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Title: Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland — Volume 01
Author: Lönnrot, Elias, 1802-1884 [Compiler], Crawford, John Martin, 1845-1916 [Translator]
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.

*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland — Volume 01" ***














  RUNE I. Birth of Wainamoinen
  RUNE II. Wainamoinen's Sowing
  RUNE III. Wainamoinen and Youkahainen
  RUNE IV. The Fate of Aino
  RUNE V. Wainamoinen's Lamentation
  RUNE VI. Wainamoinen's Hapless Journey
  RUNE VII. Wainamoinen's Rescue
  RUNE VIII. Maiden of the Rainbow
  RUNE IX. Origin of Iron
  RUNE X. Ilmarinen forges the Sampo
  RUNE XI. Lemminkainen's Lament
  RUNE XII. Kyllikki's Broken Vow
  RUNE XIII. Lemminkainen's Second Wooing
  RUNE XIV. Death of Lemminkainen
  RUNE XV. Lemminkainen's Restoration
  RUNE XVI. Wainainoinen's Boat-building
  RUNE XVII. Wainamoinen finds the Lost Word
  RUNE XVIII. The Rival Suitors
  RUNE XIX. Ilmarinen's Wooing
  RUNE XX. The Brewing of Beer
  RUNE XXI. Ilmarinen's Wedding-feast
  RUNE XXII. The Bride's Farewell
  RUNE XXIII. Osmotar, the Bride-adviser
  RUNE XXIV. The Bride's Farewell
  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



The following translation was undertaken from a desire to lay before
the English-speaking people the full treasury of epical beauty,
folklore, and mythology comprised in The Kalevala, the national epic of
the Finns.  A brief description of this peculiar people, and of their
ethical, linguistic, social, and religious life, seems to be called for
here in order that the following poem may be the better understood.

Finland (Finnish, Suomi or Suomenmaa, the swampy region, of which
Finland, or Fen-land is said to be a Swedish translation,) is at
present a Grand-Duchy in the north-western part of the Russian empire,
bordering on Olenetz, Archangel, Sweden, Norway, and the Baltic Sea,
its area being more than 144,000 square miles, and inhabited by some
2,000,000 of people, the last remnants of a race driven back from the
East, at a very early day, by advancing tribes.  The Finlanders live in
a land of marshes and mountains, lakes and rivers, seas, gulfs,
islands, and inlets, and they call themselves Suomilainen,
Fen-dwellers.  The climate is more severe than that of Sweden.  The
mean yearly temperature in the north is about 27°F., and about 38°F., at
Helsingfors, the capital of Finland.  In the southern districts the
winter is seven months long, and in the northern provinces the sun
disappears entirely during the months of December and January.

The inhabitants are strong and hardy, with bright, intelligent faces,
high cheek-bones, yellow hair in early life, and with brown hair in
mature age.  With regard to their social habits, morals, and manners,
all travellers are unanimous in speaking well of them.  Their temper is
universally mild; they are slow to anger, and when angry they keep
silence.  They are happy-hearted, affectionate to one another, and
honorable and honest in their dealings with strangers.  They are a
cleanly people, being much given to the use of vapor-baths.  This trait
is a conspicuous note of their character from their earliest history to
the present day.  Often in the runes of The Kalevala reference is made
to the "cleansing and healing virtues of the vapors of the heated

The skull of the Finn belongs to the brachycephalic (short-headed)
class of Retzius.  Indeed the Finn-organization has generally been
regarded as Mongol, though Mongol of a modified type.  His color is
swarthy, and his eyes are gray.  He is not inhospitable, but not
over-easy of access; nor is he a friend of new fashions.  Steady,
careful, laborious, he is valuable in the mine, valuable in the field,
valuable oil shipboard, and, withal, a brave soldier on land.

The Finns are a very ancient people.  It is claimed, too, that they
began earlier than any other European nation to collect and preserve
their ancient folk-lore.  Tacitus, writing in the very beginning of the
second century of the Christian era, mentions the Fenni, as he calls
them, in the 46th chapter of his De Moribus Germanoram.  He says of
them: "The Finns are extremely wild, and live in abject poverty.  They
have no arms, no horses, no dwellings; they live on herbs, they clothe
themselves in skins, and they sleep on the ground.  Their only
resources are their arrows, which for the lack of iron are tipped with
bone."  Strabo and the great geographer, Ptolemy, also mention this
curious people.  There is evidence that at one time they were spread
over large portions of Europe and western Asia.

Perhaps it should be stated here that the copper, so often mentioned in
The Kalevala, when taken literally, was probably bronze, or "hardened
copper," the amount and quality of the alloy used being not now known.
The prehistoric races of Europe were acquainted with bronze implements.

It may be interesting to note in this connection that Canon Isaac
Taylor, and Professor Sayce have but very recently awakened great
interest in this question, in Europe especially, by the reading of
papers before the British Philological Association, in which they argue
in favor of the Finnic origin of the Aryans.  For this new theory these
scholars present exceedingly strong evidence, and they conclude that
the time of the separation of the Aryan from the Finnic stock must have
been more than five thousand years ago.

The Finnish nation has one of the most sonorous and flexible of
languages.  Of the cultivated tongues of Europe, the Magyar, or
Hungarian, bears the most positive signs of a deep-rooted similarity to
the Finnish.  Both belong to the Ugrian stock of agglutinative
languages, i.e., those which preserve the root most carefully, and
effect all changes of grammar by suffixes attached to the original
stein.  Grimin has shown that both Gothic and Icelandic present traces
of Finnish influence.

The musical element of a language, the vowels, are well developed in
Finnish, and their due sequence is subject to strict rules of euphony.
The dotted o; (equivalent to the French eu) of the first syllable must
be followed by an e or an i.  The Finnish, like all Ugrian tongues,
admits rhyme, but with reluctance, and prefers alliteration.  Their
alphabet consists of but nineteen letters, and of these, b, c, d, f, g,
are found only in a few foreign words, and many others are never found

One of the characteristic features of this language, and one that is
likewise characteristic of the Magyar, Turkish, Mordvin, and other
kindred tongues, consists in the frequent use of endearing diminutives.
 By a series of suffixes to the names of human beings, birds, fishes,
trees, plants, stones, metals, and even actions, events, and feelings,
diminutives are obtained, which by their form, present the names so
made in different colors; they become more naive, more childlike,
eventually more roguish, or humorous, or pungent.  These traits can
scarcely be rendered in English; for, as Robert Ferguson remarks: "The
English language is not strong in diminutives, and therefore it lacks
some of the most effective means for the expression of affectionate,
tender, and familiar relations."  In this respect all translations from
the Finnish into English necessarily must fall short of the original.
The same might be said of the many emotional interjections in which the
Finnish, in common with all Ugrian dialects, abounds.  With the
exception of these two characteristics of the Ugrian languages, the
chief beauties of the Finnish verse admit of an apt rendering into
English.  The structure of the sentences is very simple indeed, and
adverbs and adjectives are used sparingly.

Finnish is the language of a people who live pre-eminently close to
nature, and are at home amongst the animals of the wilderness, beasts
and birds, winds, and woods, and waters, falling snows, and flying
sands, and rolling rocks, and these are carefully distinguished by
corresponding verbs of ever-changing acoustic import.  Conscious of the
fact that, in a people like the Finns where nature and nature-worship
form the centre of all their life, every word connected with the powers
and elements of nature must be given its fall value, great care has
been taken in rendering these finely shaded verbs.  A glance at the
mythology of this interesting people will place the import of this
remark in better view.

In the earliest age of Suomi, it appears that the people worshiped the
conspicuous objects in nature under their respective, sensible forms.
All beings were persons.  The Sun, Moon, Stars, the Earth, the Air, and
the Sea, were to the ancient Finns, living, self-conscious beings.
Gradually the existence of invisible agencies and energies was
recognized, and these were attributed to superior persons who lived
independent of these visible entities, but at the same time were
connected with them.  The basic idea in Finnish mythology seems to lie
in this: that all objects in nature are governed by invisible deities,
termed haltiat, regents or genii.  These haltiat, like members of the
human family, have distinctive bodies and spirits; but the minor ones
are somewhat immaterial and formless, and their existences are entirely
independent of the objects in which they are particularly interested.
They are all immortal, but they rank according to the relative
importance of their respective charges.  The lower grades of the
Finnish gods are sometimes subservient to the deities of greater
powers, especially to those who rule respectively the air, the water,
the field, and the forest.  Thus, Pilajatar, the daughter of the aspen,
although as divine as Tapio, the god of the woodlands, is necessarily
his servant.
 One of the most notable characteristics of the Finnish mythology is
the interdependence among the gods.  "Every deity", says Castren,
"however petty he may be, rules in his own sphere as a substantial,
independent power, or, to speak in the spirit of The Kalevala, as a
self-ruling householder.  The god of the Polar-star only governs an
insignificant spot in the vault of the sky, but on this spot he knows
no master."

The Finnish deities, like the ancient gods of Italy and Greece, are
generally represented in pairs, and all the gods are probably wedded.
They have their individual abodes and are surrounded by their
respective families.  The Primary object of worship among the early
Finns was most probably the visible sky with its sun, moon, and stars,
its aurora-lights, its thunders and its lightnings.  The heavens
themselves were thought divine.  Then a personal deity of the heavens,
coupled with the name of his abode, was the next conception; finally
this sky-god was chosen to represent the supreme Ruler.  To the sky,
the sky-god, and the supreme God, the term Jumala (thunder-home) was

In course of time, however, when the Finns came to have more purified
ideas about religion, they called the sky Taivas and the sky-god Ukko.
The word, Ukko, seems related to the Magyar Agg, old, and meant,
therefore, an old being, a grandfather; but ultimately it came to be
used exclusively as the name of the highest of the Finnish deities.
Frost, snow, hail, ice, wind and rain, sunshine and shadow, are thought
to come from the hands of Ukko.  He controls the clouds; he is called
in The Kalevala, "The Leader of the Clouds," "The Shepherd of the
Lamb-Clouds," "The God of the Breezes," "The Golden King," "The Silvern
Ruler of the Air," and "The Father of the Heavens."  He wields the
thunder-bolts, striking down the spirits of evil on the mountains, and
is therefore termed, "The Thunderer," like the Greek Zeus, and his
abode is called, "The Thunder-Home."  Ukko is often represented as
sitting upon a cloud in the vault of the sky, and bearing on his
shoulders the firmament, and therefore he is termed, "The Pivot of the
Heavens."  He is armed as an omnipotent warrior; his fiery arrows are
forged from copper, the lightning is his sword, and the rainbow his
bow, still called Ukkon Kaari.  Like the German god, Thor, Ukko swings
a hammer; and, finally, we find, in a vein of familiar symbolism, that
his skirt sparkles with fire, that his stockings are blue, and his
shoes, crimson colored.

In the following runes, Ukko here and there interposes.  Thus, when the
Sun and Moon were stolen from the heavens, and hidden away in a cave of
the copper-bearing mountain, by the wicked hostess of the dismal
Sariola, he, like Atlas in the mythology of Greece, relinquishes the
support of the heavens, thunders along the borders of the darkened
clouds, and strikes fire from his sword to kindle a new sun and a new
moon.  Again, when Lemminkainen is hunting the fire-breathing horse of
Piru, Ukko, invoked by the reckless hero, checks the speed of the
mighty courser by opening the windows of heaven, and showering upon him
flakes of snow, balls of ice, and hailstones of iron.  Usually,
however, Ukko prefers to encourage a spirit of independence among his
worshipers.  Often we find him, in the runes, refusing to heed the call
of his people for help, as when Ilmatar, the daughter of the air,
vainly invoked him to her aid, that Wainamoinen, already seven hundred
years unborn, might be delivered.  So also Wainamoinen beseeches Ukko
in vain to check the crimson streamlet flowing from his knee wounded by
an axe in the hands of Hisi.  Ukko, however, with all his power, is by
no means superior to the Sun, Moon, and other bodies dwelling in the
heavens; they are uninfluenced by him, and are considered deities in
their own right.  Thus, Paeivae means both sun and sun-god; Kun means
moon and moon-god; and Taehti and Ottava designate the Polar-star and
the Great Bear respectively, as well as the deities of these bodies.

The Sun and the Moon have each a consort, and sons, and daughters.  Two
sons only of Paeivae appear in The Kalevala, one comes to aid
Wainamoinen in his efforts to destroy the mystic Fire-fish, by throwing
from the heavens to the girdle of the hero, a "magic knife,
silver-edged, and golden-handled;" the other son, Panu, the Fire-child,
brings back to Kalevala the fire that bad been stolen by Louhi, the
wicked hostess of Pohyola.  From this myth Castren argues that the
ancient Finns regarded fire as a direct emanation from the Sun.  The
daughters of the Sun, Moon, Great Bear, Polar-star, and of the other
heavenly dignitaries, are represented as ever-young and beautiful
maidens, sometimes seated on the bending branches of the forest-trees,
sometimes on the crimson rims of the clouds, sometimes on the rainbow,
sometimes on the dome of heaven.  These daughters are believed to be
skilled to perfection in the arts of spinning and weaving,
accomplishments probably attributed to them from the fanciful likeness
of the rays of light to the warp of the weaver's web.

The Sun's career of usefulness and beneficence in bringing light and
life to Northland is seldom varied.  Occasionally he steps from his
accustomed path to give important information to his suffering
worshipers.  For example, when the Star and the Moon refuse the
information, the Sun tells the Virgin Mariatta, where her golden infant
lies bidden.

  "Yonder is thy golden infant,
  There thy holy babe lies sleeping,
  Hidden to his belt in water,
  Hidden in the reeds and rushes."

Again when the devoted mother of the reckless hero, Lemminkainen,
(chopped to pieces by the Sons Of Nana, as in the myth of Osiris) was
raking together the fragments of his body from the river of Tuoui, and
fearing that the sprites of the Death-stream might resent her
intrusion, the Sun, in answer to her entreaties, throws his Powerful
rays upon the dreaded Shades, and sinks them into a deep sleep, while
the mother gathers up the fragments of her son's body in safety.  This
rune of the Kalevala is particularly interesting as showing the belief
that the dead can be restored to life through the blissful light of

Among the other deities of the air are the Luonnotars, mystic maidens,
three of whom were created by the rubbing of Ukko's hands upon his left
knee.  They forthwith walk the crimson borders of the clouds, and one
sprinkles white milk, one sprinkles red milk, and the third sprinkles
black milk over the hills and mountains; thus they become the "mothers
of iron," as related in the ninth rune of The Kalevala.  In the highest
regions of the heavens, Untar, or Undutar, has her abode, and presides
over mists and fogs.  These she passes through a silver sieve before
sending them to the earth.  There are also goddesses of the winds, one
especially noteworthy, Suvetar (suve, south, summer), the goddess of
the south-wind.  She is represented as a kind-hearted deity, healing
her sick and afflicted followers with honey, which she lets drop from
the clouds, and she also keeps watch over the herds grazing in the
fields and forests.
Second only to air, water is the element held most in reverence by the
Finns and their kindred tribes.  "It could hardly be otherwise," says
Castren, "for as soon as the soul of the savage began to suspect that
the godlike is spiritual, super-sensual, then, even though he continues
to pay reverence to matter, he in general values it the more highly the
less compact it is.  He sees on the one hand how easy it is to lose his
life on the surging waves, and on the other, he sees that from these
same waters he is nurtured, and his life prolonged."  Thus it is that
the map of Finland is to this day full of names like Pyhojarvi (sacred
lake) and Pyhajoki (sacred river).  Some of the Finlanders still offer
goats and calves to these sacred waters; and many of the Ugrian clans
still sacrifice the reindeer to the river Ob.  In Esthonia is a
rivulet, Vohanda, held in such reverence that until very recently, none
dared to fell a tree or cut a shrub in its immediate vicinity, lest
death should overtake the offender within a year, in punishment for his
sacrilege.  The lake, Eim, is still held sacred by the Esthonians, and
the Eim-legend is thus told by F. Thiersch, quoted also by Grimm and by
Mace da Charda:

"Savage, evil men dwelt by its borders. They neither mowed the meadows
which it watered, nor sowed the fields which it made fruitful, but
robbed and murdered, insomuch that its clear waves grew dark with the
blood of the slaughtered men.  Then did the lake Him mourn, and one
evening it called together all its fishes, and rose aloft with them
into the air.  When the robbers heard the sound, they exclaimed: 'Eim
hath arisen; let us gather its fishes and treasures.'  But the fishes
had departed with the lake, and nothing was found on the bottom but
snakes, and lizards, and toads.  And Eim rose higher, and higher, and
hastened through the air like a white cloud.  And the hunters in the
forest said: 'What bad weather is coming on!'  The herdsmen said: 'What
a white swan is flying above there!'  For the whole night the lake
hovered among the stars, and in the morning the reapers beheld it
sinking.  And from the swan grew a white ship, and from the ship a dark
train of clouds; and a voice came from the waters: 'Get thee hence with
thy harvest, for I will dwell beside thee.'  Then they bade the lake
welcome, if it would only bedew their fields and meadows; and it sank
down and spread itself out in its home to the full limits.  Then the
lake made all the neighborhood fruitful, and the fields became green,
and the people danced around it, so that the old men grew joyous as the

The chief water-god is Ahto, on the etymology of which the Finnish
language throws little light.  It is curiously like Ahti, another name
for the reckless Lemminkainen.  This water-god, or "Wave-host," as he
is called, lives with his "cold and cruel-hearted spouse," Wellamo, at
the bottom of the sea, in the chasms of the Salmon-rocks, where his
palace, Ahtola, is constructed.  Besides the fish that swim in his
dominions, particularly the salmon, the trout, the whiting, the perch,
the herring, and the white-fish, he possesses a priceless treasure in
the Sampo, the talisman of success, which Louhi, the hostess of
Pohyola, dragged into the sea in her efforts to regain it from the
heroes of Kalevala.  Ever eager for the treasures of others, and
generally unwilling to return any that come into his possession, Ahto
is not incapable of generosity.  For example, once when a shepherd lad
was whittling a stick on the bank of a river, he dropped his knife into
the stream.  Ahto, as in the fable, "Mercury and the Woodman," moved by
the tears of the unfortunate lad, swam to the scene, dived to the
bottom, brought up a knife of gold, and gave it to the young shepherd.
Innocent and honest, the herd-boy said the knife was not his.  Then
Ahto dived again, and brought up a knife of silver, which he gave to
the lad, but this in turn was not accepted.  Thereupon the Wave-host
dived again, and the third time brought the right knife to the boy who
gladly recognized his own, and received it with gratitude.  To the
shepherd-lad Ahto gave the three knives as a reward for his honesty.

