bring three feathers from thy pinions,
  Three, O raven, three, O eagle,
  To protect this bark from evil!"
  All the heroes of Wainola
  Call their forces to the rescue,
  And repair the sinking vessel.
  By the aid of master-magic,
  Wainamoinen saved his war-ship,
  Saved his people from destruction,
  Well repaired his ship to battle
  With the roughest seas of Northland;
  Steers his mighty boat in safety
  Through the perils of the whirlpool,
  Through the watery deeps and dangers.




RUNE XLIII.



  THE SAMPO LOST IN THE SEA.


  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Called her many tribes together,
  Gave the archers bows and arrows,
  Gave her brave men spears and broadswords;
  Fitted out her mightiest war-ship,
  In the vessel placed her army,
  With their swords a hundred heroes,
  With their bows a thousand archers;
  Quick erected masts and sail-yards,
  On the masts her sails of linen
  Hanging like the clouds of heaven,
  Like the white-clouds in the ether,
  Sailed across the seas of Pohya,
  To re-take the wondrous Sampo
  From the heroes of Wainola.
  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,
  Sailed across the deep, blue waters,
  Spake these words to Lemminkainen:
  "O thou daring son of Lempo,
  Best of all my friends and heroes,
  Mount the highest of the topmasts,
  Look before you into ether,
  Look behind you at the heavens,
  Well examine the horizon,
  Whether clear or filled with trouble."
  Climbed the daring Lemminkainen,
  Ever ready for a venture,
  To the highest of the mastheads;
  Looked he eastward, also westward,
  Looked he northward, also southward,
  Then addressed wise Wainamoinen.
  "Clear the sky appears before me,
  But behind a dark horizon;
  In the north a cloud is rising,
  And a longer cloud at north-west."
  Wainamoinen thus made answer:
  Art thou speaking truth or fiction?
  I am fearful that the war-ships
  Of Pohyola are pursuing;
  Look again with keener vision."
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
  Looked again and spake as follows:
  "In the distance seems a forest,
  In the south appears an island,
  Aspen-groves with falcons laden,
  Alders laden with the wood-grouse."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Surely thou art speaking falsehood;
  'Tis no forest in the distance,
  Neither aspen, birch, nor alders,
  Laden with the grouse, or falcon;
  I am fearful that Pohyola
  Follows with her magic armies;
  Look again with keener vision."
  Then the daring Lemminkainen
  Looked the third time from the topmast,
  Spake and these the words be uttered:
  "From the north a boat pursues us,
  Driven by a hundred rowers,
  Carrying a thousand heroes!"
  Knew at last old Wainamoinen,
  Knew the truth of his inquiry,
  Thus addressed his fleeing people:
  "Row, O blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Row, O mighty Lemminkainen,
  Row, all ye my noble oarsmen,
  That our boat may skim the waters,
  May escape from our pursuers!"
  Rowed the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Rowed the mighty Lemminkainen,
  With them rowed the other heroes;
  Heavily groaned the helm of birch-wood,
  Loudly rattled all the row-locks;
  All the vessel shook and trembled,
  Like a cataract it thundered
  As it plowed the waste of waters,
  Tossing sea-foam to the heavens.
  Strongly rowed Wainola's forces,
  Strongly were their arms united;
  But the distance did not widen
  Twixt the boat and their pursuers.
  Quick the hero, Wainamoinen,
  Saw misfortune hanging over,
  Saw destruction in the distance
  Heavy-hearted, long reflecting,
  Trouble-laden, spake as follows:
  "Only is there one salvation,
  Know one miracle for safety!"
  Then he grasped his box of tinder,
  From the box he took a flint-stone,
  Of the tinder took some fragments,
  Cast the fragments on the waters,
  Spake these words of master-magic.
  "Let from these arise a mountain
  From the bottom of the deep-sea,
  Let a rock arise in water,
  That the war-ship of Pohyola,
  With her thousand men and heroes,
  May be wrecked upon the summit,
  By the aid of surging billows."
  Instantly a reef arises,
  In the sea springs up a mountain,
  Eastward, westward, through the waters.
  Came the war-ship of the Northland,
  Through the floods the boat came steering,
  Sailed against the mountain-ledges,
  Fastened on the rocks in water,
  Wrecked upon the Mount of Magic.
  In the deep-sea fell the topmasts,
  Fell the sails upon the billows,
  Carried by the winds and waters
  O'er the waves of toil and trouble.
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Tries to free her sinking vessel,
  Tries to rescue from destruction;
  But she cannot raise the war-ship,
  Firmly fixed upon the mountain;
  Shattered are the ribs and rudder,
  Ruined is the ship of Pohya.
  Then the hostess of the Northland,
  Much disheartened, spake as follows:
  "Where the force, in earth or heaven,
  That will help a soul in trouble?"
  Quick she changes form and feature,
  Makes herself another body;
  Takes five sharpened scythes of iron,
  Also takes five goodly sickles,
  Shapes them into eagle-talons;
  Takes the body of the vessel,
  Makes the frame-work of an eagle;
  Takes the vessel's ribs and flooring
  Makes them into wings and breastplate;
  For the tail she shapes the rudder;
  In the wings she plants a thousand
  Seniors with their bows and arrows;
  Sets a thousand magic heroes
  In the body, armed with broadswords
  In the tail a hundred archers,
  With their deadly spears and cross-bows,
  Thus the bird is hero-feathered.
  Quick she spreads her mighty pinions,
  Rises as a monster-eagle,
  Flies on high, and soars, and circles
  With one wing she sweeps the heavens,
  While the other sweeps the waters.
  Spake the hero's ocean-mother:
  "O thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Turn thy vision to the north-east,
  Cast thine eyes upon the sunrise,
  Look behind thy fleeing vessel,
  See the eagle of misfortune!"
  Wainamoinen turned as bidden,
  Turned his vision to the north-east,
  Cast his eyes upon the sunrise,
  There beheld the Northland-hostess,
  Wicked witch of Sariola,
  Flying as a monster-eagle,
  Swooping on his mighty war-ship;
  Flies and perches on the topmast,
  On the sail-yards firmly settles;
  Nearly overturns the vessel
  Of the heroes of Wainola,
  Underneath the weight of envy.
  Then the hero, Ilmarinen,
  Turned to Ukko as his refuge,
  Thus entreated his Creator:
  "Ukko, thou O God in heaven,
  Thou Creator full of mercy,
  Guard us from impending danger,
  That thy children may not perish,
  May not meet with fell destruction.
  Hither bring thy magic fire-cloak,
  That thy people, thus protected,
  May resist Pohyola's forces,
  Well may fight against the hostess
  Of the dismal Sariola,
  May not fall before her weapons,
  May not in the deep-sea perish!"
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Thus addressed the ancient Louhi:
  "O thou hostess of Pohyola,
  Wilt thou now divide the Sampo,
  On the fog-point in the water,
  On the island forest-covered?
  Thus the Northland hostess answered:
  "I will not divide the Sampo,
  Not with thee, thou evil wizard,
  Not with wicked Wainamoinen!"
  Quick the mighty eagle, Louhi,
  Swoops upon the lid in colors,
  Grasps the Sampo in her talons;
  But the daring Lemminkainen
  Straightway draws his blade of battle,
  Draws his broadsword from his girdle,
  Cleaves the talons of the eagle,
  One toe only is uninjured,
  Speaks these magic words of conquest:
  "Down, ye spears, and down, ye broadswords,
  Down, ye thousand witless heroes,
  Down, ye feathered hosts of Louhi!"
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola,
  Calling, screeching, from the sail-yards:
  "O thou faithless Lemminkainen,
  Wicked wizard, Kaukomieli,
  To deceive thy trusting mother!
  Thou didst give to her thy promise,
  Not to go to war for ages,
  Not to war for sixty summers,
  Though desire for gold impels thee,
  Though thou wishest gold and silver!
  Wainamoinen, ancient hero,
  The eternal wisdom-singer,
  Thinking he had met destruction,
  Snatched the rudder from the waters,
  With it smote the monster-eagle,
  Smote the eagle's iron talons,
  Smote her countless feathered heroes.
  From her breast her hosts descended,
  Spearmen fell upon the billows,
  From the wings descend a thousand,
  From the tail, a hundred archers.
  Swoops again the bird of Pohya
  To the bottom of the vessel,
  Like the hawk from birch or aspen,
  Like the falcon from the linden;
  Grasps the Sampo with one talon,
  Drags the treasure to the waters,
  Drops the magic lid in colors
  From the red rim of the war-ship
  To the bottom of the deep-sea,
  Where the Sampo breaks in pieces,
  Scatters through the Alue-waters,
  In the mighty deeps for ages,
  To increase the ocean's treasures,
  Treasures for the hosts of Ahto.
  Nevermore will there be wanting
  Richness for the Ahto-nation,
  Never while the moonlight brightens
  On the waters of the Northland.
  Many fragments of the Sampo
  Floated on the purple waters,
  On the waters deep and boundless,
  Rocked by winds and waves of Suomi,
  Carried by the rolling billows
  To the sea-sides of Wainola.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Saw the fragments of the treasure
  Floating on the billows landward,
  Fragments of the lid in colors,
  Much rejoicing, spake as follows:
  "Thence will come the sprouting seed-grain,
  The beginning of good fortune,
  The unending of resources,
  From the plowing and the sowing,
  From the glimmer of the moonlight,
  From the splendor of the sunshine,
  On the fertile plains of Suomi,
  On the meads of Kalevala."
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Thus addressed old Wainamoinen:
  "Know I other mighty measures,
  Know I means that are efficient,
  And against thy golden moonlight,
  And the splendor of thy sunshine,
  And thy plowing, and thy reaping;
  In the rocks I'll sink the moonbeams,
  Hide the sun within the mountain,
  Let the frost destroy thy sowings,
  Freeze the crops on all thy corn-fields;
  Iron-hail I'll send from heaven,
  On the richness of thine acres,
  On the barley of thy planting;
  I will drive the bear from forests,
  Send thee Otso from the thickets,
  That he may destroy thy cattle,
  May annihilate thy sheep-folds,
  May destroy thy steeds at pasture.
  I will send thee nine diseases,
  Each more fatal than the other,
  That will sicken all thy people,
  Make thy children sink and perish,
  Nevermore to visit Northland,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers
  On the plains of Kalevala!"
  Thus the ancient bard made answer:
  "Not a Laplander can banish
  Wainamoinen and his people;
  Never can a Turyalander
  Drive my tribes from Kalevala;
  God alone has power to banish,
  God controls the fate of nations,
  Never trusts the arms of evil,
  Never gives His strength to others.
  As I trust in my Creator,
  Call upon benignant Ukko,
  He will guard my crops from danger
  Drive the Frost-fiend from my corn-fields,
  Drive great Otso to his caverns.
  "Wicked Louhi of Pohyola,
  Thou canst banish evil-doers,
  In the rocks canst hide the wicked,
  In thy mountains lock the guilty;
  Thou canst never hide the moonlight,
  Never bide the silver sunshine,
  In the caverns of thy kingdom.
  Freeze the crops of thine own planting,
  Freeze the barley of thy sowing,
  Send thine iron-hail from heaven
  To destroy the Lapland corn-fields,
  To annihilate thy people,
  To destroy the hosts of Pohya;
  Send great Otso from the heather,
  Send the sharp-tooth from the forest,
  To the fields of Sariola,
  On the herds and flocks of Louhi!"
  Thus the wicked hostess answered:
  "All my power has departed,
  All my strength has gone to others,
  All my hope is in the deep-sea;
  In the waters lies my Sampo!"
  Then the hostess of Pohyola
  Home departed, weeping, wailing,
  To the land of cold and darkness;
  Only took some worthless fragments
  Of the Sampo to her people;
  Carried she the lid to Pohya,
  In the blue-sea left the handle;
  Hence the poverty of Northland,
  And the famines of Pohyola.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Hastened to the broad-sea's margin,
  Stepped upon the shore in joyance;
  Found there fragments of the Sampo,
  Fragments of the lid in colors,
  On the borders of the waters,
  On the curving sands and sea-sides;
  Gathered well the Sampo-relics
  From the waters near the fog-point,
  On the island forest-covered.
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Spake these words in supplication:
  "Grant, O Ukko, our Creator,
  Grant to us, thy needful children,
  Peace, and happiness, and plenty,
  That our lives may be successful,
  That our days may end in honor,
  On the vales and hills of Suomi,
  On the prairies of Wainola,
  In the homes of Kalevala!
  "Ukko, wise and good Creator,
  Ukko, God of love and mercy,
  Shelter and protect thy people
  From the evil-minded heroes,
  From the wiles of wicked women,
  That our country's plagues may leave us,
  That thy faithful tribes may prosper.
  Be our friend and strong protector,
  Be the helper of thy children,
  In the night a roof above them,
  In the day a shield around them,
  That the sunshine may not vanish,
  That the moonlight may not lessen,
  That the killing frosts may leave them,
  And destructive hail pass over.
  Build a metal wall around us,
  From the valleys to the heavens;
  Build of stone a mighty fortress
  On the borders of Wainola,
  Where thy people live and labor,
  As their dwelling-place forever,
  Sure protection to thy people,
  Where the wicked may not enter,
  Nor the thieves break through and pilfer,
  Never while the moonlight glistens,
  And the Sun brings golden blessings
  To the plains of Kalevala."




RUNE XLIV.



  BIRTH OF THE SECOND HARP.