A general term for the other water-hosts living not only in the sea,
but also in the rivers, lakes, cataracts, and fountains, is Ahtolaiset
(inhabitants of Ahtola), "Water-people," "People of the Foam and
Billow," "Wellamo's Eternal People."  Of these, some have specific
names; as Allotar (wave-goddess), Koskenneiti (cataract-maiden),
Melatar (goddess of the helm), and in The Kalevala these are sometimes
personally invoked.  Of these minor deities, Pikku Mies (the Pigmy) is
the most noteworthy.  Once when the far-outspreading branches of the
primitive oak-tree shut out the light of the sun from Northland, Pikku
Mies, moved by the entreaties of Wainamoinen, emerged from the sea in a
suit of copper, with a copper hatchet in his belt, quickly grew from a
pigmy to a gigantic hero, and felled the mighty oak with the third
stroke of his axe.  In general the water-deities are helpful and full
of kindness; some, however, as Wetehilien and Iku-Turso, find their
greatest pleasure in annoying and destroying their fellow-beings.

Originally the Finlanders regarded the earth as a godlike existence
with personal powers, and represented as a beneficent mother bestowing
peace and plenty on all her worthy worshipers.  In evidence of this we
find the names, Maa-emae (mother-earth), and Maan-emo (mother of the
earth), given to the Finnish Demeter.  She is always represented as a
goddess of great powers, and, after suitable invocation, is ever
willing and able to help her helpless sufferers.  She is according to
some mythologists espoused to Ukko, who bestows upon her children the
blessings of sunshine and rain, as Ge is wedded to Ouranos, Jordh to
Odhin, and Papa to Rangi.

Of the minor deities of the earth, who severally govern the plants,
such as trees, rye, flax, and barley, Wirokannas only is mentioned in
The Kalevala.  Once, for example, this "green robed Priest of the
Forest" abandoned for a time his presidency over the cereals in order
to baptize the infant-son of the Virgin Mariatta.  Once again
Wirokannas left his native sphere of action, this time making a most
miserable and ludicrous failure, when he emerged from the wilderness
and attempted to slay the Finnish Taurus, as described in the runes
that follow.  The agricultural deities, however, receive but little
attention from the Finns, who, with their cold and cruel winters, and
their short but delightful summers, naturally neglect the cultivation
of the fields, for cattle-raising, fishing, and hunting.

The forest deities proper, however, are held in high veneration.  Of
these the chief is Tapio, "The Forest-Friend," "The Gracious God of the
Woodlands."  He is represented as a very tall and slender divinity,
wearing a long, brown board, a coat of tree-moss, and a high-crowned
hat of fir-leaves.  His consort is Mielikki, "The Honey-rich Mother of
the Woodland," "The Hostess of the Glen and Forest."  When the hunters
were successful she was represented as beautiful and benignant, her
hands glittering with gold and silver ornaments, wearing ear-rings and
garlands of gold, with hair-bands silver-tinseled, on her forehead
strings of pearls, and with blue stockings on her feet, and red strings
in her shoes.  But if the game-bag came back empty, she was described
as a hateful, hideous thing, robed in untidy rags, and shod with straw.
 She carries the keys to the treasury of Metsola, her husband's abode,
and her bountiful chest of honey, the food of all the forest-deities,
is earnestly sought for by all the weary hunters of Suomi.  These
deities are invariably described as gracious and tender-hearted,
probably because they are all females with the exception of Tapio and
his son, Nyrikki, a tall and stately youth who is engaged in building
bridges over marshes and forest-streams, through which the herds must
pass on their way to the woodland-pastures.  Nyrikki also busies
himself in blazing the rocks and the trees to guide the heroes to their
favorite hunting-grounds.  Sima-suu (honey-mouth), one of the tiny
daughters of Tapio, by playing on her Sima-pilli (honey-flute), also
acts as guide to the deserving hunters.

Hiisi, the Finnish devil, bearing also the epithets, Juntas, Piru, and
Lempo, is the chief of the forest-demons, and is inconceivably wicked.
He was brought into the world consentaneously with Suoyatar, from whose
spittle, as sung in The Kalevala, he formed the serpent.  This demon is
described as cruel, horrible, hideous, and bloodthirsty, and all the
most painful diseases and misfortunes that ever afflict mortals are
supposed to emanate from him.  This demon, too, is thought by the
Finlanders to have a hand in all the evil done in the world.

Turning from the outer world to man, we find deities whose energies are
used only in the domain of human existence.  "These deities," says
Castren, "have no dealings with the higher, spiritual nature of man.
All that they do concerns man solely as an object in nature.  Wisdom
and law, virtue and justice, find in Finnish mythology no protector
among the gods, who trouble themselves only about the temporal wants of
humanity."  The Love-goddess was Sukkamieli (stocking-lover).
"Stockings," says Castren gravely, "are soft and tender things, and the
goddess of love was so called because she interests herself in the
softest and tenderest feelings of the heart."  This conception,
however, is as farfetched as it is modern.  The Love-deity of the
ancient Finns was Lempo, the evil-demon.  It is more reasonable
therefore to suppose that the Finns chose the son of Evil to look after
the feelings of the human heart, because they regarded love as an
insufferable passion, or frenzy, that bordered on insanity, and incited
in some mysterious manner by an evil enchanter.

Uni is the god of sleep, and is described as a kind-hearted and welcome
deity.  Untamo is the god of dreams, and is always spoken of as the
personification of indolence.  Munu tenderly looks after the welfare of
the human eye.  This deity, to say the least is an oculist of long and
varied experience, in all probability often consulted in Finland
because of the blinding snows and piercing winds of the north.  Lemmas
is a goddess in the mythology of the Finns who dresses the wounds of
her faithful sufferers, and subdues their pains.  Suonetar is another
goddess of the human frame, and plays a curious and important part in
the restoration to life of the reckless Lemminkainen, as described in
the following runes.  She busies herself in spinning veins, and in
sewing up the wounded tissues of such deserving worshipers as need her
surgical skill.

Other deities associated with the welfare of mankind are the Sinettaret
and Kankahattaret, the goddesses respectively of dyeing and weaving.
Matka-Teppo is their road-god, and busies himself in caring for horses
that are over-worked, and in looking after the interests of weary
travellers.  Aarni is the guardian of hidden treasures.  This important
office is also filled by a hideous old deity named Mammelainen, whom
Renwall, the Finnish lexicographer, describes as "femina maligna,
matrix serpentis, divitiarum subterranearum custos," a malignant woman,
the mother of the snake, and the guardian of subterranean treasures.
From this conception it is evident that the idea of a kinship between
serpents and hidden treasures frequently met with in the myths of the
Hungarians, Germans, and Slavs, is not foreign to the Finns.

Nowhere are the inconsistencies of human theory and practice more
curiously and forcibly shown than in the custom in vogue among the
clans of Finland who are not believers in a future life, but,
notwithstanding, perform such funereal ceremonies as the burying in the
graves of the dead, knives, hatchets, spears, bows, and arrows,
kettles, food, clothing, sledges and snow-shoes, thus bearing witness
to their practical recognition of some form of life beyond the grave.
The ancient Finns occasionally craved advice and assistance from the
dead.  Thus, as described in The Kalevala, when the hero of Wainola
needed three words of master-magic wherewith to finish the boat in
which he was to sail to win the mystic maiden of Sariola, he first
looked in the brain of the white squirrel, then in the mouth of the
white-swan when dying, but all in vain; then he journeyed to the
kingdom of Tuoni, and failing there, he "struggled over the points of
needles, over the blades of swords, over the edges of hatchets" to the
grave of the ancient wisdom-bard, Antero Wipunen, where he "found the
lost-words of the Master."  In this legend of The Kalevala, exceedingly
interesting, instructive, and curious, are found, apparently, the
remote vestiges of ancient Masonry.

It would seem that the earliest beliefs of the Finns regarding the dead
centred in this: that their spirits remained in their graves until
after the complete disintegration of their bodies, over which Kalma,
the god of the tombs, with his black and evil daughter, presided.
After their spirits had been fully purified, they were then admitted to
the Kingdom of Manala in the under world.  Those journeying to Tuonela
were required to voyage over nine seas, and over one river, the Finnish
Styx, black, deep, and violent, and filled with hungry whirlpools, and
angry waterfalls.

Like Helheim of Scandinavian mythology, Manala, or Tuonela, was
considered as corresponding to the upper world.  The Sun and the Moon
visited there; fen and forest gave a home to the wolf, the bear, the
elk, the serpent, and the songbird; the salmon, the whiting, the perch,
and the pike were sheltered in the "coal-black waters of Manala."  From
the seed-grains of the death-land fields and forests, the Tuoni-worm
(the serpent) had taken its teeth.  Tuoui, or Mana, the god of the
under world, is represented as a hard-hearted, and frightful, old
personage with three iron-pointed fingers on each hand, and wearing a
hat drawn down to his shoulders.  As in the original conception of
Hades, Tuoni was thought to be the leader of the dead to their
subterranean home, as well as their counsellor, guardian, and ruler.
In the capacity of ruler he was assisted by his wife, a hideous,
horrible, old witch with "crooked, copper-fingers iron-pointed," with
deformed head and distorted features, and uniformly spoken of in irony
in the Kalevala as "hyva emanta," the good hostess; she feasted her
guests on lizards, worms, toads, and writhing serpents.  Tuouen Poika,
"The God of the Red Cheeks," so called because of his bloodthirstiness
and constant cruelties, is the son and accomplice of this merciless and
hideous pair.

Three daughters of Tuoni are mentioned in the runes, the first of whom,
a tiny, black maiden, but great in wickedness, once at least showed a
touch of human kindness when she vainly urged Wainamoinen not to cross
the river of Tuoui, assuring the hero that while many visit Manala, few
return, because of their inability to brave her father's wrath.
Finally, after much entreaty, she ferried him over the Finnish Styx,
like Charon, the son of Erebus and Nox, in the mythology of Greece.
The second daughter of Tuoni is Lowyatar, black and blind, and is
described as still more malignant and loathsome than the first.
Through the East-wind's impregnation she brought forth the spirits of
the nine diseases most dreaded by mankind, as described in the 45th
Rune of the Kalevala:

  "Colic, Pleurisy, and Fever.
  Ulcer, Plague, and dread Consumption,
  Gout, Sterility, and Cancer."

The third daughter of Tuoni combines the malevolent and repugnant
attributes of her two sisters, and is represented as the mother and
hostess of the impersonal diseases of mankind.  The Finns regarded all
human ailments as evil spirits or indwelling devils, some formless,
others taking the shapes of the most odious forms of animal life, as
worms and mites; the nine, however, described above, were conceived to
have human forms.

Where the three arms of the Tuoni river meet a frightful rock arises,
called Kipu-Kivi, or Kipuvuori, in a dungeon beneath which the spirits
of all diseases are imprisoned.  On this rock the third daughter of
Tuoui sits, constantly whirling it round like a millstone, grinding her
subjects until they escape and go forth to torture and slay the
children of men; as in Hindu mythology, Kali (black) sits in judgment
on the dead.

Various other spiritual powers than gods and goddesses are held in high
reverence by the Finns.  Tontu is represented as a kind-hearted
house-spirit, a sort of diminutive Cyclops, and offerings of bread and
broth are made to him every morning.  Putting a mare's collar on one's
neck and walking nine times around a church is thought to be a certain
means of attracting one to the place desired.  Para is a mystical,
three-legged being, constructed in many ways, and which, according to
Castren, attains life and action when its possessor, cutting the little
finger of his left hand, lets three drops of blood fall upon it, and at
the same time pronouncing the proper magic word.  The possessor, by
whatever means, of this mystic being, is always supplied with abundance
of milk and cheese.  The Maahiset are the dwarfs of Finnish mythology.
Their abode is under stumps, trees, blocks, thresholds and
hearth-stones.  Though exceedingly minute and invisible to man they
have human forms.  They are irritable and resentful, and they punish
with ulcers, tetter, ringworms, pimples, and other cutaneous
affections, all those who neglect them at brewings, bakings, and
feastings.  They punish in a similar manner those who enter new houses
without making obeisance to the four corners, and paying them other
kindly attentions; those who live in untidy houses are also likewise
punished.  The Kirkonwaeki (church-folk) are little deformed beings
living under the altars of churches.  These misshapen things are
supposed to be able to aid their sorrowing and suffering worshipers.

Certain beasts, and birds, and trees, are held sacred in Finland.  In
the Kalevala are evident traces of arctolatry, bear-worship, once very
common among the tribes of the north, Otso, the bear, according to
Finnish mythology, was born on the shoulders of Otava, in the regions
of the sun and moon, and "nursed by a goddess of the woodlands in a
cradle swung by bands of gold between the bending branches of budding
fir-trees."  His nurse would not give him teeth and claws until he had
promised never to engage in bloody strife, or deeds of violence.  Otso,
however, does not always keep his pledge, and accordingly the hunters
of Finland find it comparatively easy to reconcile their consciences to
his destruction.  Otso is called in the runes by many endearing titles
as "The Honey-Eater," "Golden Light-Foot," "The Forest-Apple,"
"Honey-Paw of the Mountains," "ThePride of the Thicket," "The Fur-robed
Forest-Friend."  Ahava, the West-wind, and Penitar, a blind old witch
of Sariola, are the parents of the swift dogs of Finland, just as the
horses of Achilles, Xanthos and Belios, sprang from Zephyros and the
harpy Podarge.

As to birds, the duck, according to the Kalevala, the eagle, according
to other traditions, lays the mundane egg, thus taking part in the
creation of the world.  Puhuri, the north-wind, the father of Pakkanen
(frost) is sometimes personified as a gigantic eagle.  The didapper is
reverenced because it foretells the approach of rain.  Linnunrata
(bird-path) is the name given to the Milky-way, due probably to a myth
like those of the Swedes and Slavs, in which liberated songs take the
form of snow-white dovelets.  The cuckoo to this day is sacred, and is
believed to have fertilized the earth with his songs.  As to insects,
honey-bees, called by the Finns, Mehilainen, are especially sacred, as
in the mythologies of many other nations.  Ukkon-koiva (Ukko's dog) is
the Finnish name for the butterfly, and is looked upon as a messenger
of the Supreme Deity.  It may be interesting to observe here that the
Bretons in reverence called butterflies, "feathers from the wings of

As to inanimate nature, certain lakes, rivers, springs, and fountains,
are held in high reverence.  In the Kalevala the oak is called Pun
Jumalan (God's tree).  The mountain-ash even to this day, and the
birch-tree, are held sacred, and peasants plant them by their cottages
with reverence.

Respecting the giants of Finnish mythology, Castren is silent, and the
following notes are gleaned from the Kalevala, and from Grimm's
Teutonic Mythology.  "The giants," says Grimm, "are distinguished by
their cunning and ferocity from the stupid, good-natured monsters of
Germany and Scandinavia."  Soini, for example a synonym of Kullervo,
the here of the saddest episode of the Kalevala when only three days
old, tore his swaddling clothes to tatters.  When sold to a forgeman of
Karelia, he was ordered to nurse an infant, but he dug out the eyes of
the child, killed it, and burned its cradle.  Ordered to fence the
fields, he built a fence from earth to heaven, using entire pine-trees
for fencing materials, and interweaving their branches with venomous
serpents.  Ordered to tend the herds in the woodlands, he changed the
cattle to wolves and bears, and drove them home to destroy his mistress
because she had baked a stone in the centre of his oat-loaf, causing
him to break his knife, the only keepsake of his people.

Regarding the heroes of the Kalevala, much discussion has arisen as to
their place in Finnish mythology.  The Finns proper regard the chief
heroes of the Suomi epic, Wainamoinen, Ilmarinen, and Lemminkainen, as
descendants of the Celestial Virgin, Ilmatar, impregnated by the winds
when Ilma (air), Light, and Water were the only material existences.
In harmony with this conception we find in the Kalevala, a description
of the birth of Wainamoinen, or Vaino, as he is sometimes called in the
original, a word probably akin to the Magyar Ven, old.  The Esthonians
regard these heroes as sons of the Great Spirit, begotten before the
earth was created, and dwelling with their Supreme Ruler in Jumala.

The poetry of a people with such an elaborate mythology and with such a
keen and appreciative sense of nature and of her various phenomena, was
certain, sooner or later, to attract the attention of scholars.  And,
in fact, as early as the seventeenth century, we meet men of literary
tastes who tried to collect and interpret the various national songs of
the Finns.  Among these were Palmskold and Peter Bang.  They collected
portions of the national poetry, consisting chiefly of
wizard-incantations, and all kinds of pagan folk-lore.  Gabriel
Maxenius, however, was the first to publish a work on Finnish national
poetry, which brought to light the beauties of the Kalevala.  It
appeared in 1733, and bore the title: De Effectibus Naturalibus.  The
book contains a quaint collection of Finnish poems in lyric forms,
chiefly incantations; but the author was entirely at a loss how to
account for them, or how to appreciate them.  He failed to see their
intimate connection with the religious worship of the Finns in paganism.

The next to study the Finnish poetry and language was Daniel Juslenius,
a celebrated bishop, and a highly-gifted scholar.  In a dissertation,
published as early as 1700, entitled, Aboa vetus et nova, he discussed
the origin and nature of the Finnish language; and in another work of
his, printed in 1745, he treated of Finnish incantations, displaying
withal a thorough understanding of the Finnish folk-lore, and of the
importance of the Finnish language and national poetry.  With great
care he began to collect the songs of Suomi, but this precious
collection was unfortunately burned.

Porthan, a Finnish scholar of great attainments, born in 1766,
continuing the work of Juslenius, accumulated a great number of
national songs and poems, and by his profound enthusiasm for the
promotion of Finnish literature, succeeded in founding the Society of
the Fennophils, which to the present day, forms the literary centre of
Finland.  Among his pupils were E. Lenquist, and Chr. Ganander, whose
works on Finnish mythology are among the references used in preparing
this preface.  These indefatigable scholars were joined by Reinhold
Becker and others, who were industriously searching for more and more
fragments of what evidently was a great epic of the Finns.  For
certainly neither of the scholars just mentioned, nor earlier
investigators, could fail to see that the runes they collected,
gathered round two or three chief heroes, but more especially around
the central figure of Wainamoinen, the hero of the following epic.

The Kalevala proper was collected by two great Finnish scholars,
Zacharias Topelius and Elias Lonnrot.  Both were practicing physicians,
and in this capacity came into frequent contact with the people of
Finland.  Topelius, who collected eighty epical fragments of the
Kalevala, spent the last eleven years of his life in bed, afflicted
with a fatal disease.  But this sad and trying circumstance did not
dampen his enthusiasm.  His manner of collecting these songs was as
follows: Knowing that the Finns of Russia preserved most of the
national poetry, and that they came annually to Finland proper, which
at that time did not belong to Russia, he invited these itinerant
Finnish merchants to his bedside, and induced them to sing their heroic
poems, which he copied as they were uttered.  And, when he heard of a
renowned Finnish singer, or minstrel, he did all in his power to bring
the song-man to his house, in order that he might gather new fragments
of the national epic.  Thus the first glory of collecting the fragments
of the Kalevala and of rescuing it from literary oblivion, belongs to
Topelius.  In 1822 he published his first collections, and in 18317 his

Elias Lonnrot, who brought the whole work to a glorious completion, was
born April 9, 1802.  He entered the University of Abo in 1822, and in
1832, received the degree of Doctor of Medicine from the University of
Helsingfors.  After the death of Castren in 1850, Lonnrot was appointed
professor of the Suomi (Finnish) language and literature in the
University, where he remained until 1862, at which time he withdrew
from his academical activity and devoted himself exclusively to the
study of his native language, and its epical productions.  Dr. Lonnrot
had already published a scholarly treatise, in 1827, on the chief hero
of the Kalevala, before he went to Sava and Karjala to glean the songs
and parts of songs front the lips of the people.  This work was
entitled: De Wainainoine priscorum Fennorum numine.  In the year 1828,
he travelled as far as Kajan, collecting poems and songs of the Finnish
people, sitting by the fireside of the aged, rowing on the lakes with
the fishermen, and following the flocks with the shepherds.  In 1829 he
published at Helsingfors a work under the following title: Kantele
taikka Suomee Kansan sek vazhoja etta nykysempia Runoja ja Lauluja
(Lyre, or Old and New Songs and Lays of the Finnish Nation).  In
another work edited in 1832, written in Swedish, entitled: Om Finnarues
Magiska Medicin (On the Magic Medicine of the Finns), he dwells on the
incantations so frequent in Finnish poetry, notably in the Kalevala.  A
few years later he travelled in the province of Archangel, and so
ingratiated himself into the hearts of the simple-minded people that
they most willingly aided him in collecting these songs.  These
journeys were made through wild fens, forests, marshes, and ice-plains,
on horseback, in sledges drawn by the reindeer, in canoes, or in some
other forms of primitive conveyance.  The enthusiastic physician
described his journeyings and difficulties faithfully in a paper
published at Helsingfors in Swedish in 1834.  He had the peculiar good
luck to meet an old peasant, one of the oldest of the runolainen in the
Russian province of Wuokiniem, who was by far the most renowned
minstrel of the country, and with whose closely impending death,
numerous very precious runes would have been irrevocably lost.

The happy result of his travels throughout Finland, Dr. Lonnrot now
commenced to arrange under the central idea of a great epic, called
Kalevala, and in February, 1835, the manuscript was transmitted to the
Finnish Literary Society, which had it published in two parts.
Lonnrot, however, did not stop here; he went on searching and
collecting, and, in 1840, had brought together more than one thousand
fragments of epical poetry, national ballads, and proverbs.  These he
published in two works, respectively entitled, Kanteletar (Lyre-charm),
and The Proverbs of the Suomi People, the latter containing over 1700
proverbs, adages, gnomic sentences, and songs.

His example was followed by many of his enthusiastic countrymen, the
more prominent of whom are Castren, Europaeus, Polen and Reniholm.
Through the collections of these scholars so many additional parts of
the epical treasure of Finland were made public that a new edition of
the Kalevala soon became an imperative necessity.  The task of sifting,
arranging, and organizing the extensive material, was again allotted to
Dr. Lonnrot, and in his second editions of the Kalevala, which appeared
in 1849, the epic, embracing fifty runes and 22,793 lines, had reached
its mature form.  The Kalevala was no sooner published than it
attracted the attention of the leading scholars of Europe.  Men of such
world-wide fame as Jacob Grimm, Steinthal, Uhland, Carrière and Max Müller
hastened to acknowledge its surpassing value and intrinsic beauty.
Jacob Grimm, in a separate treatise, published in his Kleinere
Schriften, said that the genuineness and extraordinary value of the
Kalevala is easily proved by the fact that from its mythological ideas
we can frequently interpret the mythological conceptions of the ancient
Germans, whereas the poems of Ossian manifest their modern origin by
their inability to clear up questions of old Saxon or German mythology.
 Grimm, furthermore, shows that both the Gothic and Icelandic
literatures display unmistakable features of Finnish influence.

Max Müller places the Kalevala on a level with the greatest epics of the
world.  These are his words:

"From the mouths of the aged an epic poem has been collected equalling
the Iliad in length and completeness; nay, if we can forget for a
moment, all that we in our youth learned to call beautiful, not less
beautiful.  A Finn is not a Greek, and Wainamoinen was not a Homer
[Achilles?]; but if the poet may take his colors from that nature by
which he is surrounded, if he may depict the men with whom he lives,
the Kalevala possesses merits not dissimilar from those of the Illiad,
and will claim its place as the fifth national epic of the world, side
by side with the Ionian Songs, with the Mahabharata, the Shalinameth,
and the Nibelunge."

Steinthal recognizes but four great national epics, viz., the Iliad,
Kalevala, Nibelunge and the Roland Songs.

The Kalevala describes Finnish nature very minutely and very
beautifully.  Grimm says that no poem is to be compared with it in this
respect, unless it be some of the epics of India.  It has been
translated into several European languages; into Swedish by Alex.
Castren, in 1844; into French prose by L. LeDuc, in 1845; into German
by Anton Schiefuer, in 1852; into Hungarian by Ferdinand Barna, in
1871; and a very small portion of it--the legend of Aino--into English,
in 1868, by the late Prof. John A. Porter, of Yale College.  It must
remain a matter of universal regret to the English-speaking people that
Prof. Porter's life could not have been spared to finish the great work
he had so beautifully begun.

Some of the most convincing evidences of the genuineness and great age
of the Kalevala have been supplied by the Hungarian translator.  The
Hungarians, as is well known, are closely related to the Finns, and
their language, the Magyar dialect, has the same characteristic
features as the Finnish tongue.  Barna's translation, accordingly, is
the best rendering of the original.  In order to show the genuineness
and antiquity of the Kalevala, Barna adduces a Hungarian book written
by a certain Peter Bornemissza, in 1578, entitled ordogi Kisertetekrol
(on Satanic Specters), the unique copy of which he found in the library
of the University of Budapest.  In this book Bornemissza collected all
the incantations (raolvasasok) in use among Hungarian country-people of
his day for the expulsion of diseases and misfortunes.  These
incantations, forming the common stock of all Ugrian peoples, of which
the Finns and Hungarians are branches, display a most satisfactory
sameness with the numerous incantations of the Kalevala used for the
same purpose.  Barna published an elaborate treatise on this subject;
it appeared in the, Transactions of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences,
Philological Department, for 1870.  Again, in 1868, twenty-two
Hungarian deeds, dating from 1616-1660, were sent to the Hungarian
Academy of Sciences, as having been found in the Hegyalja, where the
celebrated wine of Tokay is made.  These deeds contained several
contracts for the sale of vineyards, and at the end of each deed the
customary cup of wine was said to have been emptied by both parties to
the contract.  This cup of wine, in the deeds, was termed, "Ukkon's
cup."  Ukko, however, is the chief God according to Finnish mythology,
and thus the coincidence of the Magyar Ukkon and the Finnish Ukko was
placed beyond doubt.

The Kalevala (the Land of Heroes) relates the ever-varying contests
between the Finns and the "darksome Laplanders", just as the Iliad
relates the contests between the Greeks and the Trojans.  Castren is of
the opinion that the enmity between the Finns and the Lapps was sung
long before the Finns had left their Asiatic birth-place.

A deeper and more esoteric meaning of the Kalevala, however, points to
a contest between Light and Darkness, Good and Evil; the Finns
representing the Light and the Good, and the Lapps, the Darkness and
the Evil.  Like the Niebelungs, the heroes of the Finns woo for brides
the beauteous maidens of the North; and the similarity is rendered
still more striking by their frequent inroads into the country of the
Lapps, in order to possess themselves of the envied treasure of
Lapland, the mysterious Sampo, evidently the Golden Fleece of the
Argonautic expedition.  Curiously enough public opinion is often
expressed in the runes, in the words of an infant; often too the
unexpected is introduced after the manner of the Greek dramas, by a
young child, or an old man.

The whole poem is replete with the most fascinating folk-lore about the
mysteries of nature, the origin of things, the enigmas of human tears,
and, true to the character of a national epic, it represents not only
the poetry, but the entire wisdom and accumulated experience of a
nation.  Among others, there is a profoundly philosophical trait in the
poem, indicative of a deep insight into the workings of the human mind,
and into the forces of nature.  Whenever one of the heroes of the
Kalevala wishes to overcome the aggressive power of an evil force, as a
wound, a disease, a ferocious beast, or a venomous serpent, he achieves
his purpose by chanting the origin of the inimical force.  The thought
underlying this idea evidently is that all evil could be obviated had
we but the knowledge of whence and how it came.

The numerous myths of the poem are likewise full of significance and
beauty, and the Kalevala should be read between the lines, in order
that the fall meaning of this great epic may be comprehended.  Even
such a hideous impersonation as that of Kullerwoinen, is rich with
pointed meaning, showing as it does, the incorrigibility of ingrained
evil.  This legend, like all others of the poem, has its deep-running
stream of esoteric interpretation.  The Kalevala, perhaps, more than
any other, uses its lines on the surface in symbolism to point the
human mind to the brighter gems of truth beneath.

The three main personages, Wainamoinen, the ancient singer, Ilmarinen,
the eternal forgeman, and Lemminkainen, the reckless wizard, as
mentioned above, are conceived as being of divine origin.  In fact, the
acting characters of the Kalevala are mostly superhuman, magic beings.
Even the female actors are powerful sorceresses, and the hostess of
Pohyola, especially, braves the might of all the enchanters of Wainola
combined.  The power of magic is a striking feature of the poem.  Here,
as in the legends of no other people, do the heroes and demi-gods
accomplish nearly everything by magic.  The songs of Wainamoinen disarm
his opponents; they quiet the angry sea; they give warmth to the new
sun and the new moon which his brother, Ilmarinen, forges from the
magic metals; they give life to the spouse of Ilmarinen, which the
"eternal metal-artist" forges from gold, silver, and copper.  In fact
we are among a people that endows everything with life, and with human
and divine attributes. Birds, and beasts, and fishes, and serpents, as
well as the Sun, the Moon, the Great Bear, and the stars, are either
kind or unkind.  Drops of blood find speech; men and maidens transform
themselves into other shapes and resume again their native forms at
will; ships, and trees, and waters, have magic powers; in short, all
nature speaks in human tongues.

The Kalevala dates back to an enormous antiquity.  One reason for
believing this, lies in the silence of the Kalevala about Russians,
Germans, or Swedes, their neighbors.  This evidently shows that the
poem must have been composed at a time when these nations had but very
little or no intercourse with the Finns.  The coincidence between the
incantations adduced above, proves that these witch-songs date from a
time when the Hungarians and the Finns were still united as one people;
in other words, to a time at least 3000 years ago.  The whole poem
betrays no important signs of foreign influence, and in its entire
tenor is a thoroughly pagan epic.  There are excellent reasons for
believing that the story of Mariatta, recited in the 50th Rune, is an
ante-Christian legend.

An additional proof of the originality and independent rise of the
Kalevala is to be found in its metre.  All genuine poetry must have its
peculiar verse, just as snow-flakes cannot exist without their peculiar
crystalizations.  It is thus that the Iliad is inseparably united, and,
as it were, immersed in the stately hexametre, and the French epics, in
the graceful Alexandrine verse.  The metre of the Kalevala is the
"eight-syllabled trochaic, with the part-line echo," and is the
characteristic verse of the Finns.  The natural speech of this people
is poetry.  The young men and maidens, the old men and matrons, in
their interchange of ideas, unwittingly fall into verse.  The genius of
their language aids to this end, inasmuch as their words are strongly

This wonderfully versatile metre admits of keeping the right medium
between the dignified, almost prancing hexameter, and the shorter
metres of the lyrics.  Its feet are nimble and fleet, but yet full of
vigor and expressiveness.  In addition, the Kalevala uses alliteration,
and thus varies the rhythm of time with the rhythm of sound.  This
metre is especially fit for the numerous expressions of endearment in
which the Finnish epic abounds.  It is more especially the love of the
mother for her children, and the love of the children for their mother,
that find frequent and ever-tender expression in the sonorous lines of
the Kalevala.  The Swedish translation by Castren, the German, by
Schiefner, and the Hungarian, by Barna, as well as the following
English translation, are in the original metre of the Kalevala.

To prove that this peculiar and fascinating style of verse is of very
ancient origin, the following lines have been accurately copied from
the first edition in Finnish of the Kalevala, collated by Dr. Lonnrot,
and published in 1835 at Helsingfors, the quotation beginning with the
150th line of the 2nd Rune:

  Louhi Pohjolan emanta
  Sanan wirkko, noin nimesi:
  "Niin mita minulleannat,
  Kun saatan omille maille,
  Oman pellon pientarelle,
  Oman pihan rikkasille?"
  Sano wanha Wainamoinen:
  "Mitapa kysyt minulta,
  Kun saatat omille maille,
  Oman kaën kukkumille,
  Oman kukon kukkluwille,
  Oman saunan lampimille?"
  Sano Pohjolan emanta:
  "Ohoh wiisas Wainamoinen!
  Taiatko takoa sammon,
  Kirjokannen kirjaëlla,
  Yhen joukkosen sulasta,
  Yhen willan kylkyesta,
  Yhen otrasen jywasta,
  Yhen warttinan muruista."

As to the architecture of the Kalevala, it stands midway between the
epical ballads of the Servians and the purely epical structure of the
Iliad.  Though a continuous whole, it contains several almost
independent parts, as the contest of Youkahainen, the Kullervo episode,
and the legend of Mariatta.

By language-masters this epic of Suomi, descending unwritten from the
mythical age to the present day, kept alive from generation to
generation by minstrels, or song-men, is regarded as one of the most
precious contributions to the literature of the world, made since the
time of Milton and the German classics.