  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Long reflecting, sang these measures:
  "It is now the time befitting
  To awaken joy and gladness,
  Time for me to touch the harp-strings,
  Time to sing the songs primeval,
  In these spacious halls and mansions,
  In these homes of Kalevala;
  But, alas! my harp lies hidden,
  Sunk upon the deep-sea's bottom,
  To the salmon's hiding-places,
  To the dwellings of the whiting,
  To the people of Wellamo,
  Where the Northland-pike assemble.
  Nevermore will I regain it,
  Ahto never will return it,
  Joy and music gone forever!
  "O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Forge for me a rake of iron,
  Thickly set the teeth of copper,
  Many fathoms long the handle;
  Make a rake to search the waters,
  Search the broad-sea to the bottom,
  Rake the weeds and reeds together,
  Rake them to the curving sea-shore,
  That I may regain my treasure,
  May regain my harp of fish-bow
  From the whiting's place of resting,
  From the caverns of the salmon,
  From the castles of Wellamo."
  Thereupon young Ilmarinen,
  The eternal metal-worker,
  Forges well a rake of iron,
  Teeth in length a hundred fathoms,
  And a thousand long the handle,
  Thickly sets the teeth of copper.
  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen
  Takes the rake of magic metals,
  Travels but a little distance,
  To the cylinders of oak-wood,
  To the copper-banded rollers,
  Where he finds two ships awaiting,
  One was new, the other ancient.
  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,
  Thus addressed the new-made vessel:
  "Go, thou boat of master-magic,
  Hasten to the willing waters,
  Speed away upon the blue-sea,
  And without the hand to move thee;
  Let my will impel thee seaward."
  Quick the boat rolled to the billows
  On the cylinders of oak-wood,
  Quick descended to the waters,
  Willingly obeyed his master.
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  Then began to rake the sea-beds,
  Raked up all the water-flowers,
  Bits of broken reeds and rushes,
  Deep-sea shells and colored pebbles,
  Did not find his harp of fish-bone,
  Lost forever to Wainola!
  Thereupon the ancient minstrel
  Left the waters, homeward hastened,
  Cap pulled clown upon his forehead,
  Sang this song with sorrow laden:
  "Nevermore shall I awaken
  With my harp-strings, joy and gladness!
  Nevermore will Wainamoinen
  Charm the people of the Northland
  With the harp of his creation!
  Nevermore my songs will echo
  O'er the hills of Kalevala!"
  Thereupon the ancient singer
  Went lamenting through the forest,
  Wandered through the sighing pine-woods,
  Heard the wailing of a birch-tree,
  Heard a juniper complaining;
  Drawing nearer, waits and listens,
  Thus the birch-tree he addresses:
  "Wherefore, brother, art thou weeping,
  Merry birch enrobed in silver,
  Silver-leaved and silver-tasselled?
  Art thou shedding tears of sorrow,
  Since thou art not led to battle,
  Not enforced to war with wizards?
  Wisely does the birch make answer:
  "This the language of the many,
  Others speak as thou, unjustly,
  That I only live in pleasure,
  That my silver leaves and tassels
  Only whisper my rejoicings;
  That I have no cares, no sorrows,
  That I have no hours unhappy,
  Knowing neither pain nor trouble.
  I am weeping for my smallness,
  Am lamenting for my weakness,
  Have no sympathy, no pity,
  Stand here motionless for ages,
  Stand alone in fen and forest,
  In these woodlands vast and joyless.
  Others hope for coming summers,
  For the beauties of the spring-time;
  I, alas! a helpless birch-tree,
  Dread the changing of the seasons,
  I must give my bark to, others,
  Lose my leaves and silken tassels.
  Men come the Suomi children,
  Peel my bark and drink my life-blood:
  Wicked shepherds in the summer,
  Come and steal my belt of silver,
  Of my bark make berry-baskets,
  Dishes make, and cups for drinking.
  Oftentimes the Northland maidens
  Cut my tender limbs for birch-brooms,'
  Bind my twigs and silver tassels
  Into brooms to sweep their cabins;
  Often have the Northland heroes
  Chopped me into chips for burning;
  Three times in the summer season,
  In the pleasant days of spring-time,
  Foresters have ground their axes
  On my silver trunk and branches,
  Robbed me of my life for ages;
  This my spring-time joy and pleasure,
  This my happiness in summer,
  And my winter days no better!
  When I think of former troubles,
  Sorrow settles on my visage,
  And my face grows white with anguish;
  Often do the winds of winter
  And the hoar-frost bring me sadness,
  Blast my tender leaves and tassels,
  Bear my foliage to others,
  Rob me of my silver raiment,
  Leave me naked on the mountain,
  Lone, and helpless, and disheartened!"
  Spake the good, old Wainamoinen:
  "Weep no longer, sacred birch-tree,
  Mourn no more, my friend and brother,
  Thou shalt have a better fortune;
  I will turn thy grief to joyance,
  Make thee laugh and sing with gladness."
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Made a harp from sacred birch-wood,
  Fashioned in the days of summer,
  Beautiful the harp of magic,
  By the master's hand created
  On the fog-point in the Big-Sea,
  On the island forest-covered,
  Fashioned from the birch the archings,
  And the frame-work from the aspen.
  These the words of the magician:
  "All the archings are completed,
  And the frame is fitly finished;
  Whence the hooks and pins for tuning,
  That the harp may sing in concord?"
  Near the way-side grew an oak-tree,
  Skyward grew with equal branches,
  On each twig an acorn growing,
  Golden balls upon each acorn,
  On each ball a singing cuckoo.
  As each cuckoo's call resounded,
  Five the notes of song that issued
  From the songster's throat of joyance;
  From each throat came liquid music,
  Gold and silver for the master,
  Flowing to the hills and hillocks,
  To the silvery vales and mountains;
  Thence he took the merry harp-pins,
  That the harp might play in concord.
  Spake again wise Wainamoinen:
  "I the pins have well completed,
  Still the harp is yet unfinished;
  Now I need five strings for playing,
  Where shall I procure the harp-strings?"
  Then the ancient bard and minstrel
  Journeyed through the fen and forest.
  On a hillock sat a maiden,
  Sat a virgin of the valley;
  And the maiden was not weeping,
  Joyful was the sylvan daughter,
  Singing with the woodland songsters,
  That the eventide might hasten,
  In the hope that her beloved
  Would the sooner sit beside her.
  Wainamoinen, old and trusted,
  Hastened, tripping to the virgin,
  Asked her for her golden ringleta,
  These the words of the magician.
  "Give me, maiden, of thy tresses,
  Give to me thy golden ringlets;
  I will weave them into harp-strings,
  To the joy of Wainamoinen,
  To the pleasure of his people."
  Thereupon the forest-maiden
  Gave the singer of her tresses,
  Gave him of her golden ringlets,
  And of these he made the harp-strings.
  Sources of eternal pleasure
  To the people of Wainola.
  Thus the sacred harp is finished,
  And the minstrel, Wainamoinen,
  Sits upon the rock of joyance,
  Takes the harp within his fingers,
  Turns the arch up, looking skyward;
  With his knee the arch supporting,
  Sets the strings in tuneful order,
  Runs his fingers o'er the harp-strings,
  And the notes of pleasure follow.
  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen,
  The eternal wisdom-singer,
  Plays upon his harp of birch-wood.
  Far away is heard the music,
  Wide the harp of joy re-echoes;
  Mountains dance and valleys listen,
  Flinty rocks are tom asunder,
  Stones are hurled upon the waters,
  Pebbles swim upon the Big-Sea,
  Pines and lindens laugh with pleasure,
  Alders skip about the heather,
  And the aspen sways in concord.
  All the daughters of Wainola
  Straightway leave their shining needles,
  Hasten forward like the current,
  Speed along like rapid rivers,
  That they may enjoy and wonder.
  Laugh the younger men and maidens,
  Happy-hearted are the matrons
  Flying swift to bear the playing,
  To enjoy the common pleasure,
  Hear the harp of Wainamoinen.
  Aged men and bearded seniors,
  Gray-haired mothers with their daughters
  Stop in wonderment and listen.
  Creeps the babe in full enjoyment
  As he hears the magic singing,
  Hears the harp of Wainamoinen.
  All of Northland stops in wonder,
  Speaks in unison these measures:
  "Never have we heard such playing,
  Never heard such strains of music,
  Never since the earth was fashioned,
  As the songs of this magician,
  This sweet singer, Wainamoinen!"
  Far and wide the sweet tones echo,
  Ring throughout the seven hamlets,
  O'er the seven islands echo;
  Every creature of the Northland
  Hastens forth to look and listen,
  Listen to the songs of gladness,
  To the harp of Wainamoinen.
  All the beasts that haunt the woodlands
  Fall upon their knees and wonder
  At the playing of the minstrel,
  At his miracles of concord.
  All the songsters of the forests
  Perch upon the trembling branches,
  Singing to the wondrous playing
  Of the harp of Wainamoinen.
  All the dwellers of the waters
  Leave their beds, and eaves, and grottoes,
  Swim against the shore and listen
  To the playing of the minstrel,
  To the harp of Wainamoinen.
  All the little things in nature,
  Rise from earth, and fall from ether,
  Come and listen to the music,
  To the notes of the enchanter,
  To the songs of the magician,
  To the harp of Wainamoinen.
  Plays the singer of the Northland,
  Plays in miracles of sweetness,
  Plays one day, and then a second,
  Plays the third from morn till even;
  Plays within the halls and cabins,
  In the dwellings of his people,
  Till the floors and ceilings echo,
  Till resound the roofs of pine-wood,
  Till the windows speak and tremble,
  Till the portals echo joyance,
  And the hearth-stones sing in pleasure.
  As he journeys through the forest,
  As he wanders through the woodlands,
  Pine and sorb-tree bid him welcome,
  Birch and willow bend obeisance,
  Beech and aspen bow submission;
  And the linden waves her branches
  To the measure of his playing,
  To the notes of the magician.
  As the minstrel plays and wanders,
  Sings upon the mead and heather,
  Glen and hill his songs re-echo,
  Ferns and flowers laugh in pleasure,
  And the shrubs attune their voices
  To the music of the harp-strings,
  To the songs of Wainamoinen.




RUNE XLV.



  BIRTH OF THE NINE DISEASES.


  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Heard the word in Sariola,
  Heard the Dews with ears of envy,
  That Wainola lives and prospers,
  That Osmoinen's wealth increases,
  Through the ruins of the Sampo,
  Ruins of the lid in colors.
  Thereupon her wrath she kindled,
  Well considered, long reflected,
  How she might prepare destruction
  For the people of Wainola,
  For the tribes of Kalevala.
  With this prayer she turns to Ukko,
  Thus entreats the god of thunder:
  "Ukko, thou who art in heaven,
  Help me slay Wainola's people
  With thine iron-hail of justice,
  With thine arrows tipped with lightning,
  Or from sickness let them perish,
  Let them die the death deserving;
  Let the men die in the forest,
  And the women in the hurdles!"
  The blind daughter of Tuoni,
  Old and wicked witch, Lowyatar,
  Worst of all the Death-land women,
  Ugliest of Mana's children,
  Source of all the host of evils,
  All the ills and plagues of Northland,
  Black in heart, and soul, and visage,
  Evil genius of Lappala,
  Made her couch along the wayside,
  On the fields of sin and sorrow;
  Turned her back upon the East-wind,
  To the source of stormy weather,
  To the chilling winds of morning.
  When the winds arose at evening,
  Heavy-laden grew Lowyatar,
  Through the east-wind's impregnation,
  On the sand-plains, vast and barren.
  Long she bore her weight of trouble,
  Many morns she suffered anguish,
  Till at last she leaves the desert,
  Makes her couch within the forest,
  On a rock upon the mountain;
  Labors long to leave her burden
  By the mountain-springs and fountains,
  By the crystal waters flowing,
  By the sacred stream and whirlpool,
  By the cataract and fire-stream;
  But her burden does not lighten.
  Blind Lowyatar, old and ugly,
  Knew not where to look for succor,
  How to lose her weight of sorrow,
  Where to lay her evil children.
  Spake the Highest from the heavens,
  These, the words of mighty Ukko:
  "Is a triangle in Swamp-field,
  Near the border of the ocean,
  In the never-pleasant Northland,
  In the dismal Sariola;
  Thither go and lay thy burden,
  In Pohyola leave thine offspring;
  There the Laplanders await thee,
  There will bid thy children welcome."
  Thereupon the blind Lowyatar,
  Blackest daughter of Tuoni,
  Mana's old and ugly maiden,
  Hastened on her journey northward,
  To the chambers of Pohyola,
  To the ancient halls of Louhi,
  There to lay her heavy burdens,
  There to leave her evil offspring.
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Old and toothless witch of Pohya,
  Takes Lowyatar to her mansion;
  Silently she leads the stranger
  To the bath-rooms of her chamber,
  Pours the foaming beer of barley,
  Lubricates the bolts and hinges,
  That their movements may be secret,
  Speaks these measures to Lowyatar:
  "Faithful daughter of Creation,
  Thou most beautiful of women,
  First and last of ancient mothers,
  Hasten on thy feet to ocean,
  To the ocean's centre hasten,
  Take the sea-foam from the waters,
  Take the honey of the mermaids,
  And anoint thy sacred members,
  That thy labors may be lightened.
  "Should all this be unavailing,
  Ukko, thou who art in heaven,
  Hasten hither, thou art needed,
  Come thou to thy child in trouble,
  Help the helpless and afflicted.
  Take thy golden-colored sceptre,
  Charm away opposing forces,
  Strike the pillars of the stronghold,
  Open all resisting portals,
  That the great and small may wander
  From their ancient hiding-places,
  Through the courts and halls of freedom."
  Finally the blind Lowyatar,
  Wicked witch of Tuonela,
  Was delivered of her burden,
  Laid her offspring in the cradle,
  Underneath the golden covers.
  Thus at last were born nine children,
  In an evening of the summer,
  From Lowyatar, blind and ancient,
  Ugly daughter of Tuoni.
  Faithfully the virgin-mother
  Guards her children in affection,
  As an artist loves and nurses
  What his skillful hands have fashioned.
  Thus Lowyatar named her offspring,
  Colic, Pleurisy, and Fever,
  Ulcer, Plague, and dread Consumption,
  Gout, Sterility, and Cancer.
  And the worst of these nine children
  Blind Lowyatar quickly banished,
  Drove away as an enchanter,
  To bewitch the lowland people,
  To engender strife and envy.
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Banished all the other children
  To the fog-point in the ocean,
  To the island forest-covered;
  Banished all the fatal creatures,
  Gave these wicked sons of evil
  To the people of Wainola,
  To the youth of Kalevala,
  For the Kalew-tribe's destruction.
  Quick Wainola's maidens sicken,
  Young and aged, men and heroes,
  With the worst of all diseases,
  With diseases new and nameless;
  Sick and dying is Wainola.
  Thereupon old Wainamoinen,
  Wise and wonderful enchanter,
  Hastens to his people's rescue,
  Hastens to a war with Mana,
  To a conflict with Tuoni,
  To destroy the evil children
  Of the evil maid, Lowyatar.
  Wainamoinen heats the bath-rooms,
  Heats the blocks of healing-sandstone
  With the magic wood of Northland,
  Gathered by the sacred river;
  Water brings in covered buckets
  From the cataract and whirlpool;
  Brooms he brings enwrapped with ermine,
  Well the bath the healer cleanses,
  Softens well the brooms of birch-wood;
  Then a honey-heat be wakens,
  Fills the rooms with healing vapors,
  From the virtue of the pebbles
  Glowing in the heat of magic,
  Thus he speaks in supplication:
  "Come, O Ukko, to my rescue,
  God of mercy, lend thy presence,
  Give these vapor-baths new virtues,
  Grant to them the powers of healing,
  And restore my dying people;
  Drive away these fell diseases,
  Banish them to the unworthy,
  Let the holy sparks enkindle,
  Keep this heat in healing limits,
  That it may not harm thy children,
  May not injure the afflicted.
  When I pour the sacred waters
  On the heated blocks of sandstone,
  May the water turn to honey
  Laden with the balm of healing.
  Let the stream of magic virtues
  Ceaseless flow to all my children,
  From this bath enrolled in sea-moss,
  That the guiltless may not suffer,
  That my tribe-folk may not perish,
  Till the Master gives permission,
  Until Ukko sends his minions,
  Sends diseases of his choosing,
  To destroy my trusting people.
  Let the hostess of Pohyola,
  Wicked witch that sent these troubles,
  Suffer from a gnawing conscience,
  Suffer for her evil doings.
  Should the Master of Wainola
  Lose his magic skill and weaken,
  Should he prove of little service
  To deliver from misfortune,
  To deliver from these evils,
  Then may Ukko be our healer,
  Be our strength and wise Physician.
  "Omnipresent God of mercy,
  Thou who livest in the heavens,
  Hasten hither, thou art needed,
  Hasten to thine ailing children,
  To observe their cruel tortures,
  To dispel these fell diseases,
  Drive destruction from our borders.
  Bring with thee thy mighty fire-sword,
  Bring to me thy blade of lightning,
  That I may subdue these evils,
  That these monsters I may banish,
  Send these pains, and ills, and tortures,
  To the empire of Tuoni,
  To the kingdom of the east-winds,
  To the islands of the wicked,
  To the caverns of the demons,
  To the rocks within the mountains,
  To the hidden beds of iron,
  That the rocks may fall and sicken,
  And the beds of iron perish.
  Rocks and metals do not murmur
  At the hands of the invader.
  "Torture-daughter of Tuoni,
  Sitting on the mount of anguish,
  At the junction of three rivers,
  Turning rocks of pain and torture,
  Turn away these fell diseases
  Through the virtues of the blue-stone;
  Lead them to the water-channels,
  Sink them in the deeps of ocean,
  Where the winds can never find them,
  Where the sunlight never enters.
  "Should this prayer prove unavailing,
  O, Health-virgin, maid of beauty
  Come and heal my dying people,
  Still their agonies and anguish,
  Give them consciousness and comfort,
  Give them healthful rest and slumber;
  These diseases take and banish,
  Take them in thy copper vessel,
  To thy eaves within the mountains,
  To the summit of the Pain-rock,
  Hurl them to thy boiling caldrons.
  In the mountain is a touch-stone,
  Lucky-stone of ancient story,
  With a hole bored through the centre,
  Through this pour these pains and tortures,
  Wretched feelings, thoughts of evil,
  Human ailments, days unlucky,
  Tribulations, and misfortunes,
  That they may not rise at evening,
  May not see the light of morning."
  Ending thus, old Wainamoinen,
  The eternal, wise enchanter,
  Rubbed his sufferers with balsams,
  Rubbed the tissues, red and painful,
  With the balm of healing flowers,
  Balsams made of herbs enchanted,
  Sprinkled all with healing vapors,
  Spake these words in supplication.
  "Ukko, thou who art in heaven,
  God of justice, and of mercy,
  Send us from the east a rain-cloud,
  Send a dark cloud from the North-west,
  From the north let fall a third one,
  Send us mingled rain and honey,
  Balsam from the great Physician,
  To remove this plague of Northland.
  What I know of healing measures,
  Only comes from my Creator;
  Lend me, therefore, of thy wisdom,
  That I may relieve my people,
  Save them from the fell destroyer,
  If my hands should fall in virtue,
  Let the hands of Ukko follow,
  God alone can save from trouble.
  Come to us with thine enchantment,
  Speak the magic words of healing,
  That my people may not perish;
  Give to all alleviation
  From their sicknesses and sorrows;
  In the morning, in the evening,
  Let their wasting ailments vanish;
  Drive the Death-child from Wainola,
  Nevermore to visit Northland,
  Never in the course of ages,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers
  O'er the lakes of Kalevala."
  Wainamoinen, the enchanter,
  The eternal wisdom-singer,
  Thus expelled the nine diseases,
  Evil children or Lowyatar,
  Healed the tribes of Kalevala,
  Saved his people from destruction.




RUNE XLVI.



  OTSO THE HONEY-EATER.


  Came the tidings to Pohyola,
  To the village of the Northland,
  That Wainola had recovered
  From her troubles and misfortunes,
  From her sicknesses and sorrows.
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Toothless dame of Sariola,
  Envy-laden, spake these measures:
  "Know I other means of trouble,
  I have many more resources;
  I will drive the bear before me,
  From the heather and the mountain,
  Drive him from the fen and forest,
  Drive great Otso from the glen-wood
  On the cattle of Wainola,
  On the flocks of Kalevala."
  Thereupon the Northland hostess
  Drove the hungry bear of Pohya
  From his cavern to the meadows,
  To Wainola's plains and pastures.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  To his brother spake as follows:
  "O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Forge a spear from magic metals,
  Forge a lancet triple-pointed,
  Forge the handle out of copper,
  That I may destroy great Otso,
  Slay the mighty bear of Northland,
  That he may not eat my horses,
  Nor destroy my herds of cattle,
  Nor the flocks upon my pastures."
  Thereupon the skillful blacksmith
  Forged a spear from magic metals,
  Forged a lancet triple-pointed,
  Not the longest, nor the shortest,
  Forged the spear in wondrous beauty.
  On one side a bear was sitting,
  Sat a wolf upon the other,
  On the blade an elk lay sleeping,
  On the shaft a colt was running,
  Near the hilt a roebuck bounding.
  Snows had fallen from the heavens,
  Made the flocks as white as ermine
  Or the hare, in days of winter,
  And the minstrel sang these measures:
  "My desire impels me onward
  To the Metsola-dominions,
  To the homes of forest-maidens,
  To the courts of the white virgins;
  I will hasten to the forest,
  Labor with the woodland-forces.
  "Ruler of the Tapio-forests,
  Make of me a conquering hero,
  Help me clear these boundless woodlands.
  O Mielikki, forest-hostess,
  Tapio's wife, thou fair Tellervo,
  Call thy dogs and well enchain them,
  Set in readiness thy hunters,
  Let them wait within their kennels.
  "Otso, thou O Forest-apple,
  Bear of honey-paws and fur-robes,
  Learn that Wainamoinen follows,
  That the singer comes to meet thee;
  Hide thy claws within thy mittens,
  Let thy teeth remain in darkness,
  That they may not harm the minstrel,
  May be powerless in battle.
  Mighty Otso, much beloved,
  Honey-eater of the mountains,
  Settle on the rocks in slumber,
  On the turf and in thy caverns;
  Let the aspen wave above thee,
  Let the merry birch-tree rustle
  O'er thy head for thy protection.
  Rest in peace, thou much-loved Otso,
  Turn about within thy thickets,
  Like the partridge at her brooding,
  In the spring-time like the wild-goose."
  When the ancient Wainamoinen
  Heard his dog bark in the forest,
  Heard his hunter's call and echo,
  He addressed the words that follow:
  "Thought it was the cuckoo calling,
  Thought the pretty bird was singing;
  It was not the sacred cuckoo,
  Not the liquid notes of songsters,
  'Twas my dog that called and murmured,
  'Twas the echo of my hunter
  At the cavern-doors of Otso,
  On the border of the woodlands."
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  Finds the mighty bear in waiting,
  Lifts in joy the golden covers,
  Well inspects his shining fur-robes;
  Lifts his honey-paws in wonder,
  Then addresses his Creator:
  "Be thou praised, O mighty Ukko,
  As thou givest me great Otso,
  Givest me the Forest-apple,
  Thanks be paid to thee unending."
  To the bear he spake these measures:
  "Otso, thou my well beloved,
  Honey-eater of the woodlands,
  Let not anger swell thy bosom;
  I have not the force to slay thee,
  Willingly thy life thou givest
  As a sacrifice to Northland.
  Thou hast from the tree descended,
  Glided from the aspen branches,
  Slippery the trunks in autumn,
  In the fog-days, smooth the branches.
  Golden friend of fen and forest,
  In thy fur-robes rich and beauteous,
  Pride of woodlands, famous Light-foot,
  Leave thy cold and cheerless dwelling,
  Leave thy home within the alders,
  Leave thy couch among the willows,
  Hasten in thy purple stockings,
  Hasten from thy walks restricted,
  Come among the haunts of heroes,
  Join thy friends in Kalevala.
  We shall never treat thee evil,
  Thou shalt dwell in peace and plenty,
  Thou shalt feed on milk and honey,
  Honey is the food of strangers.
  Haste away from this thy covert,
  From the couch of the unworthy,
  To a couch beneath the rafters
  Of Wainola's ancient dwellings.
  Haste thee onward o'er the snow-plain,
  As a leaflet in the autumn;
  Skip beneath these birchen branches,
  As a squirrel in the summer,
  As a cuckoo in the spring-time."
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  The eternal wisdom-singer,
  O'er the snow-fields hastened homeward,
  Singing o'er the hills and mountains,
  With his guest, the ancient Otso,
  With his friend, the famous Light-foot,
  With the Honey-paw of Northland.
  Far away was heard the singing,
  Heard the playing of the hunter,
  Heard the songs of Wainamoinen;
  All the people heard and wondered,
  Men and maidens, young and aged,
  From their cabins spake as follows:
  "Hear the echoes from the woodlands,
  Hear the bugle from the forest,
  Hear the flute-notes of the songsters,
  Hear the pipes of forest-maidens!"
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  Soon appears within the court-yard.
  Rush the people from their cabins,
  And the heroes ask these questions:
  "Has a mine of gold been opened,
  Hast thou found a vein of silver,
  Precious jewels in thy pathway?
  Does the forest yield her treasures,
  Give to thee the Honey-eater?
  Does the hostess of the woodlands,
  Give to thee the lynx and adder,
  Since thou comest home rejoicing,
  Playing, singing, on thy snow-shoes?"
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Gave this answer to his people:
  "For his songs I caught the adder,
  Caught the serpent for his wisdom;
  Therefore do I come rejoicing,
  Singing, playing, on my snow-shoes.
  Not the mountain lynx, nor serpent,
  Comes, however, to our dwellings;
  The Illustrious is coming,
  Pride and beauty of the forest,
  'Tis the Master comes among us,
  Covered with his friendly fur-robe.
  Welcome, Otso, welcome, Light-foot,
  Welcome, Loved-one from the glenwood!
  If the mountain guest is welcome,
  Open wide the gates of entry;
  If the bear is thought unworthy,
  Bar the doors against the stranger."
  This the answer of the tribe-folk:
  "We salute thee, mighty Otso,
  Honey-paw, we bid thee welcome,
  Welcome to our courts and cabins,
  Welcome, Light-foot, to our tables
  Decorated for thy coming!
  We have wished for thee for ages,
  Waiting since the days of childhood,
  For the notes of Tapio's bugle,
  For the singing of the wood-nymphs,
  For the coming of dear Otso,
  For the forest gold and silver,
  Waiting for the year of plenty,
  Longing for it as for summer,
  As the shoe waits for the snow-fields,
  As the sledge for beaten highways,
  As the maiden for her suitor,
  And the wife her husband's coming;
  Sat at evening by the windows,
  At the gates have, sat at morning,
  Sat for ages at the portals,
  Near the granaries in winter, Vanished,
  Till the snow-fields warmed and
  Till the sails unfurled in joyance,
  Till the earth grew green and blossomed,
  Thinking all the while as follows:
  "Where is our beloved Otso,
  Why delays our forest-treasure?
  Has he gone to distant Ehstland,
  To the upper glens of Suomi?"
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Whither shall I lead the stranger,
  Whither take the golden Light-foot?
  Shall I lead him to the garner,
  To the house of straw conduct him?"
  This the answer of his tribe-folk:
  "To the dining-hall lead Otso,
  Greatest hero of the Northland.
  Famous Light-foot, Forest-apple,
  Pride and glory of the woodlands,
  Have no fear before these maidens,
  Fear not curly-headed virgins,
  Clad in silver-tinselled raiment
  Maidens hasten to their chambers
  When dear Otso joins their number,
  When the hero comes among them."
  This the prayer of Wainamoinen:
  "Grant, O Ukko, peace and plenty
  Underneath these painted rafters,
  In this ornamented dweling;
  Thanks be paid to gracious Ukko!"
  Spake again the ancient minstrel:
  "Whither shall we lead dear Otso,
  'Whither take the fur-clad stranger?
  This the answer of his people:
  "Hither let the fur-robed Light-foot
  Be saluted on his coming;
  Let the Honey-paw be welcomed
  To the hearth-stone of the penthouse,
  Welcomed to the boiling caldrons,
  That we may admire his fur-robe,
  May behold his cloak with joyance.
  Have no care, thou much-loved Otso,
  Let not anger swell thy bosom
  As thy coat we view with pleasure;
  We thy fur shall never injure,
  Shall not make it into garments
  To protect unworthy people."
  Thereupon wise Wainamoinen
  Pulled the sacred robe from Otso,
  Spread it in the open court-yard,
  Cut the members into fragments,
  Laid them in the heating caldrons,
  In the copper-bottomed vessels--
  O'er the fire the crane was hanging,
  On the crane were hooks of copper,
  On the hooks the broiling-vessels
  Filled with bear-steak for the feasting,
  Seasoned with the salt of Dwina,
  From the Saxon-land imported,
  From the distant Dwina-waters,
  From the salt-sea brought in shallops.
  Ready is the feast of Otso;
  From the fire are swung the kettles
  On the crane of polished iron;
  In the centers of the tables
  Is the bear displayed in dishes,
  Golden dishes, decorated;
  Of the fir-tree and the linden
  Were the tables newly fashioned;
  Drinking cups were forged from copper,
  Knives of gold and spoons of silver;
  Filled the vessels to their borders
  With the choicest bits of Light-foot,
  Fragments of the Forest-apple.
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen
  "Ancient one with bosom golden,
  Potent voice in Tapio's councils
  Metsola's most lovely hostess,
  Hostess of the glen and forest,
  Hero-son of Tapiola,
  Stalwart youth in cap of scarlet,
  Tapio's most beauteous virgin,
  Fair Tellervo of the woodlands,
  Metsola with all her people,
  Come, and welcome, to the feasting,
  To the marriage-feast of Otso!
  All sufficient, the provisions,
  Food to eat and drink abundant,
  Plenty for the hosts assembled,
  Plenty more to give the village."
  This the question of the people:
  "Tell us of the birth of Otso!
  Was he born within a manger,
  Was he nurtured in the bath-room
  Was his origin ignoble?"
  This is Wainamoinen's answer:
  "Otso was not born a beggar,
  Was not born among the rushes,
  Was not cradled in a manger;
  Honey-paw was born in ether,
  In the regions of the Moon-land,
  On the shoulders of Otava,
  With the daughters of creation.
  "Through the ether walked a maiden,
  On the red rims of the cloudlets,
  On the border of the heavens,
  In her stockings purple-tinted,
  In her golden-colored sandals.
  In her hand she held a wool-box,
  With a hair-box on her shoulder;
  Threw the wool upon the ocean,
  And the hair upon the rivers;
  These are rocked by winds and waters,
  Water-currents bear them onward,
  Bear them to the sandy sea-shore,
  Land them near the Woods of honey,
  On an island forest-covered.
  "Fair Mielikki, woodland hostess,
  Tapio's most cunning daughter,
  Took the fragments from the sea-side,
  Took the white wool from the waters,
  Sewed the hair and wool together,
  Laid the bundle in her basket,
  Basket made from bark of birch-wood,
  Bound with cords the magic bundle;
  With the chains of gold she bound it
  To the pine-tree's topmost branches.
  There she rocked the thing of magic,
  Rocked to life the tender baby,
  Mid the blossoms of the pine-tree,
  On the fir-top set with needles;
  Thus the young bear well was nurtured,
  Thus was sacred Otso cradled
  On the honey-tree of Northland,
  In the middle of the forest.
  "Sacred Otso grew and flourished,
  Quickly grew with graceful movements,
  Short of feet, with crooked ankles,
  Wide of mouth and broad of forehead,
  Short his nose, his fur-robe velvet;
  But his claws were not well fashioned,
  Neither were his teeth implanted.
  Fair Mielikki, forest hostess,
  Spake these words in meditation:
  'Claws I should be pleased to give him,
  And with teeth endow the wonder,
  Would he not abuse the favor.'
  "Swore the bear a promise sacred,
  On his knees before Mielikki,
  Hostess of the glen and forest,
  And before omniscient Ukko,
  First and last of all creators,
  That he would not harm the worthy,
  Never do a deed of evil.
  Then Mielikki, woodland hostess,
  Wisest maid of Tapiola,
  Sought for teeth and claws to give him,
  From the stoutest mountain-ashes,
  From the juniper and oak tree,
  From the dry knots of the alder.
  Teeth and claws of these were worthless,
  Would not render goodly service.
  "Grew a fir-tree on the mountain,
  Grew a stately pine in Northland,
  And the fir had silver branches,
  Bearing golden cones abundant;
  These the sylvan maiden gathered,
  Teeth and claws of these she fashioned
  In the jaws and feet of Otso,
  Set them for the best of uses.
  Then she freed her new-made creature,
  Let the Light-foot walk and wander,
  Let him lumber through the marshes,
  Let him amble through the forest,
  Roll upon the plains and pastures;
  Taught him how to walk a hero,
  How to move with graceful motion,
  How to live in ease and pleasure,
  How to rest in full contentment,
  In the moors and in the marshes,
  On the borders of the woodlands;
  How unshod to walk in summer,
  Stockingless to run in autumn;
  How to rest and sleep in winter
  In the clumps of alder-bushes
  Underneath the sheltering fir-tree,
  Underneath the pine's protection,
  Wrapped securely in his fur-robes,
  With the juniper and willow.
  This the origin of Otso,
  Honey-eater of the Northlands,
  Whence the sacred booty cometh.
  Thus again the people questioned:
  Why became the woods so gracious,
  Why so generous and friendly?
  Why is Tapio so humored,
  That he gave his dearest treasure,
  Gave to thee his Forest-apple,
  Honey-eater of his kingdom?
  Was he startled with thine arrows,
  Frightened with the spear and broadsword?"
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  Gave this answer to the question:
  "Filled with kindness was the forest,
  Glen and woodland full of greetings,
  Tapio showing greatest favor.
  Fair Mielikki, forest hostess,
  Metsola's bewitching daughter,
  Beauteous woodland maid, Tellervo,
  Gladly led me on my journey,
  Smoothed my pathway through the glen-wood.
  Marked the trees upon the mountains,
  Pointing me to Otso's caverns,
  To the Great Bear's golden island.
  "When my journeyings had ended,
  When the bear had been discovered,
  Had no need to launch my javelins,
  Did not need to aim the arrow;
  Otso tumbled in his vaulting,
  Lost his balance in his cradle,
  In the fir-tree where he slumbered;
  Tore his breast upon the branches,
  Freely gave his life to others.
  "Mighty Otso, my beloved,
  Thou my golden friend and hero,
  Take thy fur-cap from thy forehead,
  Lay aside thy teeth forever,
  Hide thy fingers in the darkness,
  Close thy mouth and still thine anger,
  While thy sacred skull is breaking.
  "Now I take the eyes of Otso,
  Lest he lose the sense of seeing,
  Lest their former powers shall weaken;
  Though I take not all his members,
  Not alone must these be taken.
  "Now I take the ears of Otso,
  Lest he lose the sense of hearing,
  Lest their former powers shall weaken;
  Though I take not all his members,
  Not alone must these be taken.
  "Now I take the nose of Otso,
  Lest he lose the sense of smelling,
  Lest its former powers shall weaken;
  Though I take not all his members,
  Not alone must this be taken.
  "Now I take the tongue of Otso,
  Lest he lose the sense of tasting
  Lest its former powers shall weaken;
  Though I take not all his members,
  Not alone must this be taken.
  "Now I take the brain of Otso,
  Lest he lose the means of thinking,
  Lest his consciousness should fail him,
  Lest his former instincts weaken;
  Though I take not all his members,
  Not alone must this be taken.
  "I will reckon him a hero,
  That will count the teeth of Light-foot,
  That will loosen Otso's fingers
  From their settings firmly fastened."
  None he finds with strength sufficient
  To perform the task demanded.
  Therefore ancient Wainamoinen
  Counts the teeth of sacred Otso;
  Loosens all the claws of Light-foot,
  With his fingers strong as copper,
  Slips them from their firm foundations,
  Speaking to the bear these measures:
  "Otso, thou my Honey-eater,
  Thou my Fur-ball of the woodlands,
  Onward, onward, must thou journey
  From thy low and lonely dwelling,
  To the court-rooms of the village.
  Go, my treasure, through the pathway
  Near the herds of swine and cattle,
  To the hill-tops forest covered,
  To the high and rising mountains,
  To the spruce-trees filled with needles,
  To the branches of the pine-tree;
  There remain, my Forest-apple,
  Linger there in lasting slumber,
  Where the silver bells are ringing,
  To the pleasure of the shepherd."
  Thus beginning, and thus ending,
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Hastened from his emptied tables,
  And the children thus addressed him:
  "Whither hast thou led thy booty,
  Where hast left thy Forest-apple,
  Sacred Otso of the woodlands?
  Hast thou left him on the iceberg,
  Buried him upon the snow-field?
  Hast thou sunk him in the quicksand,
  Laid him low beneath the heather?"
  Wainamoinen spake in answer:
  "Have not left him on the iceberg,
  Have not buried him in snow-fields;
  There the dogs would soon devour him,
  Birds of prey would feast upon him;
  Have not hidden him in Swamp-land,
  Have not buried him in heather;
  There the worms would live upon him,
  Insects feed upon his body.
  Thither I have taken Otso,
  To the summit of the Gold-hill,
  To the copper-bearing mountain,
  Laid him in his silken cradle
  In the summit of a pine-tree,
  Where the winds and sacred branches
  Rock him to his lasting slumber,
  To the pleasure of the hunter,
  To the joy of man and hero.
  To the east his lips are pointing,
  While his eyes are northward looking;
  But dear Otso looks not upward,
  For the fierceness of the storm-winds
  Would destroy his sense of vision."
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Touched again his harp of joyance,
  Sang again his songs enchanting,
  To the pleasure of the evening,
  To the joy of morn arising.
  Spake the singer of Wainola:
  "Light for me a torch of pine-wood,
  For the darkness is appearing,
  That my playing may be joyous
  And my wisdom-songs find welcome."
  Then the ancient sage and singer,
  Wise and worthy Wainamoinen,
  Sweetly sang and played, and chanted,
  Through the long and dreary evening,
  Ending thus his incantation:
  "Grant, O Ukko, my Creator,
  That the people of Wainola
  May enjoy another banquet
  In the company of Light-foot;
  Grant that we may long remember
  Kalevala's feast with Otso!
  "Grant, O Ukko, my Creator,
  That the signs may guide our footsteps,
  That the notches in the pine-tree
  May direct my faithful people
  To the bear-dens of the woodlands;
  That great Tapio's sacred bugle
  May resound through glen and forest;
  That the wood-nymph's call may echo,
  May be heard in field and hamlet,
  To the joy of all that listen!
  Let great Tapio's horn for ages
  Ring throughout the fen and forest,
  Through the hills and dales of Northland
  O'er the meadows and the mountains,
  To awaken song and gladness
  In the forests of Wainola,
  On the snowy plains of Suomi,
  On the meads of Kalevala,
  For the coming generations."