Acknowledgment is hereby made to the following sources of information
used in the preparation of this work: to E. Lenquist's De Superstitione
veterum Fennorum theoretica et practica; to Chr. Ganander's Mythologia
Fennica; to Becker's De Vainamoine; to Max Müller's Oxford Essays; to
Prof. John A. Porter's Selections from the Kalevala; to the writings of
the two Grimms; to Latham's Native Races of the Russian Empire; to the
translations of the Kalevala by Alex. Castren, Anton Schieffier, L.
LeDuc and Ferdinand Barna; and especially to the excellent treatises on
the Kalevala, and on the Mythology of the Finns, by Mace Da Charda and
Alex. Castren; to Prof. Helena Klingner, of Cincinnati, a linguist of
high rank, and who has compared very conscientiously the manuscript of
the following pages with the German translation of the Kalevala by
Anton Schiefner; to Dr. Emil Reich, a native Hungarian, a close student
of the Ugrian tongues, who, in a most thorough manner, has compared
this translation with the Hungarian by Ferdinand Barna, and who,
familiar with the habits, customs, and religious notions of the Finns,
has furnished much valuable material used in the preparation of this
preface; and, finally, to Prof. Thomas C. Porter, D.D., LL.D., of
Lafayette College, who has become an authority on the Kalevala through
his own researches for many years, aided by a long and intimate
acquaintance with Prof. A. F. Soldan, a Finn by birth, an enthusiastic
lover of his country, a scholar of great attainments, acquainted with
many languages, and once at the head of the Imperial Mint at
Helsingfors, the capital of Finland. Prof. Porter has very kindly
placed in the hands of the author of these pages, all the literature on
this subject at his command, including his own writings; he has watched
the growth of this translation with unusual interest; and, with the eye
of a gifted poet and scholar, he has made two careful and critical
examinations of the entire manuscript, making annotations, emendations,
and corrections, by which this work has been greatly improved.

With this prolonged introduction, this, the first English translation
of the Kalevala, with its many imperfections, is hesitatingly given to
the public.

  October 1, 1887.



  MASTERED by desire impulsive,
  By a mighty inward urging,
  I am ready now for singing,
  Ready to begin the chanting
  Of our nation's ancient folk-song
  Handed down from by-gone ages.
  In my mouth the words are melting,
  From my lips the tones are gliding,
  From my tongue they wish to hasten;
  When my willing teeth are parted,
  When my ready mouth is opened,
  Songs of ancient wit and wisdom
  Hasten from me not unwilling.
  Golden friend, and dearest brother,
  Brother dear of mine in childhood,
  Come and sing with me the stories,
  Come and chant with me the legends,
  Legends of the times forgotten,
  Since we now are here together,
  Come together from our roamings.
  Seldom do we come for singing,
  Seldom to the one, the other,
  O'er this cold and cruel country,
  O'er the poor soil of the Northland.
  Let us clasp our hands together
  That we thus may best remember.
  Join we now in merry singing,
  Chant we now the oldest folk-lore,
  That the dear ones all may hear them,
  That the well-inclined may hear them,
  Of this rising generation.
  These are words in childhood taught me,
  Songs preserved from distant ages,
  Legends they that once were taken
  From the belt of Wainamoinen,
  From the forge of Ilmarinen,
  From the sword of Kaukomieli,
  From the bow of Youkahainen,
  From the pastures of the Northland,
  From the meads of Kalevala.
  These my dear old father sang me
  When at work with knife and hatchet
  These my tender mother taught me
  When she twirled the flying spindle,
  When a child upon the matting
  By her feet I rolled and tumbled.
  Incantations were not wanting
  Over Sampo and o'er Louhi,
  Sampo growing old in singing,
  Louhi ceasing her enchantment.
  In the songs died wise Wipunen,
  At the games died Lemminkainen.
  There are many other legends,
  Incantations that were taught me,
  That I found along the wayside,
  Gathered in the fragrant copses,
  Blown me from the forest branches,
  Culled among the plumes of pine-trees,
  Scented from the vines and flowers,
  Whispered to me as I followed
  Flocks in land of honeyed meadows,
  Over hillocks green and golden,
  After sable-haired Murikki,
  And the many-colored Kimmo.
  Many runes the cold has told me,
  Many lays the rain has brought me,
  Other songs the winds have sung me;
  Many birds from many forests,
  Oft have sung me lays n concord
  Waves of sea, and ocean billows,
  Music from the many waters,
  Music from the whole creation,
  Oft have been my guide and master.
  Sentences the trees created,
  Rolled together into bundles,
  Moved them to my ancient dwelling,
  On the sledges to my cottage,
  Tied them to my garret rafters,
  Hung them on my dwelling-portals,
  Laid them in a chest of boxes,
  Boxes lined with shining copper.
  Long they lay within my dwelling
  Through the chilling winds of winter,
  In my dwelling-place for ages.
  Shall I bring these songs together
  From the cold and frost collect them?
  Shall I bring this nest of boxes,
  Keepers of these golden legends,
  To the table in my cabin,
  Underneath the painted rafters,
  In this house renowned and ancient?
  Shall I now these boxes open,
  Boxes filled with wondrous stories?
  Shall I now the end unfasten
  Of this ball of ancient wisdom,
  These ancestral lays unravel?
  Let me sing an old-time legend,
  That shall echo forth the praises
  Of the beer that I have tasted,
  Of the sparkling beer of barley.
  Bring to me a foaming goblet
  Of the barley of my fathers,
  Lest my singing grow too weary,
  Singing from the water only.
  Bring me too a cup of strong-beer,
  It will add to our enchantment,
  To the pleasure of the evening,
  Northland's long and dreary evening,
  For the beauty of the day-dawn,
  For the pleasure of the morning,
  The beginning of the new-day.
  Often I have heard them chanting,
  Often I have heard them singing,
  That the nights come to us singly,
  That the Moon beams on us singly,
  That the Sun shines on us singly;
  Singly also, Wainamoinen,
  The renowned and wise enchanter,
  Born from everlasting Ether
  Of his mother, Ether's daughter.



  In primeval times, a maiden,
  Beauteous Daughter of the Ether,
  Passed for ages her existence
  In the great expanse of heaven,
  O'er the prairies yet enfolded.
  Wearisome the maiden growing,
  Her existence sad and hopeless,
  Thus alone to live for ages
  In the infinite expanses
  Of the air above the sea-foam,
  In the far outstretching spaces,
  In a solitude of ether,
  She descended to the ocean,
  Waves her coach, and waves her pillow.
  Thereupon the rising storm-wind
  Flying from the East in fierceness,
  Whips the ocean into surges,
  Strikes the stars with sprays of ocean
  Till the waves are white with fervor.
  To and fro they toss the maiden,
  Storm-encircled, hapless maiden;
  With her sport the rolling billows,
  With her play the storm-wind forces,
  On the blue back of the waters;
  On the white-wreathed waves of ocean,
  Play the forces of the salt-sea,
  With the lone and helpless maiden;
  Till at last in full conception,
  Union now of force and beauty,
  Sink the storm-winds into slumber;
  Overburdened now the maiden
  Cannot rise above the surface;
  Seven hundred years she wandered,
  Ages nine of man's existence,
  Swam the ocean hither, thither,
  Could not rise above the waters,
  Conscious only of her travail;
  Seven hundred years she labored
  Ere her first-born was delivered.
  Thus she swam as water-mother,
  Toward the east, and also southward,
  Toward the west, and also northward;
  Swam the sea in all directions,
  Frightened at the strife of storm-winds,
  Swam in travail, swam unceasing,
  Ere her first-born was delivered.
  Then began she gently weeping,
  Spake these measures, heavy-hearted:
  "Woe is me, my life hard-fated!
  Woe is me, in this my travail!
  Into what have I now fallen?
  Woe is me, that I unhappy,
  Left my home in subtle ether,
  Came to dwell amid the sea-foam,
  To be tossed by rolling billows,
  To be rocked by winds and waters,
  On the far outstretching waters,
  In the salt-sea's vast expanses,
  Knowing only pain and trouble!
  Better far for me, O Ukko!
  Were I maiden in the Ether,
  Than within these ocean-spaces,
  To become a water-mother!
  All this life is cold and dreary,
  Painful here is every motion,
  As I linger in the waters,
  As I wander through the ocean.
  Ukko, thou O God, up yonder,
  Thou the ruler of the heavens,
  Come thou hither, thou art needed,
  Come thou hither, I implore thee,
  To deliver me from trouble,
  To deliver me in travail.
  Come I pray thee, hither hasten,
  Hasten more that thou art needed,
  Haste and help this helpless maiden!"
  When she ceased her supplications,
  Scarce a moment onward passes,
  Ere a beauteous duck descending,
  Hastens toward the water-mother,
  Comes a-flying hither, thither,
  Seeks herself a place for nesting.
  Flies she eastward, flies she westward,
  Circles northward, circles southward,
  Cannot find a grassy hillock,
  Not the smallest bit of verdure;
  Cannot find a spot protected,
  Cannot find a place befitting,
  Where to make her nest in safety.
  Flying slowly, looking round her,
  She descries no place for resting,
  Thinking loud and long debating,
  And her words are such as follow:
  "Build I in the winds my dwelling,
  On the floods my place of nesting?
  Surely would the winds destroy it,
  Far away the waves would wash it."
  Then the daughter of the Ether,
  Now the hapless water-mother,
  Raised her shoulders out of water,
  Raised her knees above the ocean,
  That the duck might build her dwelling,
  Build her nesting-place in safety.
  Thereupon the duck in beauty,
  Flying slowly, looking round her,
  Spies the shoulders of the maiden,
  Sees the knees of Ether's daughter,
  Now the hapless water-mother,
  Thinks them to be grassy hillocks,
  On the blue back of the ocean.
  Thence she flies and hovers slowly,
  Lightly on the knee she settles,
  Finds a nesting-place befitting,
  Where to lay her eggs in safety.
  Here she builds her humble dwelling,
  Lays her eggs within, at pleasure,
  Six, the golden eggs she lays there,
  Then a seventh, an egg of iron;
  Sits upon her eggs to hatch them,
  Quickly warms them on the knee-cap
  Of the hapless water-mother;
  Hatches one day, then a second,
  Then a third day sits and hatches.
  Warmer grows the water round her,
  Warmer is her bed in ocean,
  While her knee with fire is kindled,
  And her shoulders too are burning,
  Fire in every vein is coursing.
  Quick the maiden moves her shoulders,
  Shakes her members in succession,
  Shakes the nest from its foundation,
  And the eggs fall into ocean,
  Dash in pieces on the bottom
  Of the deep and boundless waters.
  In the sand they do not perish,
  Not the pieces in the ocean;
  But transformed, in wondrous beauty
  All the fragments come together
  Forming pieces two in number,
  One the upper, one the lower,
  Equal to the one, the other.
  From one half the egg, the lower,
  Grows the nether vault of Terra:
  From the upper half remaining,
  Grows the upper vault of Heaven;
  From the white part come the moonbeams,
  From the yellow part the sunshine,
  From the motley part the starlight,
  From the dark part grows the cloudage;
  And the days speed onward swiftly,
  Quickly do the years fly over,
  From the shining of the new sun
  From the lighting of the full moon.
  Still the daughter of the Ether,
  Swims the sea as water-mother,
  With the floods outstretched before her,
  And behind her sky and ocean.
  Finally about the ninth year,
  In the summer of the tenth year,
  Lifts her head above the surface,
  Lifts her forehead from the waters,
  And begins at last her workings,
  Now commences her creations,
  On the azure water-ridges,
  On the mighty waste before her.
  Where her hand she turned in water,
  There arose a fertile hillock;
  Wheresoe'er her foot she rested,
  There she made a hole for fishes;
  Where she dived beneath the waters,
  Fell the many deeps of ocean;
  Where upon her side she turned her,
  There the level banks have risen;
  Where her head was pointed landward,
  There appeared wide bays and inlets;
  When from shore she swam a distance,
  And upon her back she rested,
  There the rocks she made and fashioned,
  And the hidden reefs created,
  Where the ships are wrecked so often,
  Where so many lives have perished.
  Thus created were the islands,
  Rocks were fastened in the ocean,
  Pillars of the sky were planted,
  Fields and forests were created,
  Checkered stones of many colors,
  Gleaming in the silver sunlight,
  All the rocks stood well established;
  But the singer, Wainamoinen,
  Had not yet beheld the sunshine,
  Had not seen the golden moonlight,
  Still remaining undelivered.
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  Lingering within his dungeon
  Thirty summers altogether,
  And of winters, also thirty,
  Peaceful on the waste of waters,
  On the broad-sea's yielding bosom,
  Well reflected, long considered,
  How unborn to live and flourish
  In the spaces wrapped in darkness,
  In uncomfortable limits,
  Where he had not seen the moonlight,
  Had not seen the silver sunshine.
  Thereupon these words be uttered,
  Let himself be heard in this wise:
  "Take, O Moon, I pray thee, take me,
  Take me, thou, O Sun above me,
  Take me, thou O Bear of heaven,
  From this dark and dreary prison,
  From these unbefitting portals,
  From this narrow place of resting,
  From this dark and gloomy dwelling,
  Hence to wander from the ocean,
  Hence to walk upon the islands,
  On the dry land walk and wander,
  Like an ancient hero wander,
  Walk in open air and breathe it,
  Thus to see the moon at evening,
  Thus to see the silver sunlight,
  Thus to see the Bear in heaven,
  That the stars I may consider."
  Since the Moon refused to free him,
  And the Sun would not deliver,
  Nor the Great Bear give assistance,
  His existence growing weary,
  And his life but an annoyance,
  Bursts he then the outer portals
  Of his dark and dismal fortress;
  With his strong, but unnamed finger,
  Opens he the lock resisting;
  With the toes upon his left foot,
  With the fingers of his right hand,
  Creeps he through the yielding portals
  To the threshold of his dwelling;
  On his knees across the threshold,
  Throws himself head foremost, forward
  Plunges into deeps of ocean,
  Plunges hither, plunges thither,
  Turning with his hands the water;
  Swims he northward, swims he southward,
  Swims he eastward, swims he westward,
  Studying his new surroundings.
  Thus our hero reached the water,
  Rested five years in the ocean,
  Six long years, and even seven years,
  Till the autumn of the eighth year,
  When at last he leaves the waters,
  Stops upon a promontory,
  On a coast bereft of verdure;
  On his knees he leaves the ocean,
  On the land he plants his right foot,
  On the solid ground his left foot,
  Quickly turns his hands about him,
  Stands erect to see the sunshine,
  Stands to see the golden moonlight,
  That he may behold the Great Bear,
  That he may the stars consider.
  Thus our hero, Wainamoinen,
  Thus the wonderful enchanter
  Was delivered from his mother,
  Ilmatar, the Ether's daughter.