RUNE XLVII.



  LOUHI STEALS SUN, MOON, AND FIRE.


  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Touched again his magic harp-strings,
  Sang in miracles of concord,
  Filled the north with joy and gladness.
  Melodies arose to heaven,
  Songs arose to Luna's chambers,
  Echoed through the Sun's bright windows
  And the Moon has left her station,
  Drops and settles in the birch-tree;
  And the Sun comes from his castle,
  Settles in the fir-tree branches,
  Comes to share the common pleasure,
  Comes to listen to the singing,
  To the harp of Wainamoinen.
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Northland's old and toothless wizard,
  Makes the Sun and Moon her captives;
  In her arms she takes fair Luna
  From her cradle in the birch-tree,
  Calls the Sun down from his station,
  From the fir-tree's bending branches,
  Carries them to upper Northland,
  To the darksome Sariola;
  Hides the Moon, no more to glimmer,
  In a rock of many colors;
  Hides the Sun, to shine no longer,
  In the iron-banded mountain;
  Thereupon these words she utters:
  "Moon of gold and Sun of silver,
  Hide your faces in the caverns
  Of Pohyola's dismal mountain;
  Shine no more to gladden Northland,
  Till I come to give ye freedom,
  Drawn by coursers nine in number,
  Sable coursers of one mother!"
  When the golden Moon had vanished,
  And the silver Sun had hidden
  In the iron-banded caverns,
  Louhi stole the fire from Northland,
  From the regions of Wainola,
  Left the mansions cold and cheerless,
  And the cabins full of darkness.
  Night was king and reigned unbroken,
  Darkness ruled in Kalevala,
  Darkness in the home of Ukko.
  Hard to live without the moonlight,
  Harder still without the sunshine;
  Ukko's life is dark and dismal,
  When the Sun and Moon desert him.
  Ukko, first of all creators,
  Lived in wonder at the darkness;
  Long reflected, well considered,
  Why this miracle in heaven,
  What this accident in nature
  To the Moon upon her journey;
  Why the Sun no more is shining,
  Why has disappeared the moonlight.
  Then great Ukko walked the heavens,
  To the border of the cloudlets,
  In his purple-colored vestments,
  In his silver-tinselled sandals,
  Seeking for the golden moonlight,
  Looking for the silver sunshine.
  Lightning Ukko struck in darkness
  From the edges of his fire-sword;
  Shot the flames in all directions,
  From his blade of golden color,
  Into heaven's upper spaces,
  Into Ether's starry pastures.
  When a little fire had kindled,
  Ukko hid it in the cloud-space,
  In a box of gold and silver,
  In a case adorned with silver,
  Gave it to the ether-maidens,
  Called a virgin then to rock it,
  That it might become a new-moon,
  That a second sun might follow.
  On the long-cloud rocked the virgin,
  On the blue-edge of the ether,
  Rocked the fire of the Creator,
  In her copper-colored cradle,
  With her ribbons silver-studded.
  Lowly bend the bands of silver,
  Loud the golden cradle echoes,
  And the clouds of Northland thunder,
  Low descends the dome of heaven,
  At the rocking of the lightning,
  Rocking of the fire of Ukko.
  Thus the flame was gently cradled
  By the virgin of the ether.
  Long the fair and faithful maiden
  Stroked the Fire-child with her fingers,
  Tended it with care and pleasure,
  Till in an unguarded moment
  It escaped the Ether-virgin,
  Slipped the hands of her that nursed it.
  Quick the heavens are burst asunder,
  Quick the vault of Ukko opens,
  Downward drops the wayward Fire-child,
  Downward quick the red-ball rushes,
  Shoots across the arch of heaven,
  Hisses through the startled cloudlets,
  Flashes through the troubled welkin,
  Through nine starry vaults of ether.
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Spake and these the words he uttered:
  "Blacksmith brother, Ilmarinen,
  Let us haste and look together,
  What the kind of fire that falleth,
  What the form of light that shineth
  From the upper vault of heaven,
  From the lower earth and ocean.
  Has a second moon arisen,
  Can it be a ball of sunlight?
  Thereupon the heroes wandered,
  Onward journeyed and reflected,
  How to gain the spot illumined,
  How to find the sacred Fire-child.
  Came a river rushing by them,
  Broad and stately as an ocean.
  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen
  There began to build a vessel,
  Build a boat to cross the river.
  With the aid of Ilmarinen,
  From the oak he cut the row-locks,
  From the pine the oars be fashioned,
  From the aspen shapes the rudder.
  When the vessel they had finished,
  Quick they rolled it to the current,
  Hard they rowed and ever forward,
  On the Nawa-stream and waters,
  At the head of Nawa-river.
  Ilmatar, the ether-daughter,
  Foremost daughter of creation,
  Came to meet them on their journey,
  Thus addressed the coming strangers:
  "Who are ye of Northland heroes,
  Rowing on the Nawa-waters?"
  Wainamoinen gave this answer:
  "This the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  I the ancient Wainamoinen.
  Tell us now thy name and station,
  Whither going, whence thou comest,
  Where thy tribe-folk live and linger?
  Spake the daughter of the Ether:
  "I the oldest of the women,
  Am the first of Ether's daughters,
  Am the first of ancient mothers;
  Seven times have I been wedded.
  To the heroes of creation.
  Whither do ye strangers journey?
  Answered thus old Wainamoinen:
  "Fire has left Wainola's hearth-stones,
  Light has disappeared from Northland;
  Have been sitting long in darkness,
  Cold and darkness our companions;
  Now we journey to discover
  What the fire that fell from heaven,
  Falling from the cloud's red lining,
  To the deeps of earth and ocean."
  Ilmatar returned this answer:
  "Hard the flame is to discover,
  Hard indeed to find the Fire-child;
  Has committed many mischiefs,
  Nothing good has he accomplished;
  Quick the fire-ball fell from ether,
  From the red rims of the cloudlets,
  From the plains of the Creator,
  Through the ever-moving heavens,
  Through the purple ether-spaces,
  Through the blackened flues of Turi,
  To Palwoinen's rooms uncovered.
  When the fire had reached the chambers
  Of Palwoinen, son of evil,
  He began his wicked workings,
  He engaged in lawless actions,
  Raged against the blushing maidens,
  Fired the youth to evil conduct,
  Singed the beards of men and heroes.
  "Where the mother nursed her baby,
  In the cold and cheerless cradle,
  Thither flew the wicked Fire-child,
  There to perpetrate some mischief;
  In the cradle burned the infant,
  By the infant burned the mother,
  That the babe might visit Mana,
  In the kingdom of Tuoni;
  Said the child was born for dying,
  Only destined for destruction,
  Through the tortures of the Fire-child.
  Greater knowledge had the mother,
  Did not journey to Manala,
  Knew the word to check the red-flame,
  How to banish the intruder
  Through the eyelet of a needle,
  Through the death-hole of the hatchet."
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Questioned Ilmatar as follows:
  "Whither did the Fire-child wander,
  Whither did the red-flame hasten,
  From the border-fields of Turi,
  To the woods, or to the waters?
  Straightway Ilmatar thus answers:
  "When the fire had fled from Turi,
  From the castles of Palwoinen,
  Through the eyelet of the needle,
  Through the death-hole of the hatchet,
  First it burned the fields, and forests,
  Burned the lowlands, and the heather;
  Then it sought the mighty waters,
  Sought the Alue-sea and river,
  And the waters hissed and sputtered
  In their anger at the Fire-child,
  Fiery red the boiling Alue!
  "Three times in the nights of, summer,
  Nine times in the nights of autumn,
  Boil the waters to the tree-tops,
  Roll and tumble to the mountain,
  Through the red-ball's force and fury;
  Hurls the pike upon the pastures,
  To the mountain-cliffs, the salmon,
  Where the ocean-dwellers wonder,
  Long reflect and well consider
  How to still the angry waters.
  Wept the salmon for his grotto,
  Mourned the whiting for his cavern,
  And the lake-trout for his dwelling,
  Quick the crook-necked salmon darted,
  Tried to catch the fire-intruder,
  But the red-ball quick escaped him;
  Darted then the daring whiting,
  Swallowed quick the wicked Fire-child,
  Swallowed quick the flame of evil.
  Quiet grow the Alue-waters,
  Slowly settle to their shore-lines,
  To their long-accustomed places,
  In the long and dismal evening.
  "Time had gone but little distance,
  When the whiting grow affrighted,
  Fear befel the fire-devourer;
  Burning pain and writhing tortures
  Seized the eater of the Fire-child;
  Swam the fish in all directions,
  Called, and moaned, and swam, and circled,
  Swam one day, and then a second,
  Swam the third from morn till even;
  Swam she to the whiting-island,
  To the caverns of the salmon,
  Where a hundred islands cluster;
  And the islands there assembled
  Thus addressed the fire-devourer:
  'There is none within these waters,
  In this narrow Alue-lakelet,
  That will eat the fated Fire-fish
  That will swallow thee in trouble,
  In thine agonies and torture
  From the Fire-child thou hast eaten.'
  "Hearing this a trout forth darting,
  Swallowed quick as light the whiting,
  Quickly ate the fire-devourer.
  Time had gone but little distance,
  When the trout became affrighted,
  Fear befel the whiting-eater;
  Burning pain and writhing torment
  Seized the eater of the Fire-fish.
  Swam the trout in all directions,
  Called, and moaned, and swam, and circled,
  Swam one day, and then a second,
  Swain the third from morn till even;
  Swam she to the salmon-island,
  Swam she to the whiting-grottoes,
  Where a thousand islands cluster,
  And the islands there assembled
  Thus addressed the tortured lake-trout:
  'There is none within this river,
  In these narrow Alue-waters,
  That will eat the wicked Fire-fish,
  That will swallow thee in trouble,
  In thine agonies and tortures,
  From the Fire-fish thou hast eaten."
  Hearing this the gray-pike darted,
  Swallowed quick as light the lake-trout,
  Quickly ate the tortured Fire-fish.
  "Time had gone but little distance,
  When the gray-pike grew affrighted,
  Fear befel the lake-trout-eater;
  Burning pain and writhing torment
  Seized the reckless trout-devourer;
  Swam the pike in all directions,
  Called, and moaned, and swam, and circled,
  Swam one day, and then a second,
  Swam the third from morn till even,
  To the cave of ocean-swallows,
  To the sand-hills of the sea-gull,
  Where a hundred islands cluster;
  And the islands there assembled
  Thus addressed the fire-devourer:
  'There is none within this lakelet,
  In these narrow Alue-waters,
  That will eat the fated Fire-fish,
  That will swallow thee in trouble,
  In thine agonies and tortures,
  From the Fire-fish thou hast eaten.'"
  Wainamoinen, wise and ancient,
  With the aid of Ilmarinen,
  Weaves with skill a mighty fish-net
  From the juniper and sea-grass;
  Dyes the net with alder-water,
  Ties it well with thongs of willow.
  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen
  Called the maidens to the fish-net,
  And the sisters came as bidden.
  With the netting rowed they onward,
  Rowed they to the hundred islands,
  To the grottoes of the salmon,
  To the caverns of the whiting,
  To the reeds of sable color,
  Where the gray-pike rests and watches.
  On they hasten to the fishing,
  Drag the net in all directions,
  Drag it lengthwise, sidewise, crosswise,
  And diagonally zigzag;
  But they did not catch the Fire-fish.
  Then the brothers went a-fishing,
  Dragged the net in all directions,
  Backwards, forwards, lengthwise, sidewise,
  Through the homes of ocean-dwellers,
  Through the grottoes of the salmon,
  Through the dwellings of the whiting,
  Through the reed-beds of the lake-trout,
  Where the gray-pike lies in ambush;
  But the fated Fire-fish came not,
  Came not from the lake's abysses,
  Came not from the Alue-waters.
  Little fish could not be captured
  In the large nets of the masters;
  Murmured then the deep-sea-dwellers,
  Spake the salmon to the lake-trout,
  And the lake-trout to the whiting,
  And the whiting to the gray-pike:
  Have the heroes of Wainola
  Died, or have they all departed
  From these fertile shores and waters?
  Where then are the ancient weavers,
  Weavers of the nets of flax-thread,
  Those that frighten us with fish-poles,
  Drag us from our homes unwilling?"
  Hearing this wise Wainamoinen
  Answered thus the deep-sea-dwellers:
  "Neither have Wainola's heroes
  Died, nor have they all departed
  From these fertile shores and waters,
  Two are born where one has perished;
  Longer poles and finer fish-nets
  Have the sons of Kalevala!"