  Then arose old Wainamoinen,
  With his feet upon the island,
  On the island washed by ocean,
  Broad expanse devoid of verdure;
  There remained be many summers,
  There he lived as many winters,
  On the island vast and vacant,
  well considered, long reflected,
  Who for him should sow the island,
  Who for him the seeds should scatter;
  Thought at last of Pellerwoinen,
  First-born of the plains and prairies,
  When a slender boy, called Sampsa,
  Who should sow the vacant island,
  Who the forest seeds should scatter.
  Pellerwoinen, thus consenting,
  Sows with diligence the island,
  Seeds upon the lands he scatters,
  Seeds in every swamp and lowland,
  Forest seeds upon the loose earth,
  On the firm soil sows the acorns,
  Fir-trees sows he on the mountains,
  Pine-trees also on the hill-tops,
  Many shrubs in every valley,
  Birches sows he in the marshes,
  In the loose soil sows the alders,
  In the lowlands sows the lindens,
  In the moist earth sows the willow,
  Mountain-ash in virgin places,
  On the banks of streams the hawthorn,
  Junipers in hilly regions;
  This the work of Pellerwoinen,
  Slender Sampsa, in his childhood.
  Soon the fertile seeds were sprouting,
  Soon the forest trees were growing,
  Soon appeared the tops of fir-trees,
  And the pines were far outspreading;
  Birches rose from all the marshes,
  In the loose soil grew the alders,
  In the mellow soil the lindens;
  Junipers were also growing,
  Junipers with clustered berries,
  Berries on the hawthorn branches.
  Now the hero, Wainamoinen,
  Stands aloft to look about him,
  How the Sampsa-seeds are growing,
  How the crop of Pellerwoinen;
  Sees the young trees thickly spreading,
  Sees the forest rise in beauty;
  But the oak-tree has not sprouted,
  Tree of heaven is not growing,
  Still within the acorn sleeping,
  Its own happiness enjoying.
  Then he waited three nights longer,
  And as many days he waited,
  Waited till a week had vanished,
  Then again the work examined;
  But the oak-tree was not growing,
  Had not left her acorn-dwelling.
  Wainamoinen, ancient hero,
  Spies four maidens in the distance,
  Water-brides, he spies a fifth-one,
  On the soft and sandy sea-shore,
  In the dewy grass and flowers,
  On a point extending seaward,
  Near the forests of the island.
  Some were mowing, some were raking,
  Raking what was mown together,
  In a windrow on the meadow.
  From the ocean rose a giant,
  Mighty Tursas, tall and hardy,
  Pressed compactly all the grasses,
  That the maidens had been raking,
  When a fire within them kindles,
  And the flames shot up to heaven,
  Till the windrows burned to ashes,
  Only ashes now remaining
  Of the grasses raked together.
  In the ashes of the windrows,
  Tender leaves the giant places,
  In the leaves he plants an acorn,
  From the acorn, quickly sprouting,
  Grows the oak-tree, tall and stately,
  From the ground enriched by ashes,
  Newly raked by water-maidens;
  Spread the oak-tree's many branches,
  Rounds itself a broad corona,
  Raises it above the storm-clouds;
  Far it stretches out its branches,
  Stops the white-clouds in their courses,
  With its branches hides the sunlight,
  With its many leaves, the moonbeams,
  And the starlight dies in heaven.
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  Thought awhile, and well considered,
  How to kill the mighty oak-tree,
  First created for his pleasure,
  How to fell the tree majestic,
  How to lop its hundred branches.
  Sad the lives of man and hero,
  Sad the homes of ocean-dwellers,
  If the sun shines not upon them,
  If the moonlight does not cheer them
  Is there not some mighty hero,
  Was there never born a giant,
  That can fell the mighty oak-tree,
  That can lop its hundred branches?
  Wainamoinen, deeply thinking,
  Spake these words soliloquizing:
  "Kape, daughter of the Ether,
  Ancient mother of my being,
  Luonnotar, my nurse and helper,
  Loan to me the water-forces,
  Great the powers of the waters;
  Loan to me the strength of oceans,
  To upset this mighty oak-tree,
  To uproot this tree of evil,
  That again may shine the sunlight,
  That the moon once more may glimmer."
  Straightway rose a form from oceans,
  Rose a hero from the waters,
  Nor belonged he to the largest,
  Nor belonged he to the smallest,
  Long was he as man's forefinger,
  Taller than the hand of woman;
  On his head a cap of copper,
  Boots upon his feet were copper,
  Gloves upon his hands were copper,
  And its stripes were copper-colored,
  Belt around him made of copper,
  Hatchet in his belt was copper;
  And the handle of his hatchet
  Was as long as hand of woman,
  Of a finger's breadth the blade was.
  Then the trusty Wainamoinen
  Thought awhile and well considered,
  And his measures are as follow:
  "Art thou, sir, divine or human?
  Which of these thou only knowest;
  Tell me what thy name and station.
  Very like a man thou lookest,
  Hast the bearing of a hero,
  Though the length of man's first finger,
  Scarce as tall as hoof of reindeer."
  Then again spake Wainamoinen
  To the form from out the ocean:
  "Verily I think thee human,
  Of the race of pigmy-heroes,
  Might as well be dead or dying,
  Fit for nothing but to perish."
  Answered thus the pigmy-hero,
  Spake the small one from the ocean
  To the valiant Wainamoinen
  "Truly am I god and hero,
  From the tribes that rule the ocean;
  Come I here to fell the oak-tree,
  Lop its branches with my hatchet."
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  Answers thus the sea-born hero:
  "Never hast thou force sufficient,
  Not to thee has strength been given,
  To uproot this mighty oak-tree,
  To upset this thing of evil,
  Nor to lop its hundred branches."
  Scarcely had he finished speaking,
  Scarcely had he moved his eyelids,
  Ere the pigmy full unfolding,
  Quick becomes a mighty giant.
  With one step he leaves the ocean,
  Plants himself, a mighty hero,
  On the forest-fields surrounding;
  With his head the clouds he pierces,
  To his knees his beard extending,
  And his locks fall to his ankles;
  Far apart appear his eyeballs,
  Far apart his feet are stationed.
  Farther still his mighty shoulders.
  Now begins his axe to sharpen,
  Quickly to an edge he whets it,
  Using six hard blocks of sandstone,
  And of softer whetstones, seven.
  Straightway to the oak-tree turning,
  Thither stalks the mighty giant,
  In his raiment long and roomy,
  Flapping in the winds of heaven;
  With his second step he totters
  On the land of darker color;
  With his third stop firmly planted,
  Reaches he the oak-tree's branches,
  Strikes the trunk with sharpened hatchet,
  With one mighty swing he strikes it,
  With a second blow he cuts it;
  As his blade descends the third time,
  From his axe the sparks fly upward,
  From the oak-tree fire outshooting;
  Ere the axe descends a fourth time,
  Yields the oak with hundred branches,
  Shaking earth and heaven in falling.
  Eastward far the trunk extending,
  Far to westward flew the tree-tops,
  To the South the leaves were scattered,
  To the North its hundred branches.
  Whosoe'er a branch has taken,
  Has obtained eternal welfare;
  Who secures himself a tree-top,
  He has gained the master magic;
  Who the foliage has gathered,
  Has delight that never ceases.
  Of the chips some had been scattered,
  Scattered also many splinters,
  On the blue back of the ocean,
  Of the ocean smooth and mirrored,
  Rocked there by the winds and waters,
  Like a boat upon the billows;
  Storm-winds blew them to the Northland,
  Some the ocean currents carried.
  Northland's fair and slender maiden,
  Washing on the shore a head-dress,
  Beating on the rocks her garments,
  Rinsing there her silken raiment,
  In the waters of Pohyola,
  There beheld the chips and splinters,
  Carried by the winds and waters.
  In a bag the chips she gathered,
  Took them to the ancient court-yard,
  There to make enchanted arrows,
  Arrows for the great magician,
  There to shape them into weapons,
  Weapons for the skilful archer,
  Since the mighty oak has fallen,
  Now has lost its hundred branches,
  That the North may see the sunshine,
  See the gentle gleam of moonlight,
  That the clouds may keep their courses,
  May extend the vault of heaven
  Over every lake and river,
  O'er the banks of every island.
  Groves arose in varied beauty,
  Beautifully grew the forests,
  And again, the vines and flowers.
  Birds again sang in the tree-tops,
  Noisily the merry thrushes,
  And the cuckoos in the birch-trees;
  On the mountains grew the berries,
  Golden flowers in the meadows,
  And the herbs of many colors,
  Many kinds of vegetation;
  But the barley is not growing.
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  Goes away and well considers,
  By the borders of the waters,
  On the ocean's sandy margin,
  Finds six seeds of golden barley,
  Even seven ripened kernels,
  On the shore of upper Northland,
  In the sand upon the sea-shore,
  Hides them in his trusty pouches,
  Fashioned from the skin of squirrel,
  Some were made from skin of marten;
  Hastens forth the seeds to scatter,
  Quickly sows the barley kernels,
  On the brinks of Kalew-waters,
  On the Osma-hills and lowlands.
  Hark! the titmouse wildly crying,
  From the aspen, words as follow:
  "Osma's barley will not flourish,
  Not the barley of Wainola,
  If the soil be not made ready,
  If the forest be not levelled,
  And the branches burned to ashes."
  Wainamoinen, wise and ancient,
  Made himself an axe for chopping,
  Then began to clear the forest,
  Then began the trees to level,
  Felled the trees of all descriptions,
  Only left the birch-tree standing
  For the birds a place of resting,
  Where might sing the sweet-voiced cuckoo,
  Sacred bird in sacred branches.
  Down from heaven came the eagle,
  Through the air be came a-flying,
  That he might this thing consider;
  And he spake the words that follow:
  "Wherefore, ancient Wainamoinen,
  Hast thou left the slender birch-tree,
  Left the birch-tree only standing?"
  Wainamoinen thus made answer:
  "Therefore is the birch left standing,
  That the birds may liest within it,
  That the eagle there may rest him,
  There may sing the sacred cuckoo."
  Spake the eagle, thus replying:
  Good indeed, thy hero-judgment,
  That the birch-tree thou hast left us,
  Left the sacred birch-tree standing,
  As a resting-place for eagles,
  And for birds of every feather,
  Even I may rest upon it."
  Quickly then this bird of heaven,
  Kindled fire among the branches;
  Soon the flames are fanned by north-winds,
  And the east-winds lend their forces,
  Burn the trees of all descriptions,
  Burn them all to dust and ashes,
  Only is the birch left standing.
  Wainamoinen, wise and ancient,
  Brings his magic grains of barley,
  Brings he forth his seven seed-grains,
  Brings them from his trusty pouches,
  Fashioned from the skin of squirrel,
  Some were made from skin of marten.
  Thence to sow his seeds he hastens,
  Hastes the barley-grains to scatter,
  Speaks unto himself these measures:
  "I the seeds of life am sowing,
  Sowing through my open fingers,
  From the hand of my Creator,
  In this soil enriched with ashes,
  In this soil to sprout and flourish.
  Ancient mother, thou that livest
  Far below the earth and ocean,
  Mother of the fields and forests,
  Bring the rich soil to producing,
  Bring the seed-grains to the sprouting,
  That the barley well may flourish.
  Never will the earth unaided,
  Yield the ripe nutritious barley;
  Never will her force be wanting,
  If the givers give assistance,
  If the givers grace the sowing,
  Grace the daughters of creation.
  Rise, O earth, from out thy slumber,
  From the slumber-land of ages,
  Let the barley-grains be sprouting,
  Let the blades themselves be starting,
  Let the verdant stalks be rising,
  Let the ears themselves be growing,
  And a hundredfold producing,
  From my plowing and my sowing,
  From my skilled and honest labor.
  Ukko, thou O God, up yonder,
  Thou O Father of the heavens,
  Thou that livest high in Ether,
  Curbest all the clouds of heaven,
  Holdest in the air thy counsel,
  Holdest in the clouds good counsel,
  From the East dispatch a cloudlet,
  From the North-east send a rain-cloud,
  From the West another send us,
  From the North-west, still another,
  Quickly from the South a warm-cloud,
  That the rain may fall from heaven,
  That the clouds may drop their honey,
  That the ears may fill and ripen,
  That the barley-fields may rustle."
  Thereupon benignant Ukko,
  Ukko, father of the heavens,
  Held his counsel in the cloud-space,
  Held good counsel in the Ether;
  From the East, he sent a cloudlet,
  From the North-east, sent a rain-cloud,
  From the West another sent he,
  From the North-west, still another,
  Quickly from the South a warm-cloud;
  Joined in seams the clouds together,
  Sewed together all their edges,
  Grasped the cloud, and hurled it earthward.
  Quick the rain-cloud drops her honey,
  Quick the rain-drops fall from heaven,
  That the ears may quickly ripen,
  That the barley crop may rustle.
  Straightway grow the seeds of barley,
  From the germ the blade unfolding,
  Richly colored ears arising,
  From the rich soil of the fallow,
  From the work of Wainamoinen.
  Here a few days pass unnoted
  And as many nights fly over.
  When the seventh day had journeyed,
  On the morning of the eighth day,
  Wainamoinen, wise and ancient,
  Went to view his crop of barley,
  How his plowing, how his sowing,
  How his labors were resulting;
  Found his crop of barley growing,
  Found the blades were triple-knotted,
  And the ears he found six-sided.
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  Turned his face, and looked about him,
  Lo! there comes a spring-time cuckoo,
  Spying out the slender birch-tree,
  Rests upon it, sweetly singing:
  "Wherefore is the silver birch-tree
  Left unharmed of all the forest? "
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Therefore I have left the birch-tree,
  Left the birch-tree only growing,
  Home for thee for joyful singing.
  Call thou here, O sweet-voiced cuckoo,
  Sing thou here from throat of velvet,
  Sing thou here with voice of silver,
  Sing the cuckoo's golden flute-notes;
  Call at morning, call at evening,
  Call within the hour of noontide,
  For the better growth of forests,
  For the ripening of the barley,
  For the richness of, the Northland,
  For the joy of Kalevala."