RUNE XLVIII.



  CAPTURE OF THE FIRE-FISH.


  Wainamoinen, the enchanter,
  The eternal wisdom-singer,
  Long reflected, well considered,
  How to weave the net of flax-yarn,
  Weave the fish-net of the fathers.
  Spake the minstrel of Wainola:
  "Who will plow the field and fallow,
  Sow the flax, and spin the flax-threads,
  That I may prepare the fish-net,
  Wherewith I may catch the Fire-pike,
  May secure the thing of evil?"
  Soon they found a fertile island,
  Found the fallow soil befitting,
  On the border of the heather,
  And between two stately oak-trees.
  They prepared the soil for sowing.
  Searching everywhere for flax-seed,
  Found it in Tuoni's kingdom,
  In the keeping of an insect.
  Then they found a pile of ashes,
  Where the fire had burned a vessel;
  In the ashes sowed the seedlings
  Near the Alue-lake and border,
  In the rich and loamy fallow.
  There the seed took root and flourished,
  Quickly grew to great proportions,
  In a single night in summer.
  Thus the flax was sowed at evening,
  Placed within the earth by moonlight;
  Quick it grew, and quickly ripened,
  Quick Wainola's heroes pulled it,
  Quick they broke it on the hackles,
  Hastened with it to the waters,
  Dipped it in the lake and washed it;
  Quickly brought it borne and dried it.
  Quickly broke, and combed, and smoothed it,
  Brushed it well at early morning,
  Laid it into laps for spinning
  Quick the maidens twirl the spindles,
  Spin the flaxen threads for weaving,
  In a single night in summer.
  Quick the sisters wind and reel it,
  Make it ready for the needle.
  Brothers weave it into fish-nets,
  And the fathers twist the cordage,
  While the mothers knit the meshes,
  Rapidly the mesh-stick circles;
  Soon the fish-net is completed,
  In a single night in summer.
  As the magic net is finished,
  And in length a hundred fathoms,
  On the rim three hundred fathoms.
  Rounded stones are fastened to it,
  Joined thereto are seven float-boards.
  Now the young men take the fish-net,
  And the old men cheer them onward,
  Wish them good-luck at their fishing.
  Long they row and drag the flax-seine,
  Here and there the net is lowered;
  Now they drag it lengthwise, sidewise,
  Drag it through the slimy reed-beds;
  But they do not catch the Fire-pike,
  Only smelts, and luckless red-fish,
  Little fish of little value.
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Let us go ourselves a-fishing,
  Let us catch the fish of evil!"
  To the fishing went the brothers,
  Magic heroes of the Northland,
  Pulled the fish-net through the waters,
  Toward an island in the deep-sea
  Then they turn and drag the fish-net
  Toward a meadow jutting seaward;
  Now they drag it toward Wainola,
  Draw it lengthwise, sidewise, crosswise,
  Catching fish of every species,
  salmon, trout, and pike, and whiting,
  Do not catch the evil Fire-fish.
  Then the master, Wainamoinen,
  Made additions to its borders,
  Made it many fathoms wider,
  And a hundred fathoms longer,
  Then these words the hero uttered
  "Famous blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Let us go again a-fishing,
  Row again the magic fish-net,
  Drag it well through all the waters,
  That we may obtain the Fire-pike!"
  Thereupon the Northland heroes
  Go a second time a-fishing,
  Drag their nets across the rivers,
  Lakelets, seas, and bays, and inlets,
  Catching fish of many species,
  But the Fire-fish is not taken.
  Wainamoinen, ancient singer,
  Long reflecting, spake these measures:
  "Dear Wellamo, water-hostess,
  Ancient mother with the reed-breast,
  Come, exchange thy water-raiment,
  Change thy coat of reeds and rushes
  For the garments I shall give thee,
  Light sea-foam, thine inner vesture,
  And thine outer, moss and sea-grass,
  Fashioned by the wind's fair daughters,
  Woven by the flood's sweet maidens;
  I will give thee linen vestments
  Spun from flax of softest fiber,
  Woven by the Moon's white virgins,
  Fashioned by the Sun's bright daughters
  Fitting raiment for Wellamo!
  "Ahto, king of all the waters,
  Ruler of a thousand grottoes,
  Take a pole of seven fathoms,
  Search with this the deepest waters,
  Rummage well the lowest bottoms;
  Stir up all the reeds and sea-weeds,
  Hither drive a school of gray-pike,
  Drive them to our magic fish-net,
  From the haunts in pike abounding,
  From the caverns, and the trout-holes,
  From the whirlpools of the deep-sea,
  From the bottomless abysses,
  Where the sunshine never enters,
  Where the moonlight never visits,
  And the sands are never troubled."
  Rose a pigmy from the waters,
  From the floods a little hero,
  Riding on a rolling billow,
  And the pigmy spake these measures:
  "Dost thou wish a worthy helper,
  One to use the pole and frighten
  Pike and salmon to thy fish-nets?"
  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,
  Answered thus the lake-born hero:
  "Yea, we need a worthy helper,
  One to hold the pole, and frighten
  Pike and salmon to our fish-nets."
  Thereupon the water-pigmy
  Cut a linden from the border,
  Spake these words to Wainamoinen:
  "Shall I scare with all my powers,
  With the forces of my being,
  As thou needest shall I scare them?"
  Spake the minstrel, Wainamoinen:
  "If thou scarest as is needed,
  Thou wilt scare with all thy forces,
  With the strength of thy dominions."
  Then began the pigmy-hero,
  To affright the deep-sea-dwellers;
  Drove the fish in countless numbers
  To the net of the magicians.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Drew his net along the waters,
  Drew it with his ropes of flax-thread,
  Spake these words of magic import:
  "Come ye fish of Northland waters
  To the regions of my fish-net,
  As my hundred meshes lower."
  Then the net was drawn and fastened,
  Many were the gray-pike taken
  By he master and magician.
  Wainamoinen, happy-hearted,
  Hastened to a neighboring island,
  To a blue-point in the waters,
  Near a red-bridge on the headland;
  Landed there his draught of fishes,
  Cast the pike upon the sea-shore,
  And the Fire-pike was among them,
  Cast the others to the waters.
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "May I touch thee with my fingers,
  Using not my gloves of iron,
  Using not my blue-stone mittens?
  This the Sun-child hears and answers:
  "I should like to carve the Fire-fish,
  I should like this pike to handle,
  If I had the knife of good-luck."
  Quick a knife falls from the heavens,
  From the clouds a magic fish-knife,
  Silver-edged and golden-headed,
  To the girdle of the Sun-child;
  Quick he grasps the copper handle,
  Quick the hero carves the Fire-pike,
  Finds therein the tortured lake-trout;
  Carves the lake-trout thus discovered.
  Finds therein the fated whiting;
  Carves the whiting, finds a blue-ball
  In the third cave of his body.
  He, the blue-ball quick unwinding,
  Finds within a ball of scarlet;
  Carefully removes the cover,
  Finds the ball of fire within it,
  Finds the flame from heaven fallen,
  From the heights of the seventh heaven,
  Through nine regions of the ether.
  Wainamoinen long reflected
  How to get the magic fire-ball
  To Wainola's fireless hearth-stones,
  To his cold and cheerless dwellings.
  Quick he snatched the fire of heaven
  From the fingers of the Sun-child.
  Wainamoinen's beard it singes,
  Burns the brow of Ilmarinen,
  Burns the fingers of the blacksmith.
  Rolling forth it hastens westward,
  Hastens to the Alue shore-lines,
  Burns the juniper and alder,
  Burns the and heath and meadow,
  Rises to the lofty linden,
  Burns the firs upon the mountains;
  Hastens onward, onward, onward,
  Burns the islands of the Northland,
  Burns the Sawa fields and forests,
  Burns the dry lands of Karyala.
  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen
  Hastens through the fields and fenlands,
  Tracks the ranger to the glen-wood,
  Finds the Fire-child in an elm-tree,
  Sleeping in a bed of fungus.
  Thereupon wise Wainamoinen
  Wakes the child and speaks these measures:
  "Wicked fire that God created,
  Flame of Ukko from the heavens,
  Thou hast gone in vain to sea-caves,
  To the lakes without a reason;
  Better go thou to my village,
  To the hearth-stones of my people;
  Hide thyself within my chimneys,
  In mine ashes sleep and linger.
  In the day-time I will use thee
  To devour the blocks of birch-wood;
  In the evening I will hide thee
  Underneath the golden circle."
  Then he took the willing Panu,
  Took the willing fire of Ukko,
  Laid it in a box of tinder,
  In the punk-wood of a birch-tree,
  In a vessel forged from copper;
  Carried it with care and pleasure
  To the fog-point in the waters,
  To the island forest covered.
  Thus returned the fire to Northland,
  To the chambers of Wainola,
  To the hearths of Kalevala.
  Ilmarinen, famous blacksmith,
  Hastened to the deep-sea's margin,
  Sat upon the rock of torture,
  Feeling pain the flame had given,
  Laved his wounds with briny water,
  Thus to still the Fire-child's fury,
  Thus to end his persecutions.
  Long reflecting, Ilmarinen
  Thus addressed the flame of Ukko:
  "Evil Panu from the heavens,
  Wicked son of God from ether,
  Tell me what has made thee angry,
  Made thee burn my weary members,
  Burn my beard, and face, and fingers,
  Made me suffer death-land tortures?
  Spake again young Ilmarinen:
  "How can I wild Panu conquer,
  How shall I control his conduct,
  Make him end his evil doings?
  Come, thou daughter from Pohyola,
  Come, white virgin of the hoar-frost,
  Come on shoes of ice from Lapland,
  Icicles upon thy garments,
  In one band a cup of white-frost,
  In the other hand an ice-spoon;
  Sprinkle snow upon my members,
  Where the Fire-child has been resting,
  Let the hoar-frost fall and settle.
  "Should this prayer be unavailing,
  Come, thou son of Sariola,
  Come, thou child of Frost from Pohya,
  Come, thou Long-man from the ice-plains,
  Of the height of stately pine-trees,
  Slender as the trunks of lindens,
  On thy hands the gloves of Hoar-frost,
  Cap of ice upon thy forehead,
  On thy waist a white-frost girdle;
  Bring the ice-dust from Pohyola,
  From the cold and sunless village.
  Rain is crystallized in Northland,
  Ice in Pohya is abundant,
  Lakes of ice and ice-bound rivers,
  Frozen smooth, the sea of ether.
  Bounds the hare in frosted fur-robe,
  Climbs the bear in icy raiment,
  Ambles o'er the snowy mountains.
  Swans of frost descend the rivers,
  Ducks of ice in countless numbers
  Swim upon thy freezing waters,
  Near the cataract and whirlpool.
  Bring me frost upon thy snow-sledge,
  Snow and ice in great abundance,
  From the summit of the wild-top,
  From the borders of the mountains.
  With thine ice, and snow, and hoar-frost
  Cover well mine injured members
  Where wild Panu has been resting,
  Where the child of Fire has lingered.
  "Should this call be ineffective,
  Ukko, God of love and mercy,
  First and last of the creators,
  From the east send forth a snow-cloud,
  From the west despatch a second,
  Join their edges well together,
  Let there be no vacant places,
  Let these clouds bring snow and
  Lay the healing balm of Ukko
  On my burning, tortured tissues,
  Where wild Panu has been resting."
  Thus the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Stills the pains by fire engendered,
  Stills the agonies and tortures
  Brought him by the child of evil,
  Brought him by the wicked Panu.




RUNE XLIX.



  RESTORATION OF THE SUN AND MOON.


  Thus has Fire returned to Northland
  But the gold Moon is not shining,
  Neither gleams the silver sunlight
  In the chambers of Wainola,
  On the plains of Kalevala.
  On the crops the white-frost settled,
  And the cattle died of hunger,
  Even birds grew sick and perished.
  Men and maidens, faint and famished,
  Perished in the cold and darkness,
  From the absence of the sunshine,
  From the absence of the moonlight.
  Knew the pike his holes and hollows,
  And the eagle knew his highway,
  Knew the winds the times for sailing;
  But the wise men of the Northland
  Could not know the dawn of morning,
  On the fog-point in the ocean,
  On the islands forest-covered.
  Young and aged talked and wondered,
  Well reflected, long debated,
  How to live without the moonlight,
  Live without the silver sunshine,
  In the cold and cheerless Northland,
  In the homes of Kalevala.
  Long conjectured all the maidens,
  Orphans asked the wise for counsel.
  Spake a maid to Ilmarinen,
  Running to the blacksmith's furnace:
  "Rise, O artist, from thy slumbers,
  Hasten from thy couch unworthy;
  Forge from gold the Moon for Northland,
  Forge anew the Sun from silver
  Cannot live without the moonlight,
  Nor without the silver sunshine!"
  From his couch arose the artist,
  From his couch of stone, the blacksmith,
  And began his work of forging,
  Forging Sun and Moon for Northland.
  Came the ancient Wainamoinen,
  In the doorway sat and lingered,
  Spake, these Words to Ilmarinen:
  "Blacksmith, my beloved brother,
  Thou the only metal-worker,
  Tell me why thy magic hammer
  Falls so heavy on thine anvil?"
  Spake the youthful Ilmarinen:
  "Moon of gold and Sun of silver,
  I am forging for Wainola;
  I shall swing them into ether,
  Plant them in the starry heavens."
  Spake the wise, old Wainamoinen:
  "Senseless blacksmith of the ages,
  Vainly dost thou swing thy hammer,
  Vainly rings thy mighty anvil;
  Silver will not gleam as sunshine,
  Not of gold is born the moonlight!"
  Ilmarinen, little heeding,
  Ceases not to ply his hammer,
  Sun and Moon the artist forges,
  Wings the Moon of Magic upward,
  Hurls it to the pine-tree branches;
  Does not shine without her master.
  Then the silver Sun he stations
  In an elm-tree on the mountain.
  From his forehead drip the sweat-drops,
  Perspiration from his fingers,
  Through his labors at the anvil
  While the Sun and Moon were forging;
  But the Sun shone not at morning
  From his station in the elm-tree;
  And the Moon shone not at evening
  From the pine-tree's topmost branches.
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Let the Fates be now consulted,
  And the oracles examined;
  Only thus may we discover
  Where the Sun and Moon lie hidden."
  Thereupon old Wainamoinen,
  Only wise and true magician,
  Cut three chips from trunks of alder,
  Laid the chips in magic order,
  Touched and turned them with his fingers,
  Spake these words of master-magic:
  "Of my Maker seek I knowledge,
  Ask in hope and faith the answer
  From the great magician, Ukko:
  Tongue of alder, tell me truly,
  Symbol of the great Creator,
  Where the Sun and Moon are sleeping;
  For the Moon shines not in season,
  Nor appears the Sun at midday,
  From their stations in the sky-vault.
  Speak the truth, O magic alder,
  Speak not words of man, nor hero,
  Hither bring but truthful measures.
  Let us form a sacred compact:
  If thou speakest me a falsehood,
  I will hurl thee to Manala,
  Let the nether fires consume thee,
  That thine evil signs may perish."
  Thereupon the alder answered,
  Spake these words of truthful import:
  "Verily the Sun lies hidden
  And the golden Moon is sleeping
  In the stone-berg of Pohyola,
  In the copper-bearing mountain."
  These the words of Wainamoinen:
  "I shall go at once to Northland,
  To the cold and dark Pohyola,
  Bring the Sun and Moon to gladden
  All Wainola's fields and forests."
  Forth he hastens on his journey,
  To the dismal Sariola,
  To the Northland cold and dreary;
  Travels one day, then a second,
  So the third from morn till evening,
  When appear the gates of Pohya,
  With her snow-clad hills and mountains.
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  At the river of Pohyola,
  Loudly calls the ferry-maiden:
  Bring a boat, O Pohya-daughter,
  Bring a strong and trusty vessel,
  Row me o'er these chilling waters,
  O'er this rough and rapid river!"
  But the Ferry-maiden heard not,
  Did not listen to his calling.
  Thereupon old Wainamoinen,
  Laid a pile of well-dried brush-wood,
  Knots and needles of the fir-tree,
  Made a fire beside the river,
  Sent the black smoke into heaven
  Curling to the home of Ukko.
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Hastened to her chamber window,
  Looked upon the bay and river,
  Spake these words to her attendants:
  "Why the fire across the river
  Where the current meets the deep-sea,
  Smaller than the fires of foemen,
  Larger than the flames of hunters?"
  Thereupon a Pohyalander
  Hastened from the court of Louhi
  That the cause he might discover,'
  Bring the sought-for information
  To the hostess of Pohyola;
  Saw upon the river-border
  Some great hero from Wainola.
  Wainamoinen saw the stranger,
  Called again in tones of thunder:
  "Bring a skiff; thou son of Northland,
  For the minstrel, Wainamoinen!
  Thus the Pohyalander answered:
  "Here no skiffs are lying idle,
  Row thyself across the waters,
  Use thine arms, and feet, and fingers,
  To propel thee o'er the river,
  O'er the sacred stream of Pohya."
  Wainamoinen, long reflecting,
  Bravely thus soliloquizes:
  "I will change my form and features,
  Will assume a second body,
  Neither man, nor ancient minstrel,
  Master of the Northland waters!"
  Then the singer, Wainamoinen,
  Leaped, a pike, upon the waters,
  Quickly swam the rapid river,
  Gained the frigid Pohya-border.
  There his native form resuming,
  Walked he as a mighty hero,
  On the dismal isle of Louhi,
  Spake the wicked sons of Northland:
  Come thou to Pohyola's court-room."
  To Pohyola's, court he hastened.
  Spake again the sons of evil:
  Come thou to the halls of Louhi!"
  To Pohyola's halls he hastened.
  On the latch he laid his fingers,
  Set his foot within the fore-hall,
  Hastened to the inner chamber,
  Underneath the painted rafters,
  Where the Northland-heroes gather.
  There he found the Pohya-masters
  Girded with their swords of battle,
  With their spears and battle-axes,
  With their fatal bows and arrows,
  For the death of Wainamoinen,
  Ancient bard, Suwantolainen.
  Thus they asked the hero-stranger.
  "Magic swimmer of the Northland,
  Son of evil, what the message
  That thou bringest from thy people,
  What thy mission to Pohyola?"
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Thus addressed the hosts of Louhi:
  "For the Sun I come to Northland,
  Come to seek the Moon in Pohya;
  Tell me where the Sun lies hidden,
  Where the golden Moon is sleeping."
  Spake the evil sons of Pohya:
  "Both the Sun and Moon are hidden
  In the rock of many colors,
  In the copper-bearing mountain,
  In a cavern iron-banded,
  In the stone-berg of Pohyola,
  Nevermore to gain their freedom,
  Nevermore to shine in Northland!"
  Spake the hero, Wainamoinen:
  "If the Sun be not uncovered,
  If the Moon leave not her dungeon,
  I will challenge all Pohyola
  To the test of spear or broadsword,
  Let us now our weapons measure!"
  Quick the hero of Wainola
  Drew his mighty sword of magic;
  On its border shone the moonlight,
  On its hilt the Sun was shining,
  On its back, a neighing stallion,
  On its face a cat was mewing,
  Beautiful his magic weapon.
  Quick the hero-swords are tested,
  And the blades are rightly measured
  Wainamoinen's sword is longest
  By a single grain of barley,
  By a blade of straw, the widest.
  To the court-yard rushed the heroes,
  Hastened to the deadly combat,
  On the plains of Sariola.
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  Strikes one blow, and then a second,
  Strikes a third time, cuts and conquers.
  As the house-maids slice the turnips,
  As they lop the heads of cabbage,
  As the stalks of flax are broken,
  So the heads of Louhi's heroes
  Fall before the magic broadsword
  Of the ancient Wainamoinen.
  Then victor from Wainola,
  Ancient bard and great magician,
  Went to find the Sun in slumber,
  And the golden Moon discover,
  In, the copper-bearing Mountains,
  In the cavern iron-banded,
  In the stone-berg of Pohyola.
  He had gone but little distance,
  When he found a sea-green island;
  On the island stood a birch-tree,
  Near the birch-tree stood a pillar
  Carved in stone of many colors;
  In the pillar, nine large portals
  Bolted in a hundred places;
  In the rock he found a crevice
  Sending forth a gleam of sunlight.
  Quick he drew his mighty broadsword,
  From the pillar struck three colors,
  From the magic of his weapon;
  And the pillar fell asunder,
  Three the number of the fragments.
  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,
  Through the crevice looked and wondered.
  In the center of the pillar,
  From a scarlet-colored basin,
  Noxious serpents beer were drinking,
  And the adders eating spices.
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Therefore has Pohyola's hostess
  Little drink to give to strangers,
  Since her beer is drank by serpents,
  And her spices given to adders."
  Quick he draws his magic fire-blade,
  Cuts the vipers green in pieces,
  Lops the heads off all the adders,
  Speaks these words of master-magic:
  Thus, hereafter, let the serpent
  Drink the famous beer of barley,
  Feed upon the Northland-spices!"
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  The eternal wizard-singer,
  Sought to open wide the portals
  With the hands and words of magic;
  But his hands had lost their cunning,
  And his magic gone to others.
  Thereupon the ancient minstrel
  Quick returning, heavy-hearted,
  To his native halls and hamlets,
  Thus addressed his brother-heroes:
  "Woman, he without his weapons,
  With no implements, a weakling!
  Sun and Moon have I discovered,
  But I could not force the Portals
  Leading to their rocky cavern
  In the copper bearing mountain.
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen
  "O thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Why was I not taken with thee
  To become, thy war-companion?
  Would have been of goodly service,
  Would have drawn the bolts or broken,
  All the portals to the cavern,
  Where the Sun and Moon lie hidden
  In the copper-bearing mountain!"
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Thus replied to Lemminkainen:
  "Empty Words will break no portals,
  Draw no bolts of any moment;
  Locks and bolts are never broken.
  With the words of little wisdom!
  Greater means than thou commandest
  Must be used to free the sunshine,
  Free the moonlight from her dungeon."
  Wainamoinen, not discouraged,
  Hastened to the forge and smithy,
  Spake these words to Ilmarinen:
  "O thou famous metal-artist,
  Forge for me a magic trident,
  Forge from steel a dozen stout-rings,
  Master-keys, a goodly number,
  Iron bars and heavy hammers,
  That the Sun we may uncover
  In the copper-bearing mountain,
  In the stone-berg of Pohyola."
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  The eternal metal-worker,
  Forged the needs of Wainamoinen,
  Forged for him the magic trident,
  Forged from steel a dozen stout-rings,
  Master-keys a goodly number,
  Iron bars and heavy hammers,
  Not the largest, nor the smallest,
  Forged them of the right dimensions.
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Northland's old and toothless wizard,
  Fastened wings upon her shoulders,
  As an eagle, sailed the heavens,
  Over field, and fen, and forest,
  Over Pohya's many, waters,
  To the hamlets of Wainola,
  To the forge of Ilmarinen.
  Quick the famous metal-worker
  Went to see if winds were blowing;
  Found the winds at peace and silent,
  Found an eagle, sable-colored,
  Perched upon his window-casement.
  Spake the artist, Ilmarinen:
  "Magic bird, whom art thou seeking,
  Why art sitting at my window?"
  This the answer of the eagle:
  "Art thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  The eternal iron-forger,
  Master of the magic metals,
  Northland's wonder-working artist?"
  Ilmarinen gave this answer:
  "There is nothing here of wonder,
  Since I forged the dome of heaven,
  Forged the earth a concave cover!"
  Spake again the magic eagle:
  Why this ringing of thine anvil,
  Why this knocking of thy hammer,
  Tell me what thy hands are forging?"
  This the answer of the blacksmith:
  "'Tis a collar I am forging
  For the neck of wicked Louhi,
  Toothless witch of Sariola,
  Stealer of the silver sunshine,
  Stealer of the golden moonlight;
  With this collar I shall bind her
  To the iron-rock of Ehstland!"
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Saw misfortune fast approaching,
  Saw destruction flying over,
  Saw the signs of bad-luck lower;
  Quickly winged her way through ether
  To her native halls and chambers,
  To the darksome Sariola,
  There unlocked the massive portals
  Where the Sun and Moon were hidden,
  In the rock of many colors,
  In the cavern iron-banded,
  In the copper-bearing mountain.
  Then again the wicked Louhi
  Changed her withered form and features,
  And became a dove of good-luck;
  Straightway winged the starry heavens,
  Over field, and fen, and forest,
  To the meadows of Wainola,
  To the plains of Kalevala,
  To the forge of Ilmarinen.
  This the question of the blacksmith
  "Wherefore comest, dove of good-luck,
  What the tidings that thou bringest?"
  Thus the magic bird made answer:
  "Wherefore come I to thy smithy?
  Come to bring the joyful tidings
  That the Sun has left his cavern,
  Left the rock of many colors,
  Left the stone-berg of Pohyola;
  That the Moon no more is hidden
  In the copper-bearing mountains,
  In the caverns iron-banded."
  Straightway hastened Ilmarinen
  To the threshold of his smithy,
  Quickly scanned the far horizon,
  Saw again the silver sunshine,
  Saw once more the golden moonlight,
  Bringing peace, and joy, and plenty,
  To the homes of Kalevala.
  Thereupon the blacksmith hastened
  To his brother, Wainamoinen,
  Spake these words to the magician:
  "O thou ancient bard and minstrel,
  The eternal wizard-singer
  See, the Sun again is shining,
  And the golden Moon is beaming
  From their long-neglected places,
  From their stations in the sky-vault!"
  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,
  Straightway hastened to the court-yard,
  Looked upon the far horizon,
  Saw once more the silver sunshine,
  Saw again the golden moonlight,
  Bringing peace, and joy, and plenty,
  To the people of the Northland,
  And the minstrel spake these measures:
  "Greetings to thee, Sun of fortune,
  Greetings to thee, Moon of good-luck,
  Welcome sunshine, welcome moonlight,
  Golden is the dawn of morning!
  Free art thou, O Sun of silver,
  Free again, O Moon beloved,
  As the sacred cuckoo's singing,
  As the ring-dove's liquid cooings.
  "Rise, thou silver Sun, each Morning,
  Source of light and life hereafter,
  Bring us, daily, joyful greetings,
  Fill our homes with peace and plenty,
  That our sowing, fishing, hunting,
  May be prospered by thy coming.
  Travel on thy daily journey,
  Let the Moon be ever with thee;
  Glide along thy way rejoicing,
  End thy journeyings in slumber;
  Rest at evening in the ocean,
  When the daily cares have ended,
  To the good of all thy people,
  To the pleasure Of Wainoloa,
  To the joy of Kalevala!"




RUNE L.



  MARIATTA--WAINAMOINEN'S DEPARTURE.