  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Passed his years in full contentment,
  On the meadows of Wainola,
  On the plains of Kalevala,
  Singing ever wondrous legends,
  Songs of ancient wit and wisdom,
  Chanting one day, then a second,
  Singing in the dusk of evening,
  Singing till the dawn of morning,
  Now the tales of old-time heroes,
  Tales of ages long forgotten,
  Now the legends of creation,
  Once familiar to the children,
  By our children sung no longer,
  Sung in part by many heroes,
  In these mournful days of evil,
  Evil days our race befallen.
  Far and wide the story travelled,
  Far away men spread the knowledge
  Of the chanting of the hero,
  Of the song of Wainamoinen;
  To the South were heard the echoes,
  All of Northland heard the story.
  Far away in dismal Northland,
  Lived the singer, Youkahainen,
  Lapland's young and reckless minstrel,
  Once upon a time when feasting,
  Dining with his friends and fellows,
  Came upon his ears the story
  That there lived a sweeter singer,
  On the meadows of Wainola,
  On the plains of Kalevala,
  Better skilled in chanting legends,
  Better skilled than Youkahainen,
  Better than the one that taught him.
  Straightway then the bard grew angry,
  Envy rose within his bosom,
  Envy of this Wainamoinen,
  Famed to be a sweeter singer;
  Hastes he angry to his mother,
  To his mother, full of wisdom,
  Vows that he will southward hasten,
  Hie him southward and betake him
  To the dwellings of Wainola,
  To the cabins of the Northland,
  There as bard to vie in battle,
  With the famous Wainamoinen.
  "Nay," replies the anxious father,
  "Do not go to Kalevala."
  "Nay," replies the fearful mother,
  "Go not hence to Wainamoinen,
  There with him to offer battle;
  He will charm thee with his singing
  Will bewitch thee in his anger,
  He will drive thee back dishonored,
  Sink thee in the fatal snow-drift,
  Turn to ice thy pliant fingers,
  Turn to ice thy feet and ankles."
  These the words of Youkahainen:
  Good the judgement of a father,
  Better still, a mother's counsel,
  Best of all one's own decision.
  I will go and face the minstrel,
  Challenge him to sing in contest,
  Challenge him as bard to battle,
  Sing to him my sweet-toned measures,
  Chant to him my oldest legends,
  Chant to him my garnered wisdom,
  That this best of boasted singers,
  That this famous bard of Suomi,
  Shall be worsted in the contest,
  Shall become a hapless minstrel;
  By my songs shall I transform him,
  That his feet shall be as flint-stone,
  And as oak his nether raiment;
  And this famous, best of singers,
  Thus bewitched, shall carry ever,
  In his heart a stony burden,
  On his shoulder bow of marble,
  On his hand a flint-stone gauntlet,
  On his brow a stony visor."
  Then the wizard, Youkahainen,
  Heeding not advice paternal,
  Heeding not his mother's counsel,
  Leads his courser from his stable,
  Fire outstreaming from his nostrils,
  From his hoofs, the sparks outshooting,
  Hitches to his sledge, the fleet-foot,
  To his golden sledge, the courser,
  Mounts impetuous his snow-sledge,
  Leaps upon the hindmost cross-bench,
  Strikes his courser with his birch-whip,
  With his birch-whip, pearl-enamelled.
  Instantly the prancing racer
  Springs away upon his journey;
  On he, restless, plunges northward,
  All day long be onward gallops,
  All the next day, onward, onward,
  So the third from morn till evening,
  Till the third day twilight brings him
  To the meadows of Wainola,
  To the plains of Kalevala.
  As it happened, Wainamoinen,
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  Rode that sunset on the highway,
  Silently for pleasure driving
  Down Wainola's peaceful meadows,
  O'er the plains of Kalevala.
  Youkahainen, young and fiery,
  Urging still his foaming courser,
  Dashes down upon the singer,
  Does not turn aside in meeting,
  Meeting thus in full collision;
  Shafts are driven tight together,
  Hames and collars wedged and tangled,
  Tangled are the reins and traces.
  Thus perforce they make a stand-still,
  Thus remain and well consider;
  Water drips from hame and collar,
  Vapors rise from both their horses.
  Speaks the minstrel, Wainamoinen:
  "Who art thou, and whence? Thou comest
  Driving like a stupid stripling,
  Wainamoinen and Youkahainen.
  Careless, dashing down upon me.
  Thou hast ruined shafts and traces;
  And the collar of my racer
  Thou hast shattered into ruin,
  And my golden sleigh is broken,
  Box and runners dashed to pieces."
  Youkahainen then make answer,
  Spake at last the words that follow:
  "I am youthful Youkahainen,
  But make answer first, who thou art,
  Whence thou comest, where thou goest,
  From what lowly tribe descended?"
  Wainamolinen, wise and ancient,
  Answered thus the youthful minstrel:
  "If thou art but Youkahainen,
  Thou shouldst give me all the highway;
  I am many years thy senior."
  Then the boastful Youkahainen
  Spake again to Wainamoinen:
  "Young or ancient, little matter,
  Little consequence the age is;
  He that higher stands in wisdom,
  He whose knowledge is the greater,
  He that is the sweeter singer,
  He alone shall keep the highway,
  And the other take the roadside.
  Art thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Famous sorcerer and minstrel?
  Let us then begin our singing,
  Let us sing our ancient legends,
  Let us chant our garnered wisdom,
  That the one may hear the other,
  That the one may judge the other,
  In a war of wizard sayings."
  Wainamoinen, wise and ancient,
  Thus replied in modest accents:
  "What I know is very little,
  Hardly is it worth the singing,
  Neither is my singing wondrous:
  All my days I have resided
  In the cold and dreary Northland,
  In a desert land enchanted,
  In my cottage home for ayes;
  All the songs that I have gathered,
  Are the cuckoo's simple measures,
  Some of these I may remember;
  But since thou perforce demandest,
  I accept thy boastful challenge.
  Tell me now, my golden youngster,
  What thou knowest more than others,
  Open now thy store of wisdom."
  Thus made answer Youkahainen,
  Lapland's young and fiery minstrel:
  "Know I many bits of learning
  This I know in perfect clearness:
  Every roof must have a chimney,
  Every fire-place have a hearth-stone;
  Lives of seal are free and merry,
  Merry is the life of walrus,
  Feeding on incautious salmon,
  Daily eating perch and whiting;
  Whitings live in quiet shallows,
  Salmon love the level bottoms;
  Spawns the pike in coldest weather,
  And defies the storms of winter.
  Slowly perches swim in Autumn,
  Wry-backed, hunting deeper water,
  Spawn in shallows in the summer,
  Bounding on the shore of ocean.
  Should this wisdom seem too little,
  I can tell thee other matters,
  Sing thee other wizard sayings:
  All the Northmen plow with reindeer,
  Mother-horses plow the Southland,
  Inner Lapland plows with oxen;
  All the trees on Pisa-mountain,
  Know I well in all their grandeur;
  On the Horna-rock are fir-trees,
  Fir-trees growing tall and slender;
  Slender grow the trees on mountains.
  Three, the water-falls in number,
  Three in number, inland oceans,
  Three in number, lofty mountains,
  Shooting to the vault of heaven.
  Hallapyora's near to Yaemen,
  Katrakoski in Karyala;
  Imatra, the falling water,
  Tumbles, roaring, into Wuoksi."
  Then the ancient Wainimoinen:
  "Women's tales and children's wisdom
  Do not please a bearded hero,
  Hero, old enough for wedlock;
  Tell the story of creation,
  Tell me of the world's beginning,
  Tell me of the creatures in it,
  And philosophize a little."
  Then the youthful Youkahainen
  Thus replied to Wainamoinen:
  "Know I well the titmouse-fountains,
  Pretty birdling is the titmouse;
  And the viper, green, a serpent;
  Whitings live in brackish waters;
  Perches swim in every river;
  Iron rusts, and rusting weakens;
  Bitter is the taste of umber;
  Boiling water is malicious;
  Fire is ever full of danger;
  First physician, the Creator;
  Remedy the oldest, water;
  Magic is the child of sea-foam;
  God the first and best adviser;
  Waters gush from every mountain;
  Fire descended first from heaven;
  Iron from the rust was fashioned;
  Copper from the rocks created;
  Marshes are of lands the oldest;
  First of all the trees, the willow;
  Fir-trees were the first of houses;
  Hollowed stones the first of kettles."
  Now the ancient Wainamoinen
  Thus addresses Youkahainen:
  "Canst thou give me now some wisdom,
  Is this nonsense all thou knowest?"
  Youkahainen thus made answer:
  "I can tell thee still a trifle,
  Tell thee of the times primeval,
  When I plowed the salt-sea's bosom,
  When I raked the sea-girt islands,
  When I dug the salmon-grottoes,
  Hollowed out the deepest caverns,
  When I all the lakes created,
  When I heaped the mountains round them,
  When I piled the rocks about them.
  I was present as a hero,
  Sixth of wise and ancient heroes,
  Seventh of all primeval heroes,
  When the heavens were created,
  When were formed the ether-spaces,
  When the sky was crystal-pillared,
  When was arched the beauteous rainbow,
  When the Moon was placed in orbit,
  When the silver Sun was planted,
  When the Bear was firmly stationed,
  And with stars the heavens were sprinkled."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Thou art surely prince of liars,
  Lord of all the host of liars;
  Never wert thou in existence,
  Surely wert thou never present,
  When was plowed the salt-sea's bosom,
  When were raked the sea-girt islands,
  When were dug the salmon-grottoes,
  When were hollowed out the caverns,
  When the lakes were all created,
  When were heaped the mountains round them,
  When the rocks were piled about them.
  Thou wert never seen or heard of
  When the earth was first created,
  When were made the ether-spaces,
  When the air was crystal-pillared,
  When the Moon was placed in orbit,
  When the silver Sun was planted,
  When the Bear was firmly stationed,
  When the skies with stars were sprinkled."
  Then in anger Youkahainen
  Answered ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Then, sir, since I fail in wisdom,
  With the sword I offer battle;
  Come thou, famous bard and minstrel,
  Thou the ancient wonder-singer,
  Let us try our strength with broadswords,
  let our blades be fully tested."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Not thy sword and not thy wisdom,
  Not thy prudence, nor thy cunning,
  Do I fear a single moment.
  Let who may accept thy challenge,
  Not with thee, a puny braggart,
  Not with one so vain and paltry,
  Will I ever measure broadswords."
  Then the youthful Youkahainen,
  Mouth awry and visage sneering,
  Shook his golden locks and answered:
  "Whoso fears his blade to measure,
  Fears to test his strength at broadswords,
  Into wild-boar of the forest,
  Swine at heart and swine in visage,
  Singing I will thus transform him;
  I will hurl such hero-cowards,
  This one hither, that one thither,
  Stamp him in the mire and bedding,
  In the rubbish of the stable."
  Angry then grew Wainamoinen,
  Wrathful waxed, and fiercely frowning,
  Self-composed he broke his silence,
  And began his wondrous singing.
  Sang he not the tales of childhood,
  Children's nonsense, wit of women,
  Sang he rather bearded heroes,
  That the children never heard of,
  That the boys and maidens knew not
  Known but half by bride and bridegroom,
  Known in part by many heroes,
  In these mournful days of evil,
  Evil times our race befallen.
  Grandly sang wise Wainamoinen,
  Till the copper-bearing mountains,
  And the flinty rocks and ledges
  Heard his magic tones and trembled;
  Mountain cliffs were torn to pieces,
  All the ocean heaved and tumbled;
  And the distant hills re-echoed.
  Lo! the boastful Youkahainen
  Is transfixed in silent wonder,
  And his sledge with golden trimmings
  Floats like brushwood on the billows;
  Sings his braces into reed-grass,
  Sings his reins to twigs of willow,
  And to shrubs his golden cross-bench.
  Lo! his birch-whip, pearl-enameled,
  Floats a reed upon the border;
  Lo! his steed with golden forehead,
  Stands a statue on the waters;
  Hames and traces are as fir-boughs,
  And his collar, straw and sea-grass.
  Still the minstrel sings enchantment,
  Sings his sword with golden handle,
  Sings it into gleam of lightning,
  Hangs it in the sky above him;
  Sings his cross-bow, gaily painted,
  To a rainbow o'er the ocean;
  Sings his quick and feathered arrows
  Into hawks and screaming eagles;
  Sings his dog with bended muzzle,
  Into block of stone beside him;
  Sings his cap from off his forehead,
  Sings it into wreaths of vapor;
  From his hands he sings his gauntlets
  Into rushes on the waters;
  Sings his vesture, purple-colored,
  Into white clouds in the heavens;
  Sings his girdle, set with jewels,
  Into twinkling stars around him;
  And alas! for Youkahainen,
  Sings him into deeps of quick-sand;
  Ever deeper, deeper, deeper,
  In his torture, sinks the wizard,
  To his belt in mud and water.
  Now it was that Youkahainen
  Comprehended but too clearly
  What his folly, what the end was,
  Of the journey he had ventured,
  Vainly he had undertaken
  For the glory of a contest
  With the grand, old Wainamoinen.
  When at last young Youkahainen,
  Pohyola's old and sorry stripling,
  Strives his best to move his right foot,
  But alas! the foot obeys not;
  When he strives to move his left foot,
  Lo! he finds it turned to flint-stone.
  Thereupon sad Youkahainen,
  In the deeps of desperation,
  And in earnest supplication,
  Thus addresses Wainamoinen:
  "O thou wise and worthy minstrel,
  Thou the only true, magician,
  Cease I pray thee thine enchantment,.
  Only turn away thy magic,
  Let me leave this slough of horror,
  Loose me from this stony prison,
  Free me from this killing torment,
  I will pay a golden ransom."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "What the ransom thou wilt give me
  If I cease from mine enchantment,
  If I turn away my magic,
  Lift thee from thy slough of horror,
  Loose thee from thy stony prison,
  Free thee from thy killing torment?"
  Answered youthful Youkahainen:
  "Have at home two magic cross-bows,
  Pair of bows of wondrous power,
  One so light a child can bend it,
  Only strength can bend the other,
  Take of these the one that pleases."
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Do not wish thy magic cross-bows,
  Have a few of such already,
  Thine to me are worse than useless
  I have bows in great abundance,
  Bows on every nail and rafter,
  Bows that laugh at all the hunters,
  Bows that go themselves a-hunting."
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Sang alas! poor Youkahainen
  Deeper into mud and water,
  Deeper in the slough of torment.
  Youkahainen thus made answer:
  "Have at home two magic shallops,
  Beautiful the boats and wondrous;
  One rides light upon the ocean,
  One is made for heavy burdens;
  Take of these the one that pleases."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Do not wish thy magic shallops,
  Have enough of such already;
  All my bays are full of shallops,
  All my shores are lined with shallops,
  Some before the winds are sailors,
  Some were built to sail against them."
  Still the Wainola bard and minstrel
  Sings again poor Youkahainen
  Deeper, deeper into torment,
  Into quicksand to his girdle,
  Till the Lapland bard in anguish
  Speaks again to Wainamoinen:
  "Have at home two magic stallions,
  One a racer, fleet as lightning,
  One was born for heavy burdens;
  Take of these the one that pleases."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Neither do I wish thy stallions,
  Do not need thy hawk-limbed stallions,
  Have enough of these already;
  Magic stallions swarm my stables,
  Eating corn at every manger,
  Broad of back to hold the water,
  Water on each croup in lakelets."
  Still the bard of Kalevala
  Sings the hapless Lapland minstrel
  Deeper, deeper into torment,
  To his shoulders into water.
  Spake again young Youkahainen:
  "O thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Thou the only true magician,
  Cease I pray thee thine enchantment,
  Only turn away thy magic,
  I will give thee gold abundant,
  Countless stores of shining silver;
  From the wars my father brought it,
  Brought it from the hard-fought battles."
  Spake the wise, old Wainamoinen:
  "For thy gold I have no longing,
  Neither do I wish thy silver,
  Have enough of each already;
  Gold abundant fills my chambers,
  On each nail hang bags of silver,
  Gold that glitters in the sunshine,
  Silver shining in the moonlight."
  Sank the braggart, Youkahainen,
  Deeper in his slough of torment,
  To his chin in mud and water,
  Ever praying, thus beseeching:
  "O thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Greatest of the old magicians,
  Lift me from this pit of horror,
  From this prison-house of torture;
  I will give thee all my corn-fields,
  Give thee all my corn in garners,
  Thus my hapless life to ransom,
  Thus to gain eternal freedom."
  Wainamoinen thus made answer:
  "Take thy corn to other markets,
  Give thy garners to the needy;
  I have corn in great abundance,
  Fields have I in every quarter,
  Corn in all my fields is growing;
  One's own fields are always richer,
  One's own grain is much the sweeter."
  Lapland's young and reckless minstrel,
  Sorrow-laden, thus enchanted,
  Deeper sinks in mud and water,
  Fear-enchained and full of anguish,
  In the mire, his beard bedrabbled,
  Mouth once boastful filled with sea-weed,
  In the grass his teeth entangled,
  Youkahainen thus beseeches:
  "O thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Wisest of the wisdom-singers,
  Cease at last thine incantations,
  Only turn away thy magic,
  And my former life restore me,
  Lift me from this stifling torment,
  Free mine eyes from sand and water,
  I will give thee sister, Aino,
  Fairest daughter of my mother,
  Bride of thine to be forever,
  Bride of thine to do thy pleasure,
  Sweep the rooms within thy cottage,
  Keep thy dwelling-place in order,
  Rinse for thee the golden platters,
  Spread thy couch with finest linens,
  For thy bed, weave golden covers,
  Bake for thee the honey-biscuit."
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Finds at last the wished-for ransom,
  Lapland's young and fairest daughter,
  Sister dear of Youkahainen;
  Happy he, that he has won him,
  In his age a beauteous maiden,
  Bride of his to be forever,
  Pride and joy of Kalevala.
  Now the happy Wainamoinen,
  Sits upon the rock of gladness,
  Joyful on the rock of music,
  Sings a little, sings and ceases,
  Sings again, and sings a third time,
  Thus to break the spell of magic,
  Thus to lessen the enchantment,
  Thus the potent charm to banish.
  As the magic spell is broken,
  Youkahainen, sad, but wiser,
  Drags his feet from out the quicksand,
  Lifts his beard from out the water,
  From the rocks leads forth his courser,
  Brings his sledge back from the rushes,
  Calls his whip back from the ocean,
  Sets his golden sledge in order,
  Throws himself upon the cross-bench,
  Snaps his whip and hies him homeward,
  Hastens homeward, heavy-hearted,
  Sad indeed to meet his mother,
  Aino's mother, gray and aged.
  Careless thus be hastens homeward,
  Nears his home with noise and bustle,
  Reckless drives against the pent-house,
  Breaks the shafts against the portals,
  Breaks his handsome sledge in pieces.
  Then his mother, quickly guessing,
  Would have chided him for rashness,
  But the father interrupted:
  "Wherefore dost thou break thy snow-sledge,
  Wherefore dash thy thills in fragments,
  Wherefore comest home so strangely,
  Why this rude and wild behavior?"
  Now alas! poor Youkahainen,
  Cap awry upon his forehead,
  Falls to weeping, broken-hearted,
  Head depressed and mind dejected,
  Eyes and lips expressing sadness,
  Answers not his anxious father.
  Then the mother quickly asked him,
  Sought to find his cause for sorrow:
  "Tell me, first-born, why thou weepest,
  Why thou weepest, heavy-hearted,
  Why thy mind is so dejected,
  Why thine eyes express such sadness."
  Youkahainen then made answer:
  "Golden mother, ever faithful,
  Cause there is to me sufficient,
  Cause enough in what has happened,
  Bitter cause for this my sorrow,
  Cause for bitter tears and murmurs:
  All my days will pass unhappy,
  Since, O mother of my being,
  I have promised beauteous Aino,
  Aino, thy beloved daughter,
  Aino, my devoted sister,
  To decrepit Wainamoinen,
  Bride to be to him forever,
  Roof above him, prop beneath him,
  Fair companion at his fire-side."
  Joyful then arose the mother,
  Clapped her hands in glee together,
  Thus addressing Youkahainen:
  "Weep no more, my son beloved,
  Thou hast naught to cause thy weeping,
  Hast no reason for thy sorrow,
  Often I this hope have cherished;
  Many years have I been praying
  That this mighty bard and hero,
  Wise and valiant Wainamoinen,
  Spouse should be to beauteous Aino,
  Son-in-law to me, her mother."
  But the fair and lovely maiden,
  Sister dear of Youkahainen,
  Straightway fell to bitter weeping,
  On the threshold wept and lingered,
  Wept all day and all the night long,
  Wept a second, then a third day,
  Wept because a bitter sorrow
  On her youthful heart had fallen.
  Then the gray-haired mother asked her:
  "Why this weeping, lovely Aino?
  Thou hast found a noble suitor,
  Thou wilt rule his spacious dwelling,
  At his window sit and rest thee,
  Rinse betimes his golden platters,
  Walk a queen within his dwelling."
  Thus replied the tearful Aino:
  "Mother dear, and all-forgiving,
  Cause enough for this my sorrow,
  Cause enough for bitter weeping:
  I must loose my sunny tresses,
  Tresses beautiful and golden,
  Cannot deck my hair with jewels,
  Cannot bind my head with ribbons,
  All to be hereafter hidden
  Underneath the linen bonnet
  That the wife. must wear forever;
  Weep at morning, weep at evening,
  Weep alas! for waning beauty,
  Childhood vanished, youth departed,
  Silver sunshine, golden moonlight,
  Hope and pleasure of my childhood,
  Taken from me now forever,
  And so soon to be forgotten
  At the tool-bench of my brother,
  At the window of my sister,
  In the cottage of my father."
  Spake again the gray-haired mother
  To her wailing daughter Aino:
  "Cease thy sorrow, foolish maiden,
  By thy tears thou art ungrateful,
  Reason none for thy repining,
  Not the slightest cause for weeping;
  Everywhere the silver sunshine
  Falls as bright on other households;
  Not alone the moonlight glimmers
  Through thy father's open windows,
  On the work-bench of thy brother;
  Flowers bloom in every meadow,
  Berries grow on every mountain;
  Thou canst go thyself and find them,
  All the day long go and find them;
  Not alone thy brother's meadows
  Grow the beauteous vines and flowers;
  Not alone thy father's mountains
  Yield the ripe, nutritious berries;
  Flowers bloom in other meadows,
  Berries grow on other mountains,
  There as here, my lovely Aino."