  Mariatta, child of beauty,
  Grew to maidenhood in Northland,
  In the cabin of her father,
  In the chambers of her mother,
  Golden ringlets, silver girdles,
  Worn against the keys paternal,
  Glittering upon her bosom;
  Wore away the father's threshold
  With the long robes of her garments;
  Wore away the painted rafters
  With her beauteous silken ribbons;
  Wore away the gilded pillars
  With the touching of her fingers;
  Wore away the birchen flooring
  With the tramping of her fur-shoes.
  Mariatta, child of beauty,
  Magic maid of little stature,
  Guarded well her sacred virtue,
  Her sincerity and honor,
  Fed upon the dainty whiting,
  On the inner bark of birch-wood,
  On the tender flesh of lambkins.
  When she hastened in the evening
  To her milking in the hurdles,
  Spake in innocence as follows:
  "Never will the snow-white virgin
  Milk the kine of one unworthy!"
  When she journeyed over snow-fields,
  On the seat beside her father,
  Spake in purity as follows:
  "Not behind a steed unworthy
  Will I ever ride the snow-sledge!"
  Mariatta, child of beauty,
  Lived a virgin with her mother,
  As a maiden highly honored,
  Lived in innocence and beauty,
  Daily drove her flocks to pasture,
  Walking with the gentle lambkins.
  When the lambkins climbed the mountains,
  When they gamboled on the hill-tops,
  Stepped the virgin to the meadow,
  Skipping through a grove of lindens,
  At the calling of the cuckoo,
  To the songster's golden measures.
  Mariatta, child of beauty,
  Looked about, intently listened,
  Sat upon the berry-meadow
  Sat awhile, and meditated
  On a hillock by the forest,
  And soliloquized as follows:
  "Call to me, thou golden cuckoo,
  Sing, thou sacred bird of Northland,
  Sing, thou silver breasted songster,
  Speak, thou strawberry of Ehstland,
  Tell bow long must I unmarried,
  As a shepherdess neglected,
  Wander o'er these bills and mountains,
  Through these flowery fens and fallows.
  Tell me, cuckoo of the woodlands,
  Sing to me how many summers
  I must live without a husband,
  As a shepherdess neglected!"
  Mariatta, child of beauty,
  Lived a shepherd-maid for ages,
  As a virgin with her mother.
  Wretched are the lives of shepherds,
  Lives of maidens still more wretched,
  Guarding flocks upon the mountains;
  Serpents creep in bog and stubble,
  On the greensward dart the lizards;
  But it was no serpent singing,
  Nor a sacred lizard calling,
  It was but the mountain-berry
  Calling to the lonely maiden:
  "Come, O virgin, come and pluck me,
  Come and take me to thy bosom,
  Take me, tinsel-breasted virgin,
  Take me, maiden, copper-belted,
  Ere the slimy snail devours me,
  Ere the black-worm feeds upon me.
  Hundreds pass my way unmindful,
  Thousands come within my hearing,
  Berry-maidens swarm about me,
  Children come in countless numbers,
  None of these has come to gather,
  Come to pluck this ruddy berry."
  Mariatta, child of beauty,
  Listened to its gentle pleading,
  Ran to pick the berry, calling,
  With her fair and dainty fingers,.
  Saw it smiling near the meadow,
  Like a cranberry in feature,
  Like a strawberry in flavor;
  But be Virgin, Mariatta,
  Could not pluck the woodland-stranger,
  Thereupon she cut a charm-stick,
  Downward pressed upon the berry,
  When it rose as if by magic,
  Rose above her shoes of ermine,
  Then above her copper girdle,
  Darted upward to her bosom,
  Leaped upon the maiden's shoulder,
  On her dimpled chin it rested,
  On her lips it perched a moment,
  Hastened to her tongue expectant
  To and fro it rocked and lingered,
  Thence it hastened on its journey,
  Settled in the maiden's bosom.
  Mariatta, child of beauty,
  Thus became a bride impregnate,
  Wedded to the mountain-berry;
  Lingered in her room at morning,
  Sat at midday in the darkness,
  Hastened to her couch at evening.
  Thus the watchful mother wonders:
  "What has happened to our Mary,
  To our virgin, Mariatta,
  That she throws aside her girdle,
  Shyly slips through hall and chamber,
  Lingers in her room at morning,
  Hastens to her couch at evening,
  Sits at midday in the darkness?"
  On the floor a babe was playing,
  And the young child thus made answer:
  "This has happened to our Mary,
  To our virgin, Mariatta,
  This misfortune to the maiden:
  She has lingered by the meadows,
  Played too long among the lambkins,
  Tasted of the mountain-berry."
  Long the virgin watched and waited,
  Anxiously the days she counted,
  Waiting for the dawn of trouble.
  Finally she asked her mother,
  These the words of Mariatta:
  "Faithful mother, fond and tender,
  Mother whom I love and cherish,
  Make for me a place befitting,
  Where my troubles may be lessened,
  And my heavy burdens lightened."
  This the answer of the mother:
  "Woe to thee, thou Hisi-maiden,
  Since thou art a bride unworthy,
  Wedded only to dishonor!"
  Mariatta, child of beauty,
  Thus replied in truthful measures:
  "I am not a maid of Hisi,
  I am not a bride unworthy,
  Am not wedded to dishonor;
  As a shepherdess I wandered
  With the lambkins to the glen-wood,
  Wandered to the berry-mountain,
  Where the strawberry had ripened;
  Quick as thought I plucked the berry,
  On my tongue I gently laid it,
  To and fro it rocked and lingered,
  Settled in my heaving bosom.
  This the source of all my trouble,
  Only cause of my dishonor!"
  As the mother was relentless,
  Asked the maiden of her father,
  This the virgin-mother's pleading:
  O my father, full of pity,
  Source of both my good and evil,
  Build for me a place befitting,
  Where my troubles may be lessened,
  And my heavy burdens lightened."
  This the answer of the father,
  Of the father unforgiving:
  "Go, thou evil child of Hisi,
  Go, thou child of sin and sorrow,
  Wedded only to dishonor,
  To the Great Bear's rocky chamber,
  To the stone-cave of the growler,
  There to lessen all thy troubles,
  There to cast thy heavy burdens!"
  Mariatta, child of beauty,
  Thus made answer to her father:
  "I am not a child of Hisi,
  I am not a bride unworthy,
  Am not wedded to dishonor;
  I shall bear a noble hero,
  I shall bear a son immortal,
  Who will rule among the mighty,
  Rule the ancient Wainamoinen."
  Thereupon the virgin-mother
  Wandered hither, wandered thither,
  Seeking for a place befitting,
  Seeking for a worthy birth-place
  For her unborn son and hero;
  Finally these words she uttered
  "Piltti, thou my youngest maiden,
  Trustiest of all my servants,
  Seek a place within the village,
  Ask it of the brook of Sara,
  For the troubled Mariatta,
  Child of sorrow and misfortune."
  Thereupon the little maiden,
  Piltti, spake these words in answer:
  "Whom shall I entreat for succor,
  Who will lend me his assistance?
  These the words of Mariatta:
  "Go and ask it of Ruotus,
  Where the reed-brook pours her waters."
  Thereupon the servant, Piltti,
  Ever hopeful, ever willing,
  Hastened to obey her mistress,
  Needing not her exhortation;
  Hastened like the rapid river,
  Like the flying smoke of battle
  To the cabin of Ruotus.
  When she walked the hill-tops tottered,
  When she ran the mountains trembled;
  Shore-reeds danced upon the pasture,
  Sandstones skipped about the heather
  As the maiden, Piltti, hastened
  To the dwelling of Ruotus.
  At his table in his cabin
  Sat Ruotus, eating, drinking,
  In his simple coat of linen.
  With his elbows on the table
  Spake the wizard in amazement:
  "Why hast thou, a maid of evil,
  Come to see me in my cavern,
  What the message thou art bringing?
  Thereupon the servant, Piltti,
  Gave this answer to the wizard:
  "Seek I for a spot befitting,
  Seek I for a worthy birth-place,
  For an unborn child and hero;
  Seek it near the Sara-streamlet,
  Where the reed-brook pours her waters.
  Came the wife of old Ruotus,
  Walking with her arms akimbo,
  Thus addressed the maiden, Piltti:
  "Who is she that asks assistance,
  Who the maiden thus dishonored,
  What her name, and who her kindred?"
  "I have come for Mariatta,
  For the worthy virgin-mother."
  Spake the wife of old Ruotus,
  Evil-minded, cruel-hearted:
  "Occupied are all our chambers,
  All our bath-rooms near the reed-brook;
  in the mount of fire are couches,
  is a stable in the forest,
  For the flaming horse of Hisi;
  In the stable is a manger
  Fitting birth-place for the hero
  From the wife of cold misfortune,
  Worthy couch for Mariatta!"
  Thereupon the servant, Piltti,
  Hastened to her anxious mistress,
  Spake these measures, much regretting.
  "There is not a place befitting,
  on the silver brook of Sara.
  Spake the wife of old Ruotus:
  'Occupied are all the chambers,
  All the bath-rooms near the reed-brook;
  In the mount of fire are couches,
  Is a stable, in the forest,
  For the flaming horse of Hisi;
  In the stable is a manger,
  Fitting birth-place for the hero
  From the wife of cold misfortune,
  Worthy couch for Mariatta.'"
  Thereupon the hapless maiden,
  Mariatta, virgin-mother,
  Fell to bitter tears and murmurs,
  Spake these words in depths of sorrow:
  "I, alas! must go an outcast,
  Wander as a wretched hireling,
  Like a servant in dishonor,
  Hasten to the burning mountain,
  To the stable in the forest,
  Make my bed within a manger,
  Near the flaming steed of Hisi!"
  Quick the hapless virgin-mother,
  Outcast from her father's dwelling,
  Gathered up her flowing raiment,
  Grasped a broom of birchen branches,
  Hastened forth in pain and sorrow
  To the stable in the woodlands,
  On the heights of Tapio's mountains,
  Spake these words in supplication:
  "Come, I pray thee, my Creator,
  Only friend in times of trouble,
  Come to me and bring protection
  To thy child, the virgin-mother,
  To the maiden, Mariatta,
  In this hour of sore affliction.
  Come to me, benignant Ukko,
  Come, thou only hope and refuge,
  Lest thy guiltless child should perish,
  Die the death of the unworthy!"
  When the virgin, Mariatta,
  Had arrived within the stable
  Of the flaming horse of Hisi,
  She addressed the steed as follows:
  "Breathe, O sympathizing fire-horse,
  Breathe on me, the virgin-mother,
  Let thy heated breath give moisture,
  Let thy pleasant warmth surround me,
  Like the vapor of the morning;
  Let this pure and helpless maiden
  Find a refuge in thy manger!"
  Thereupon the horse, in pity,
  Breathed the moisture of his nostrils
  On the body of the virgin,
  Wrapped her in a cloud of vapor,
  Gave her warmth and needed comforts,
  Gave his aid to the afflicted,
  To the virgin, Mariatta.
  There the babe was born and cradled
  Cradled in a woodland-manger,
  Of the virgin, Mariatta,
  Pure as pearly dews of morning,
  Holy as the stars in heaven.
  There the mother rocks her infant,
  In his swaddling clothes she wraps him,
  Lays him in her robes of linen;
  Carefully the babe she nurtures,
  Well she guards her much-beloved,
  Guards her golden child of beauty,
  Her beloved gem of silver.
  But alas! the child has vanished,
  Vanished while the mother slumbered.
  Mariatta, lone and wretched,
  Fell to weeping, broken-hearted,
  Hastened off to seek her infant.
  Everywhere the mother sought him,
  Sought her golden child of beauty,
  Her beloved gem of silver;
  Sought him underneath the millstone,
  In the sledge she sought him vainly,
  Underneath the sieve she sought him,
  Underneath the willow-basket,
  Touched the trees, the grass she parted,
  Long she sought her golden infant,
  Sought him on the fir-tree-mountain,
  In the vale, and hill, and heather;
  Looks within the clumps of flowers,
  Well examines every thicket,
  Lifts the juniper and willow,
  Lifts the branches of the alder.
  Lo! a star has come to meet her,
  And the star she thus beseeches-.
  "O, thou guiding-star of Northland,
  Star of hope, by God created,
  Dost thou know and wilt thou tell me
  Where my darling child has wandered,
  Where my holy babe lies hidden?"
  Thus the star of Northland answers:
  "If I knew, I would not tell thee;
  'Tis thy child that me created,
  Set me here to watch at evening,
  In the cold to shine forever,
  Here to twinkle in the darkness."
  Comes the golden Moon to meet her,
  And the Moon she thus beseeches:
  "Golden Moon, by Ukko fashioned,
  Hope and joy of Kalevala,
  Dost thou know and wilt thou tell me
  Where my darling child has wandered,
  Where my holy babe lies hidden?
  Speaks the golden Moon in answer:
  "If I knew I would not tell thee;
  'Tis thy child that me created,
  Here to wander in the darkness,
  All alone at eve to wander
  On my cold and cheerless journey,
  Sleeping only in the daylight,
  Shining for the good of others."
  Thereupon the virgin-mother
  Falls again to bitter weeping,
  Hastens on through fen and forest,
  Seeking for her babe departed.
  Comes the silver Sun to meet her,
  And the Sun she thus addresses:
  "Silver Sun by Ukko fashioned,
  Source of light and life to Northland,
  Dost thou know and wilt thou tell me
  Where my darling child has wandered,
  Where my holy babe lies hidden?"
  Wisely does the Sun make answer:
  "Well I know thy babe's dominions,
  Where thy holy child is sleeping,
  Where Wainola's light lies hidden;
  'Tis thy child that me created,
  Made me king of earth and ether,
  Made the Moon and Stars attend me,
  Set me here to shine at midday,
  Makes me shine in silver raiment,
  Lets me sleep and rest at evening;
  Yonder is thy golden infant,
  There thy holy babe lies sleeping,
  Hidden to his belt in water,
  Hidden in the reeds and rushes."
  Mariatta, child of beauty,
  Virgin-mother of the Northland,
  Straightway seeks her babe in Swamp-land,
  Finds him in the reeds and rushes;
  Takes the young child on her bosom
  To the dwelling of her father.
  There the infant grew in beauty,
  Gathered strength, and light, and wisdom,
  All of Suomi saw and wondered.
  No one knew what name to give him;
  When the mother named him, Flower,
  Others named him, Son-of-Sorrow.
  When the virgin, Mariatta,
  Sought the priesthood to baptize him,
  Came an old man, Wirokannas,
  With a cup of holy water,
  Bringing to the babe his blessing;
  And the gray-beard spake as follows:
  "I shall not baptize a wizard,
  Shall not bless a black-magician
  With the drops of holy water;
  Let the young child be examined,
  Let us know that he is worthy,
  Lest he prove the son of witchcraft."
  Thereupon old Wirokannas
  Called the ancient Wainamoinen,
  The eternal wisdom-singer,
  To inspect the infant-wonder,
  To report him good or evil.
  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,
  Carefully the child examined,
  Gave this answer to his people:
  "Since the child is but an outcast,
  Born and cradled in a manger,
  Since the berry is his father;
  Let him lie upon the heather,
  Let him sleep among the rushes,
  Let him live upon the mountains;
  Take the young child to the marshes,
  Dash his head against the birch-tree."
  Then the child of Mariatta,
  Only two weeks old, made answer:
  "O, thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Son of Folly and Injustice,
  Senseless hero of the Northland,
  Falsely hast thou rendered judgment.
  In thy years, for greater follies,
  Greater sins and misdemeanors,
  Thou wert not unjustly punished.
  In thy former years of trouble,
  When thou gavest thine own brother,
  For thy selfish life a ransom,
  Thus to save thee from destruction,
  Then thou wert not sent to Swamp-land
  To be murdered for thy follies.
  In thy former years of sorrow,
  When the beauteous Aino perished
  In the deep and boundless blue-sea,
  To escape thy persecutions,
  Then thou wert not evil-treated,
  Wert not banished by thy people."
  Thereupon old Wirokannas,
  Of the wilderness the ruler,
  Touched the child with holy water,
  Crave the wonder-babe his blessing,
  Gave him rights of royal heirship,
  Free to live and grow a hero,
  To become a mighty ruler,
  King and Master of Karyala.
  As the years passed Wainamoinen
  Recognized his waning powers,
  Empty-handed, heavy-hearted,
  Sang his farewell song to Northland,
  To the people of Wainola;
  Sang himself a boat of copper,
  Beautiful his bark of magic;
  At the helm sat the magician,
  Sat the ancient wisdom-singer.
  Westward, westward, sailed the hero
  O'er the blue-back of the waters,
  Singing as he left Wainola,
  This his plaintive song and echo:
  "Suns may rise and set in Suomi,
  Rise and set for generations,
  When the North will learn my teachings,
  Will recall my wisdom-sayings,
  Hungry for the true religion.
  Then will Suomi need my coming,
  Watch for me at dawn of morning,
  That I may bring back the Sampo,
  Bring anew the harp of joyance,
  Bring again the golden moonlight,
  Bring again the silver sunshine,
  Peace and plenty to the Northland."
  Thus the ancient Wainamoinen,
  In his copper-banded vessel,
  Left his tribe in Kalevala,
  Sailing o'er the rolling billows,
  Sailing through the azure vapors,
  Sailing through the dusk of evening,
  Sailing to the fiery sunset,
  To the higher-landed regions,
  To the lower verge of heaven;
  Quickly gained the far horizon,
  Gained the purple-colored harbor.
  There his bark be firmly anchored,
  Rested in his boat of copper;
  But he left his harp of magic,
  Left his songs and wisdom-sayings,
  To the lasting joy of Suomi.
  EPILOGUE.
  Now I end my measured singing,
  Bid my weary tongue keep silence,
  Leave my songs to other singers.
  Horses have their times of resting
  After many hours of labor;
  Even sickles will grow weary
  When they have been long at reaping;
  Waters seek a quiet haven
  After running long in rivers;
  Fire subsides and sinks in slumber
  At the dawning of the morning
  Therefore I should end my singing,
  As my song is growing weary,
  For the pleasure of the evening,
  For the joy of morn arising.
  Often I have heard it chanted,
  Often heard the words repeated:
  "Worthy cataracts and rivers
  Never empty all their waters."
  Thus the wise and worthy singer
  Sings not all his garnered wisdom;
  Better leave unsung some sayings
  Than to sing them out of season.
  Thus beginning, and thus ending,
  Do I roll up all my legends,
  Roll them in a ball for safety,
  In my memory arrange them,
  In their narrow place of resting,
  Lest the songs escape unheeded,
  While the lock is still unopened,
  While the teeth remain unparted,
  And the weary tongue is silent.
  Why should I sing other legends,
  Chant them in the glen and forest,
  Sing them on the hill and heather?
  Cold and still my golden mother
  Lies beneath the meadow, sleeping,
  Hears my ancient songs no longer,
  Cannot listen to my singing;
  Only will the forest listen,
  Sacred birches, sighing pine-trees,
  Junipers endowed with kindness,
  Alder-trees that love to bear me,
  With the aspens and the willows.
  When my loving mother left me,
  Young was I, and low of stature;
  Like the cuckoo of the forest,
  Like the thrush upon the heather,
  Like the lark I learned to twitter,
  Learned to sing my simple measures,
  Guided by a second mother,
  Stern and cold, without affection;
  Drove me helpless from my chamber
  To the wind-side of her dwelling,
  To the north-side of her cottage,
  Where the chilling winds in mercy
  Carried off the unprotected.
  As a lark I learned to wander,
  Wander as a lonely song-bird,
  Through the forests and the fenlands
  Quietly o'er hill and heather;
  Walked in pain about the marshes,
  Learned the songs of winds and waters,
  Learned the music of the ocean,
  And the echoes of the woodlands.
  Many men that live to murmur,
  Many women live to censure,
  Many speak with evil motives;
  Many they with wretched voices
  Curse me for my wretched singing,
  Blame my tongue for speaking wisdom,
  Call my ancient songs unworthy,
  Blame the songs and curse the singer.
  Be not thus, my worthy people,
  Blame me not for singing badly,
  Unpretending as a minstrel.
  I have never had the teaching,
  Never lived with ancient heroes,
  Never learned the tongues of strangers,
  Never claimed to know much wisdom.
  Others have had language-masters,
  Nature was my only teacher,
  Woods and waters my instructors.
  Homeless, friendless, lone, and needy,
  Save in childhood with my mother,
  When beneath her painted rafters,
  Where she twirled the flying spindle,
  By the work-bench of my brother,
  By the window of my sister,
  In. the cabin of my father,
  In my early days of childhood.
  Be this as it may, my people,
  This may point the way to others,
  To the singers better gifted,
  For the good of future ages,
  For the coming generations,
  For the rising folk of Suomi.