  When the night had passed, the maiden,
  Sister fair of Youkahainen,
  Hastened early to the forest,
  Birchen shoots for brooms to gather,
  Went to gather birchen tassels;
  Bound a bundle for her father,
  Bound a birch-broom for her mother,
  Silken tassels for her sister.
  Straightway then she hastened homeward,
  By a foot-path left the forest;
  As she neared the woodland border,
  Lo! the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Quickly spying out the maiden,
  As she left the birchen woodland,
  Trimly dressed in costly raiment,
  And the minstrel thus addressed her:
  "Aino, beauty of the Northland,
  Wear not, lovely maid, for others,
  Only wear for me, sweet maiden,
  Golden cross upon thy bosom,
  Shining pearls upon thy shoulders;
  Bind for me thine auburn tresses,
  Wear for me thy golden braidlets."
  Thus the maiden quickly answered:
  "Not for thee and not for others,
  Hang I from my neck the crosslet,
  Deck my hair with silken ribbons;
  Need no more the many trinkets
  Brought to me by ship or shallop;
  Sooner wear the simplest raiment,
  Feed upon the barley bread-crust,
  Dwell forever with my mother
  In the cabin with my father."
  Then she threw the gold cross from her,
  Tore the jewels from her fingers,
  Quickly loosed her shining necklace,
  Quick untied her silken ribbons,
  Cast them all away indignant
  Into forest ferns and flowers.
  Thereupon the maiden, Aino,
  Hastened to her mother's cottage.
  At the window sat her father
  Whittling on an oaken ax-helve:
  "Wherefore weepest, beauteous Aino,
  Aino, my beloved daughter?
  "Cause enough for weeping, father,
  Good the reasons for my mourning,
  This, the reason for my weeping,
  This, the cause of all my sorrow:
  From my breast I tore the crosslet,
  From my belt, the clasp of copper,
  From my waist, the belt of silver,
  Golden was my pretty crosslet."
  Near the door-way sat her brother,
  Carving out a birchen ox-bow:
  "Why art weeping, lovely Aino,
  Aino, my devoted sister?"
  "Cause enough for weeping, brother,
  Good the reasons for my mourning
  Therefore come I as thou seest,
  Rings no longer on my fingers,
  On my neck no pretty necklace;
  Golden were the rings thou gavest,
  And the necklace, pearls and silver!"
  On the threshold sat her sister,
  Weaving her a golden girdle:
  "Why art weeping, beauteous Aino,
  Aino, my beloved sister?"
  "Cause enough for weeping, sister,
  Good the reasons for my sorrow:
  Therefore come I as thou seest,
  On my head no scarlet fillet,
  In my hair no braids of silver,
  On mine arms no purple ribbons,
  Round my neck no shining necklace,
  On my breast no golden crosslet,
  In mine ears no golden ear-rings."
  Near the door-way of the dairy,
  Skimming cream, sat Aino's mother.
  "Why art weeping, lovely Aino,
  Aino, my devoted daughter?"
  Thus the sobbing maiden answered;
  "Loving mother, all-forgiving,
  Cause enough for this my weeping,
  Good the reasons for my sorrow,
  Therefore do I weep, dear mother:
  I have been within the forest,
  Brooms to bind and shoots to gather,
  There to pluck some birchen tassels;
  Bound a bundle for my father,
  Bound a second for my mother,
  Bound a third one for my brother,
  For my sister silken tassels.
  Straightway then I hastened homeward,
  By a foot-path left the forest;
  As I reached the woodland border
  Spake Osmoinen from the cornfield,
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  'Wear not, beauteous maid, for others,
  Only wear for me, sweet maiden,
  On thy breast a golden crosslet,
  Shining pearls upon thy shoulders,
  Bind for me thine auburn tresses,
  Weave for me thy silver braidlets.'
  Then I threw the gold-cross from me,
  Tore the jewels from my fingers,
  Quickly loosed my shining necklace,
  Quick untied my silken ribbons,
  Cast them all away indignant,
  Into forest ferns and flowers.
  Then I thus addressed the singer:
  'Not for thee and not for others,
  Hang I from my neck the crosslet,
  Deck my hair with silken ribbons;
  Need no more the many trinkets,
  Brought to me by ship and shallop;
  Sooner wear the simplest raiment,
  Feed upon the barley bread-crust,
  Dwell forever with my mother
  In the cabin with my father.'"
  Thus the gray-haired mother answered
  Aino, her beloved daughter:
  "Weep no more, my lovely maiden,
  Waste no more of thy sweet young-life;
  One year eat thou my sweet butter,
  It will make thee strong and ruddy;
  Eat another year fresh bacon,
  It will make thee tall and queenly;
  Eat a third year only dainties,
  It will make thee fair and lovely.
  Now make haste to yonder hill-top,
  To the store-house on the mountain,
  Open there the large compartment,
  Thou will find it filled with boxes,
  Chests and cases, trunks and boxes;
  Open thou the box, the largest,
  Lift away the gaudy cover,
  Thou will find six golden girdles,
  Seven rainbow-tinted dresses,
  Woven by the Moon's fair daughters,
  Fashioned by the Sun's sweet virgins.
  In my young years once I wandered,
  As a maiden on the mountains,
  In the happy days of childhood,
  Hunting berries in the coppice;
  There by chance I heard the daughters
  Of the Moon as they were weaving;
  There I also heard the daughters
  Of the Sun as they were spinning
  On the red rims of the cloudlets,
  O'er the blue edge of the forest,
  On the border of the pine-wood,
  On a high and distant mountain.
  I approached them, drawing nearer,
  Stole myself within their hearing,
  Then began I to entreat them,
  Thus besought them, gently pleading:
  'Give thy silver, Moon's fair daughters,
  To a poor, but worthy maiden;
  Give thy gold, O Sun's sweet virgins,
  To this maiden, young and needy.'
  Thereupon the Moon's fair daughters
  Gave me silver from their coffers;
  And the Sun's sweet shining virgins
  Gave me gold from their abundance,
  Gold to deck my throbbing temples,
  For my hair the shining silver.
  Then I hastened joyful homeward,
  Richly laden with my treasures,
  Happy to my mother's cottage;
  Wore them one day, than a second,
  Then a third day also wore them,
  Took the gold then from my temples,
  From my hair I took the silver,
  Careful laid them in their boxes,
  Many seasons have they lain there,
  Have not seen them since my childhood.
  Deck thy brow with silken ribbon,
  Trim with gold thy throbbing temples,
  And thy neck with pearly necklace,
  Hang the gold-cross on thy bosom,
  Robe thyself in pure, white linen
  Spun from flax of finest fiber;
  Wear withal the richest short-frock,
  Fasten it with golden girdle;
  On thy feet, put silken stockings,
  With the shoes of finest leather;
  Deck thy hair with golden braidlets,
  Bind it well with threads of silver;
  Trim with rings thy fairy fingers,
  And thy hands with dainty ruffles;
  Come bedecked then to thy chamber,
  Thus return to this thy household,
  To the greeting of thy kindred,
  To the joy of all that know thee,
  Flushed thy cheeks as ruddy berries,
  Coming as thy father's sunbeam,
  Walking beautiful and queenly,
  Far more beautiful than moonlight."
  Thus she spake to weeping Aino,
  Thus the mother to her daughter;
  But the maiden, little bearing,
  Does not heed her mother's wishes;
  Straightway hastens to the court-yard,
  There to weep in bitter sorrow,
  All alone to weep in anguish.
  Waiting long the wailing Aino
  Thus at last soliloquizes:
  "Unto what can I now liken
  Happy homes and joys of fortune?
  Like the waters in the river,
  Like the waves in yonder lakelet,
  Like the crystal waters flowing.
  Unto what, the biting sorrow
  Of the child of cold misfortune?
  Like the spirit of the sea-duck,
  Like the icicle in winter,
  Water in the well imprisoned.
  Often roamed my mind in childhood,
  When a maiden free and merry,
  Happily through fen and fallow,
  Gamboled on the meads with lambkins,
  Lingered with the ferns and flowers,
  Knowing neither pain nor trouble;
  Now my mind is filled with sorrow,
  Wanders though the bog and stubble,
  Wanders weary through the brambles,
  Roams throughout the dismal forest,
  Till my life is filled with darkness,
  And my spirit white with anguish.
  Better had it been for Aino
  Had she never seen the sunlight,
  Or if born had died an infant,
  Had not lived to be a maiden
  In these days of sin and sorrow,
  Underneath a star so luckless.
  Better had it been for Aino,
  Had she died upon the eighth day
  After seven nights had vanished;
  Needed then but little linen,
  Needed but a little coffin,
  And a grave of smallest measure;
  Mother would have mourned a little,
  Father too perhaps a trifle,
  Sister would have wept the day through,
  Brother might have shed a tear-drop,
  Thus had ended all the mourning."
  Thus poor Aino wept and murmured,
  Wept one day, and then a second,
  Wept a third from morn till even,
  When again her mother asked her:
  "Why this weeping, fairest daughter,
  Darling daughter, why this grieving?
  Thus the tearful maiden answered:
  Therefore do I weep and sorrow,
  Wretched maiden all my life long,
  Since poor Aino, thou hast given,
  Since thy daughter thou hast promised
  To the aged Wainamoinen,
  Comfort to his years declining
  Prop to stay him when he totters,
  In the storm a roof above him,
  In his home a cloak around him;
  Better far if thou hadst sent me
  Far below the salt-sea surges,
  To become the whiting's sister,
  And the friend of perch and salmon;
  Better far to ride the billows,
  Swim the sea-foam as a mermaid,
  And the friend of nimble fishes,
  Than to be an old man's solace,
  Prop to stay him when be totters,
  Hand to aid him when he trembles,
  Arm to guide him when he falters,
  Strength to give him when he weakens;
  Better be the whiting's sister
  And the friend of perch and salmon,
  Than an old man's slave and darling."
  Ending thus she left her mother,
  Straightway hastened to the mountain?
  To the store-house on the summit,
  Opened there the box the largest,
  From the box six lids she lifted,
  Found therein six golden girdles,
  Silken dresses seven in number.
  Choosing such as pleased her fancy,
  She adorned herself as bidden,
  Robed herself to look her fairest,
  Gold upon her throbbing temples,
  In her hair the shining silver,
  On her shoulders purple ribbons,
  Band of blue around her forehead,
  Golden cross, and rings, and jewels,
  Fitting ornaments to beauty.
  Now she leaves her many treasures,
  Leaves the store-house on the mountain,
  Filled with gold and silver trinkets,
  Wanders over field and meadow,
  Over stone-fields waste and barren,
  Wanders on through fen and forest,
  Through the forest vast and cheerless,
  Wanders hither, wanders thither,
  Singing careless as she wanders,
  This her mournful song and echo:
  "Woe is me, my life hard-fated!
  Woe to Aino, broken-hearted!
  Torture racks my heart and temples,
  Yet the sting would not be deeper,
  Nor the pain and anguish greater,
  If beneath this weight of sorrow,
  In my saddened heart's dejection,
  I should yield my life forever,
  Now unhappy, I should perish!
  Lo! the time has come for Aino
  From this cruel world to hasten,
  To the kingdom of Tuoni,
  To the realm of the departed,
  To the isle of the hereafter.
  Weep no more for me, O Father,
  Mother dear, withhold thy censure,
  Lovely sister, dry thine eyelids,
  Do not mourn me, dearest brother,
  When I sink beneath the sea-foam,
  Make my home in salmon-grottoes,
  Make my bed in crystal waters,
  Water-ferns my couch and pillow."
  All day long poor Aino wandered,
  All the next day, sad and weary,
  So the third from morn till evening,
  Till the cruel night enwrapped her,
  As she reached the sandy margin,
  Reached the cold and dismal sea-shore,
  Sat upon the rock of sorrow,
  Sat alone in cold and darkness,
  Listened only to the music
  Of the winds and rolling billows,
  Singing all the dirge of Aino.
  All that night the weary maiden
  Wept and wandered on the border
  Through the sand and sea-washed pebbles.
  As the day dawns, looking round her,
  She beholds three water-maidens,
  On a headland jutting seaward,
  Water-maidens four in number,
  Sitting on the wave-lashed ledges,
  Swimming now upon the billows,
  Now upon the rocks reposing.
  Quick the weeping maiden, Aino,
  Hastens there to join the mermaids,
  Fairy maidens of the waters.
  Weeping Aino, now disrobing,
  Lays aside with care her garments,
  Hangs her silk robes on the alders,
  Drops her gold-cross on the sea-shore,
  On the aspen hangs her ribbons,
  On the rocks her silken stockings,
  On the grass her shoes of deer-skin,
  In the sand her shining necklace,
  With her rings and other jewels.
  Out at sea a goodly distance,
  Stood a rock of rainbow colors,
  Glittering in silver sunlight.
  Toward it springs the hapless maiden,
  Thither swims the lovely Aino,
  Up the standing-stone has clambered,
  Wishing there to rest a moment,
  Rest upon the rock of beauty;
  When upon a sudden swaying
  To and fro among the billows,
  With a crash and roar of waters
  Falls the stone of many colors,
  Falls upon the very bottom
  Of the deep and boundless blue-sea.
  With the stone of rainbow colors,
  Falls the weeping maiden, Aino,
  Clinging to its craggy edges,
  Sinking far below the surface,
  To the bottom of the blue-sea.
  Thus the weeping maiden vanished.
  Thus poor Aino sank and perished,
  Singing as the stone descended,
  Chanting thus as she departed:
  Once to swim I sought the sea-side,
  There to sport among the billows;
  With the stone or many colors
  Sank poor Aino to the bottom
  Of the deep and boundless blue-sea,
  Like a pretty son-bird. perished.
  Never come a-fishing, father,
  To the borders of these waters,
  Never during all thy life-time,
  As thou lovest daughter Aino.
  "Mother dear, I sought the sea-side,
  There to sport among the billows;
  With the stone of many colors,
  Sank poor Aino to the bottom
  Of the deep and boundless blue-sea,
  Like a pretty song-bird perished.
  Never mix thy bread, dear mother,
  With the blue-sea's foam and waters,
  Never during all thy life-time,
  As thou lovest daughter Aino.
  Brother dear, I sought the sea-side,
  There to sport among the billows;
  With the stone of many colors
  Sank poor Aino to the bottom
  Of the deep and boundless blue-sea,
  Like a pretty song-bird perished.
  Never bring thy prancing war-horse,
  Never bring thy royal racer,
  Never bring thy steeds to water,
  To the borders of the blue-sea,
  Never during all thy life-time,
  As thou lovest sister Aino.
  "Sister dear, I sought the sea-side,
  There to sport among the billows;
  With the stone of many colors
  Sank poor Aino to the bottom
  Of the deep and boundless blue-sea,
  Like a pretty song-bird perished.
  Never come to lave thine eyelids
  In this rolling wave and sea-foam,
  Never during all thy life-time,
  As thou lovest sister Aino.
  All the waters in the blue-sea
  Shall be blood of Aino's body;
  All the fish that swim these waters
  Shall be Aino's flesh forever;
  All the willows on the sea-side
  Shall be Aino's ribs hereafter;
  All the sea-grass on the margin
  Will have grown from Aino's tresses."
  Thus at last the maiden vanished,
  Thus the lovely Aino perished.
  Who will tell the cruel story,
  Who will bear the evil tidings
  To the cottage of her mother,
  Once the home of lovely Aino?
  Will the bear repeat the story,
  Tell the tidings to her mother?
  Nay, the bear must not be herald,
  He would slay the herds of cattle.
  Who then tell the cruel story,
  Who will bear the evil tidings
  To the cottage of her father,
  Once the home of lovely Aino?
  Shall the wolf repeat the story,
  Tell the sad news to her father?
  Nay, the wolf must not be herald,
  He would eat the gentle lambkins.
  Who then tell the cruel story,
  Who will bear the evil tidings.
  To the cottage of her sister?
  'Will the fox repeat the story
  Tell the tidings to her sister?
  Nay, the fox must not be herald,
  He would eat the ducks and chickens.
  Who then tell the cruel story,
  Who will bear the evil tidings
  To the cottage of her brother,
  Once the home of lovely Aino?
  Shall the hare repeat the story,
  Bear the sad news to her brother?
  Yea, the hare shall be the herald,
  Tell to all the cruel story.
  Thus the harmless hare makes answer:
  "I will bear the evil tidings
  To the former home of Aino,
  Tell the story to her kindred."
  Swiftly flew the long-eared herald,
  Like the winds be hastened onward,
  Galloped swift as flight of eagles;
  Neck awry he bounded forward
  Till he gained the wished-for cottage,
  Once the home of lovely Aino.
  Silent was the home, and vacant;
  So he hastened to the bath-house,
  Found therein a group of maidens,
  Working each upon a birch-broom.
  Sat the hare upon the threshold,
  And the maidens thus addressed him:
  "Hie e there, Long-legs, or we'll roast thee,
  Hie there, Big-eye, or we'll stew thee,
  Roast thee for our lady's breakfast,
  Stew thee for our master's dinner,
  Make of thee a meal for Aino,
  And her brother, Youkahainen!
  Better therefore thou shouldst gallop
  To thy burrow in the mountains,
  Than be roasted for our dinners."
  Then the haughty hare made answer,
  Chanting thus the fate of Aino:
  "Think ye not I journey hither,
  To be roasted in the skillet,
  To be stewed in yonder kettle
  Let fell Lempo fill thy tables!
  I have come with evil tidings,
  Come to tell the cruel story
  Of the flight and death of Aino,
  Sister dear of Youkahainen.
  With the stone of many colors
  Sank poor Aino to the bottom
  Of the deep and boundless waters,
  Like a pretty song-bird perished;
  Hung her ribbons on the aspen,
  Left her gold-cross on the sea-shore,
  Silken robes upon the alders,
  On the rocks her silken stockings,
  On the grass her shoes of deer-skin,
  In the sand her shining necklace,
  In the sand her rings and jewels;
  In the waves, the lovely Aino,
  Sleeping on the very bottom
  Of the deep and boundless blue-sea,
  In the caverns of the salmon,
  There to be the whiting's sister
  And the friend of nimble fishes."
  Sadly weeps the ancient mother
  From her blue-eyes bitter tear-drops,
  As in sad and wailing measures,
  Broken-hearted thus she answers:
  "Listen, all ye mothers, listen,
  Learn from me a tale of wisdom:
  Never urge unwilling daughters
  From the dwellings of their fathers,
  To the bridegrooms that they love not,
  Not as I, inhuman mother,
  Drove away my lovely Aino,
  Fairest daughter of the Northland."
  Sadly weeps the gray-haired mother,
  And the tears that fall are bitter,
  Flowing down her wrinkled visage,
  Till they trickle on her bosom;
  Then across her heaving bosom,
  Till they reach her garment's border;
  Then adown her silken stockings,
  Till they touch her shoes of deer-skin;
  Then beneath her shoes of deer-skin,
  Flowing on and flowing ever,
  Part to earth as its possession,
  Part to water as its portion.
  As the tear-drops fall and mingle,
  Form they streamlets three in number,
  And their source, the mother's eyelids,
  Streamlets formed from pearly tear-drops,
  Flowing on like little rivers,
  And each streamlet larger growing,
  Soon becomes a rushing torrent
  In each rushing, roaring torrent
  There a cataract is foaming,
  Foaming in the silver sunlight;
  From the cataract's commotion
  Rise three pillared rocks in grandeur;
  From each rock, upon the summit,
  Grow three hillocks clothed in verdure;
  From each hillock, speckled birches,
  Three in number, struggle skyward;
  On the summit of each birch-tree
  Sits a golden cuckoo calling,
  And the three sing, all in concord:
  "Love! O Love! the first one calleth;
  Sings the second, Suitor! Suitor!
  And the third one calls and echoes,
  "Consolation! Consolation!"
  He that "Love! O Love!" is calling,
  Calls three moons and calls unceasing,
  For the love-rejecting maiden
  Sleeping in the deep sea-castles.
  He that "Suitor! Suitor!" singeth,
  Sings six moons and sings unceasing
  For the suitor that forever
  Sings and sues without a hearing.
  He that sadly sings and echoes,
  "Consolation! Consolation!"
  Sings unceasing all his life long
  For the broken-hearted mother
  That must mourn and weep forever.
  When the lone and wretched mother
  Heard the sacred cuckoo singing,
  Spake she thus, and sorely weeping:
  "When I hear the cuckoo calling,
  Then my heart is filled with sorrow;
  Tears unlock my heavy eyelids,
  Flow adown my, furrowed visage,
  Tears as large as silver sea pearls;
  Older grow my wearied elbows,
  Weaker ply my aged fingers,
  Wearily, in all its members,
  Does my body shake in palsy,
  When I hear the cuckoo singing,
  Hear the sacred cuckoo calling."