GLOSSARY.


  Aar'ni (Ar'ni).   The guardian of hidden treasures.
  A-ha'va.   The West-wind; the father of the swift dogs.
  Ah'ti.   The same as Lemminkainen.
  Ah'to.   The great god of the waters.
  Ah'to-la.   The water-castle of Ahto and his people.
  Ah'to-lai'set.   The inhabitants of Ahtola.
  Ai-nik'ki.   A sister of Ahti.
  Ai'no (i'no).   Youkahainen's sister.
  An'te-ro.   A goddess of the waves.
  Ai'ue-lake.   The lake into which the Fire-child falls.
  An-nik'ki.   Ilmarinen's sister.
  An'te-ro.   Another name for Wipanen, or Antero Wipunen.
  Dus'ter-land.   The Northland; Pimentola.
  Et'e-le'tar.   A daugter of the South-wind.
  Fire-Child.   A synonym of Panu.
  Frost.   The English for Pakkanen.
  Hal'lap-yo'ra.   A lake in Finland.
  Hal'ti-a (plural Haltiat).   The Genius of Finnish mythology.
  Het'e-wa'ne.   The Finnish name of the Pleiades.
  Hi'si (original Hiisi).   The Evil Principle; also called Jutas, Lempo,
  and Piru.
  Mon'ja-tar.   The daughter of the Pine-tree.
  Hor'na.   A sacred rock in Finland.
  I'ku-Tur'so.   An evil giant of the sea.
  Il'ma-ri'nem.   The worker of the metals; a brother of Wainamoinen.
  Il'ma-tar.   Daughter of the Air, and mother of Wainamoinen.
  Il'po-tar.   Believed to be the daughter of the Snow flake; the same as
  Louhi.
  Im-a'tra.   A celebrated waterfall near Wiborg.
  In'ger-land.   The present St. Petersburg.
  Ja'men (Ya'men).   A river of Finland.
  Jor'dan.   Curiously, the river of Palestine.
  Jou'ka-hai'nen (You-ka-hai'nen).   A celebrated minstrel of Pohyola.
  Jou-ko'la (You-ko'la).   The home or dwelling of Youkahainen.
  Ju-ma'la (You-ma'la).   Originally the heavens, then the god of the
  heavens, and finally God.
  Ju'tas (yu'tas).   The Evil Principle; Hisi, Piru, and Lempo are
  synonyms,
  Kai'to-lai'nen.   A son of the god of metals; from his spear came the
  tongue of the serpent.
  Ka-ler'vo.   The father of Kullervo.
  Ka-le'va (Kalewai'nen).   The father of heroes; a hero in general.
  Kal'e-va'la (kaleva, hero, and la, the place of).   The land of heroes;
  the name of the epic poem of Finland.
  Kal'e-va'tar (Kalewa'tar).   Daughter of Kaleva.
  Kal-e'vo.   The same as Kaleva.
  Ka'lew.   Often used for Kaleva.
  Kal'ma.   The god of death.
  Kam'mo.   The father of Kimmo.
  Kan'ka-hat'ta-ret.   The goddesses of weaving.
  Ka'pe.   A synonym of Ilmatar, the mother of Wainamoinen.
  Ka'po.   A synonym of Osmotar.
  Ka-re'len.   A province of Finland.
  Kar-ja'la, (karya'la).   The seat of the waterfall, Kaatrakoski.
  Kat'e-ja'tar (kataya'tar).   The daughter of the Pine-tree.
  Kat'ra-kos'ki (Kaatrakos'ki).   A waterfall in Karjala.
  Kau'ko.   The same as Kaukomieli.
  Kau'ko-miel'li.   The same as Lemminkainen.
  Kaup'pi.   The Snowshoe-builder; Lylikki.
  Ke'mi.   A river of Finland.
  Kim'mo.   A name for the cow; the daughter of Kammo, the patron of the
  rocks.
  Ki'pu-ki'vi.   The name of the rock at Hell-river, beneath which the
  spirits of all diseases are imprisoned.
  Kir'kon-Woe'ki.   Church dwarfs living under altars.
  Knik'ka-no.   Same as Knippana.
  Knip'pa-no.   Same as Tapio.
  Koot'a-moi'nen.   The Moon.
  Kos'ken-nei'ti.   The goddess of the cataract.
  Kul-ler'vo.   The vicious son of Kalervo.
  Kul'ler-woi'nen.   The same as Kullervo.
  Kul'li.   A beautiful daughter of Sahri.
  Kun.   The Moon, and the Moon-god.
  Kun'tar.   One of the daughters of the Moon.
  Ku'ra (Kuura).   The Hoar-frost; also called Tiera, a ball of ice.
  Kul-lik'ki (also Kyl'li).   The Sahri-maiden whom Lemminkainen
  kidnapped.
  Lak'ka.   Mother of Ilmarinen.
  Lak-ko.   The hostess of Kalevala.
  Lem'min-kai'nen.   One of the brothers of Wainamoinen; a son of Lempi.
  Lem'pi-bay.   A bay of Finland.
  Lem'po.   The Evil Principle; same as Hisi, Piru, and Jutas.
  Lin'nun-ra'ta (Bird-way).   The Milky-way.
  Lou'hi.   The hostess of Pohyola.
  Low-ya'tar.   Tuoni's blind daughter, and the originator of the Plagues.
  Lu'on-no'tar.   One of the mystic maidens, and the nurse of Wainamoinen.
  Lu'o-to'la.   A bay of Finland, named with Joukola.
  Ly-lik'ki (Lyylik'ki).   Maker of the snow-shoe.
  Maan-e'mo (man-e'mo).   The mother of the Earth.
  Ma'hi-set (Maa'hi-set).   The invisibly small deities of Finnish
  mythology.
  Mam'me-lai'nen.   The goddess of hidden treasures.
  Ma'na.   A synonym of Tuoni, the god of death.
  Man'a-lai'nen.   The same as Mana.
  Masr'i-at'ta (marja, berry).   The Virgin Mary of Finnish mythology.
  Mat'ka-Tep'po.   The road-god.
  Meh'i-lai'nen.   The honey-bee.
  Mel'a-tar.   The goddess of the helm.
  Met'so-la.   The same as Tapiola, the abode of the god of the forest,
  Mie-lik'ki.   The hostess of the forest.
  Mi-merk'ki.   A synonym of Mielikki.
  Mosk'va.   A province of Suomi.
  Mu-rik'ki (Muurik'ki).   The name of the cow.
  Ne'wa.   A river of Finland.
  Ny-rik'ki.   A son of Tapio.
  Os'mo.   The same as Osmoinen.
  Os-noi'nen.   A synonym of Wainola's hero.
  Os'mo-tar.   The daughter of Osmo; she directs the brewing of the beer
  for Ilmarinen's wedding-feast.
  O-ta'va.   The Great Bear of the heavens.
  Ot'so.   The bear of Finland.
  Poe'ivoe.   The Sun, and the Sun god.
  Pai'va-tar.   The goddess of the summer.
  Pak'ka-nen.   A synonym of Kura.
  Pal-woi'nen.   A synonym of Turi, and also of Wirokannas.
  Pa'nu.   The Fire-Child, born from the sword of Ukko.
  Pa'ra.   A tripod-deity, presiding over milk and cheese.
  Pel'ler-woi'nen.   The sower of the forests.
  Pen'i-tar.   A blind witch of Pohyola; and the mother of the dog.
  Pik'ku Mies.   The water-pigmy that felled the over-spreading oak-tree
  for Wainamoinen.
  Pil'a-ya'tar (Pilaja'tar).   The daughter of the Aspen; and the goddess
  of the Mountain-ash.
  Pilt'ti.   The maid-servant of Mariatta.
  Pi'men-to'la.   A province of Finland; another name for Pohyola.
  Pi'ru.   The same as Lempo, Jutas, and Hisi.
  Pi'sa.   A mountain of Finland.
  Poh'ya (Poh'ja).   An abbreviated form for Pohyola.
  Poh-yo'la (Poh-jo'la).   The Northland; Lapland.
  Pok-ka'nen.   The Frost, the son of Puhuri; a synonym of Tiera.
  Puh-hu'ri.   The North-wind; the father of Pokkanen.
  Rem'men.   The father of the hop-vine.
  Re'mu.   The same as Remmen.
  Ru-o'tus.   A persecutor of the Virgin Mariatta.
  Rut'ya (Rut'ja).   A waterfall of Northland.
  Sah'ri (Saari).   The home of Kyllikki.
  Sam'po.   The jewel that Ilmarinen forges from the magic metals; a
  talisman of success to the possessor; a continual source of strife
  between the tribes of the North.
  Samp'sa.   A synonym of Pellerwoinen.
  Sa'ra.   The same as Sariola.
  Sar'i-o'la.   The same as Pohyola.
  Sat'ka.   A goddess of the sea.
  Sa'wa (Sa'wo).   The eastern part of Finland.
  Sim'a Pil'li (Honey-flute).   The flute of Sima-suu.
  Sim'a-Suu.   One of the maidens of Tapio.
  Sin'e-tar.   The goddess of the blue sky.
  Si-net'ta-ret.   The goddesses of dyeing.
  Suk'ka-mie'li.   The goddess of love.
  Suo'mi (swo'mi).   The ancient abode of the Finns.
  Suo'ne-tar (swone-tar).   The goddess of the veins.
  Suo-wak'ko.   An old wizard of Pohyola.
  Suo'ya-tar (Syo'jatar).   The mother of the serpent.
  Su've-tar (Suve, summer).   Goddess of the South-wind
  Su-wan'to-lai'nen.   Another name for Wainamoinen.
  Taeh'ti.   The Polar Star.
  Ta-he'tar.   The daughter of the Stars.
  Tai'vas.   The firmament in general.
  Ta-ni'ka.   A magic mansion of Pohja.
  Ta'pi-o.   The god of the forest.
  Tel-le'rvo.   A daughter of Tapio.
  Ter'he-ne'tar.   Daughter of the Fog.
  Tie'ra.   Same as Kura; the Hoar-frost.
  Tont'tu.   A little house-spirit.
  Tu'a-me'tar.   Daughter of the Alder-tree.
  Tu-le'tar (Tuule'tar).   A goddess of the winds.
  Tu-lik'ki (Tuullk'ki).   One of the daughters of Tapio.
  Tu'o-ne'la.   The abode of Tuoni.
  Tuo'nen Poi'ka.   The son of Tuoni.
  Tu'o-ne'tar.   The hostess of Death-land; a daughter of Tuoni.
  Tu-o'ni.   The god of death.
  Tu'ri (Tuuri).   The god of the Honey-land.
  Turja (tur'ya).   Another name for Pohya.
  Tur'ya-lan'der.   An epithet for one of the tribe of Louhi.
  Tur'ya (Tyrja).   A name for the waterfall of Rutya.
  Uk'ko.   The Great Spirit of Finnish mythology; his abode is in Jumala.
  Uk'on-koi'va (Ukko's dog).   The messenger of Ukko; the butterfly.
  U'lap-pa'la.   Another term for the abode of Tuoni.
  Un'du-tar.   Goddess of the fog.
  U'ni.   The god of sleep.
  Un'ta-ma'la.   A synonym for "the dismal Sariola."
  Un-ta'mo.   The god of dreams; the dreamer; a brother of Kalervo, and
  his enemy.
  Un'tar.   The same as Undutar.
  Un'to.   The same as Untamo.
  Utu-tyt'to.   The same as Undutar.
  Wai'nam-oi'nen (Vainamoinen).   The chief hero of the Kalevala; the
  hero of Wainola, whose mother, Ilmatar, fell from the air into the
  ocean.
  Wai'no (Vai'no).   The same as Wainamoinen.
  Wai-no'la.   The home of Wainamoinen and his people; a synonym of
  Kalevala.
  Wel-la'mo.   The hostess of the waters.
  Wet'e-hi'nen.   An evil god of the sea.
  Wi-pu'nen (Vipu'nen).   An old song-giant that swallowed Wainamoinen
  searching for the "lost words."
  Wi'ro-kan'nas (Virokan'nas).   Ruler of the wilderness; the slayer of
  the huge bull of Suomi; the priest that baptizes the son of Mariatta.
  Wo'ya-lan'der (Vuojalan'der).   An epithet for Laplander.
  Wuok'sen (Vuo'ksen).   A river in the east of Finland.
  Wuok'si.   The same as Wuoksen.



THE END