  Far and wide the tidings travelled,
  Far away men heard the story
  Of the flight and death of Aino,
  Sister dear of Youkahainen,
  Fairest daughter of creation.
  Wainamoinen, brave and truthful,
  Straightway fell to bitter weeping,
  Wept at morning, wept at evening,
  Sleepless, wept the dreary night long,
  That his Aino had departed,
  That the maiden thus had vanished,
  Thus had sunk upon the bottom
  Of the blue-sea, deep and boundless.
  Filled with grief, the ancient singer,
  Wainamoinen of the Northland,
  Heavy-hearted, sorely weeping,
  Hastened to the restless waters,
  This the suitor's prayer and question:
  "Tell, Untamo, tell me, dreamer,
  Tell me, Indolence, thy visions,
  Where the water-gods may linger,
  Where may rest Wellamo's maidens?"
  Then Untamo, thus made answer,
  Lazily he told his dreamings:
  "Over there, the mermaid-dwellings,
  Yonder live Wellamo's maidens,
  On the headland robed in verdure,
  On the forest-covered island,
  In the deep, pellucid waters,
  On the purple-colored sea-shore;
  Yonder is the home or sea-maids,
  There the maidens of Wellamo,
  Live there in their sea-side chambers,
  Rest within their water-caverns,
  On the rocks of rainbow colors,
  On the juttings of the sea-cliffs."
  Straightway hastens Wainamoinen
  To a boat-house on the sea-shore,
  Looks with care upon the fish-hooks,
  And the lines he well considers;
  Lines, and hooks, and poles, arid fish-nets,
  Places in a boat of copper,
  Then begins he swiftly rowing
  To the forest-covered island,
  To the point enrobed In verdure,
  To the purple-colored headland,
  Where the sea-nymphs live and linger.
  Hardly does he reach the island
  Ere the minstrel starts to angle;
  Far away he throws his fish-hook,
  Trolls it quickly through the waters,
  Turning on a copper swivel
  Dangling from a silver fish-line,
  Golden is the hook he uses.
  Now he tries his silken fish-net,
  Angles long, and angles longer,
  Angles one day, then a second,
  In the morning, in the evening,
  Angles at the hour of noontide,
  Many days and nights he angles,
  Till at last, one sunny morning,
  Strikes a fish of magic powers,
  Plays like salmon on his fish-line,
  Lashing waves across the waters,
  Till at length the fish exhausted
  Falls a victim to the angler,
  Safely landed in the bottom
  Of the hero's boat of copper.
  Wainamoinen, proudly viewing,
  Speaks these words in wonder guessing:
  "This the fairest of all sea-fish,
  Never have I seen its equal,
  Smoother surely than the salmon,
  Brighter-spotted than the trout is,
  Grayer than the pike of Suomi,
  Has less fins than any female,
  Not the fins of any male fish,
  Not the stripes of sea-born maidens,
  Not the belt of any mermaid,
  Not the ears of any song-bird,
  Somewhat like our Northland salmon
  From the blue-sea's deepest caverns."
  In his belt the ancient hero
  Wore a knife insheathed with silver;
  From its case he drew the fish-knife,
  Thus to carve the fish in pieces,
  Dress the nameless fish for roasting,
  Make of it a dainty breakfast,
  Make of it a meal at noon-day,
  Make for him a toothsome supper,
  Make the later meal at evening.
  Straightway as the fish he touches,
  Touches with his knife of silver,
  Quick it leaps upon the waters,
  Dives beneath the sea's smooth surface,
  From the boat with copper bottom,
  From the skiff of Wainamoinen.
  In the waves at goodly distance,
  Quickly from the sea it rises
  On the sixth and seventh billows,
  Lifts its head above the waters,
  Out of reach of fishing-tackle,
  Then addresses Wainamoinen,
  Chiding thus the ancient hero:
  "Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Do not think that I came hither
  To be fished for as a salmon,
  Only to be chopped in pieces,
  Dressed and eaten like a whiting
  Make for thee a dainty breakfast,
  Make for thee a meal at midday,
  Make for thee a toothsome supper,
  Make the fourth meal of the Northland."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Wherefore didst thou then come hither,
  If it be not for my dinner?"
  Thus the nameless fish made answer:
  "Hither have I come, O minstrel,
  In thine arms to rest and linger,
  And thyself to love and cherish,
  At thy side a life-companion,
  And thy wife to be forever;
  Deck thy couch with snowy linen,
  Smooth thy head upon the pillow,
  Sweep thy rooms and make them cheery,
  Keep thy dwelling-place in order,
  Build a fire for thee when needed,
  Bake for thee the honey-biscuit,
  Fill thy cup with barley-water,
  Do for thee whatever pleases.
  "I am not a scaly sea-fish,
  Not a trout of Northland rivers,
  Not a whiting from the waters,
  Not a salmon of the North-seas,
  I, a young and merry maiden,
  Friend and sister of the fishes,
  Youkahainen's youngest sister,
  I, the one that thou dost fish for,
  I am Aino whom thou lovest.
  "Once thou wert the wise-tongued hero,
  Now the foolish Wainamoinen,
  Scant of insight, scant of judgment,
  Didst not know enough to keep me,
  Cruel-hearted, bloody-handed,
  Tried to kill me with thy fish-knife,
  So to roast me for thy dinner;
  I, a mermaid of Wellamo,
  Once the fair and lovely Aino,
  Sister dear of Youkahainen."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Filled with sorrow, much regretting:
  "Since thou'rt Youkahainen's sister,
  Beauteous Aino of Pohyola,
  Come to me again I pray thee!"
  Thus the mermaid wisely answered;
  Nevermore will Aino's spirit
  Fly to thee and be ill-treated."
  Quickly dived the water-maiden
  From the surface of the billow
  To the many-colored pebbles,
  To the rainbow-tinted grottoes
  Where the mermaids live and linger.
  Wainamoinen, not discouraged,
  Thought afresh and well reflected,
  How to live, and work, and win her;
  Drew with care his silken fish-net,
  To and fro through foam and billow,
  Through the bays and winding channels,
  Drew it through the placid waters,
  Drew it through the salmon-dwellings,
  Through the homes of water-maidens,
  Through the waters of Wainola,
  Through the blue-back of the ocean,
  Through the lakes of distant Lapland,
  Through the rivers of Youkola,
  Through the seas of Kalevala,
  Hoping thus to find his Aino.
  Many were the fish be landed,
  Every form of fish-like creatures,
  But be did not catch the sea-maid,
  Not Wellamo's water-maiden,
  Fairest daughter of the Northland.
  Finally the ancient minstrel,
  Mind depressed, and heart discouraged,
  Spake these words, immersed in sorrow:
  "Fool am I, and great my folly,
  Having neither wit nor judgment;
  Surely once I had some knowledge,
  Had some insight into wisdom,
  Had at least a bit of instinct;
  But my virtues all have left me
  In these mournful days of evil,
  Vanished with my youth and vigor,
  Insight gone, and sense departed,
  All my prudence gone to others!
  Aino, whom I love and cherish,
  All these years have sought to honor,
  Aino, now Wellamo's maiden,
  Promised friend of mine when needed,
  Promised bride of mine forever,
  Once I had within my power,
  Caught her in Wellamo's grottoes,
  Led her to my boat of copper,
  With my fish-line made of silver;
  But alas! I could not keep her,
  Did not know that I had caught her
  Till too late to woo and win her;
  Let her slip between my fingers
  To the home of water-maidens,
  To the kingdom of Wellamo."
  Wainamoinen then departed,
  Empty-handed, heavy-hearted,
  Straightway hastened to his country,
  To his home in Kalevala,
  Spake these words upon his journey:
  "What has happened to the cuckoo,
  Once the cuckoo bringing gladness,
  In the morning, in the evening,
  Often bringing joy at noontide?
  What has stilled the cuckoo's singing,
  What has changed the cuckoo's calling?
  Sorrow must have stilled his singing,
  And compassion changed his calling,
  As I hear him sing no longer,
  For my pleasure in the morning,
  For my happiness at evening.
  Never shall I learn the secret,
  How to live and how to prosper,
  How upon the earth to rest me,
  How upon the seas to wander!
  Only were my ancient mother
  Living on the face of Northland,
  Surely she would well advise me,
  What my thought and what my action,
  That this cup of grief might pass me,
  That this sorrow might escape me,
  And this darkened cloud pass over."
  In the deep awoke his mother,
  From her tomb she spake as follows:
  "Only sleeping was thy mother,
  Now awakes to give thee answer,
  What thy thought and what thine action,
  That this cup of grief may pass thee,
  That this sorrow may escape thee,
  And this darkened cloud pass over.
  Hie thee straightway to the Northland,
  Visit thou the Suomi daughters;
  Thou wilt find them wise and lovely,
  Far more beautiful than Aino,
  Far more worthy of a husband,
  Not such silly chatter-boxes,
  As the fickle Lapland maidens.
  Take for thee a life-companion,
  From the honest homes of Suomi,
  One of Northland's honest daughters;
  She will charm thee with her sweetness,
  Make thee happy through her goodness,
  Form perfection, manners easy,
  Every step and movement graceful,
  Full of wit and good behavior,
  Honor to thy home and kindred."



  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Now arranges for a journey
  To the village of the Northland,
  To the land of cruel winters,
  To the land of little sunshine,
  To the land of worthy women;
  Takes his light-foot, royal racer,
  Then adjusts the golden bridle,
  Lays upon his back the saddle,
  Silver-buckled, copper-stirruped,
  Seats himself upon his courser,
  And begins his journey northward;
  Plunges onward, onward, onward,
  Galloping along the highway,
  In his saddle, gaily fashioned,
  On his dappled steed of magic,
  Plunging through Wainola's meadows,
  O'er the plains of Kalevala.
  Fast and far he galloped onward,
  Galloped far beyond Wainola,
  Bounded o'er the waste of waters,
  Till he reached the blue-sea's margin,
  Wetting not the hoofs in running.
  But the evil Youkahainen
  Nursed a grudge within his bosom,
  In his heart the worm of envy,
  Envy of this Wainamoinen,
  Of this wonderful enchanter.
  He prepares a cruel cross-bow,
  Made of steel and other metals,
  Paints the bow in many colors,
  Molds the top-piece out or copper,
  Trims his bow with snowy silver,
  Gold he uses too in trimming,
  Then he hunts for strongest sinews,
  Finds them in the stag of Hisi,
  Interweaves the flax of Lempo.
  Ready is the cruel cross-bow,
  String, and shaft, and ends are finished,
  Beautiful the bow and mighty,
  Surely cost it not a trifle;
  On the back a painted courser,
  On each end a colt of beauty,
  Near the curve a maiden sleeping
  Near the notch a hare is bounding,
  Wonderful the bow thus fashioned;
  Cuts some arrows for his quiver,
  Covers them with finest feathers,
  From the oak the shafts be fashions,
  Makes the tips of keenest metal.
  As the rods and points are finished,
  Then he feathers well his arrows
  From the plumage of the swallow,
  From the wing-quills of the sparrow;
  Hardens well his feathered arrows,
  And imparts to each new virtues,
  Steeps them in the blood of serpents,
  In the virus of the adder.
  Ready now are all his arrows,
  Ready strung, his cruel cross-bow.
  Waiting for wise Wainamoinen.
  Youkahainen, Lapland's minstrel,
  Waits a long time, is not weary,
  Hopes to spy the ancient singer;
  Spies at day-dawn, spies at evening,
  Spies he ceaselessly at noontide,
  Lies in wait for the magician,
  Waits, and watches, as in envy;
  Sits he at the open window,
  Stands behind the hedge, and watches
  In the foot-path waits, and listens,
  Spies along the balks of meadows;
  On his back he hangs his quiver,
  In his quiver, feathered arrows
  Dipped in virus of the viper,
  On his arm the mighty cross-bow,
  Waits, and watches, and unwearied,
  Listens from the boat-house window,
  Lingers at the end of Fog-point,
  By the river flowing seaward,
  Near the holy stream and whirlpool,
  Near the sacred river's fire-fall.
  Finally the Lapland minstrel,
  Youkahainen of Pohyola,
  At the breaking of the day-dawn,
  At the early hour of morning,
  Fixed his gaze upon the North-east,
  Turned his eyes upon the sunrise,
  Saw a black cloud on the ocean,
  Something blue upon the waters,
  And soliloquized as follows:
  "Are those clouds on the horizon,
  Or perchance the dawn of morning?
  Neither clouds on the horizon,
  Nor the dawning of the morning;
  It is ancient Wainamoinen,
  The renowned and wise enchanter,
  Riding on his way to Northland;
  On his steed, the royal racer,
  Magic courser of Wainola."
  Quickly now young Youkahainen,
  Lapland's vain and evil minstrel,
  Filled with envy, grasps his cross-bow,
  Makes his bow and arrows ready
  For the death of Wainamoinen.
  Quick his aged mother asked him,
  Spake these words to Youkahainen:
  "For whose slaughter is thy cross-bow,
  For whose heart thy poisoned arrows?"
  Youkahainen thus made answer:
  "I have made this mighty cross-bow,
  Fashioned bow and poisoned arrows
  For the death of Wainamoinen,
  Thus to slay the friend of waters;
  I must shoot the old magician,
  The eternal bard and hero,
  Through the heart, and through the liver,
  Through the head, and through the shoulders,
  With this bow and feathered arrows
  Thus destroy my rival minstrel."
  Then the aged mother answered,
  Thus reproving, thus forbidding.
  Do not slay good Wainamoinen,
  Ancient hero of the Northland,
  From a noble tribe descended,
  He, my sister's son, my nephew.
  If thou slayest Wainamoinen,
  Ancient son of Kalevala,
  Then alas! all joy will vanish,
  Perish all our wondrous singing;
  Better on the earth the gladness,
  Better here the magic music,
  Than within the nether regions,
  In the kingdom of Tuoni,
  In the realm of the departed,
  In the land of the hereafter."
  Then the youthful Youkahainen
  Thought awhile and well considered,
  Ere he made a final answer.
  With one hand he raised the cross-bow
  But the other seemed to weaken,
  As he drew the cruel bow-string.
  Finally these words he uttered
  As his bosom swelled with envy:
  "Let all joy forever vanish,
  Let earth's pleasures quickly perish,
  Disappear earth's sweetest music,
  Happiness depart forever;
  Shoot I will this rival minstrel,
  Little heeding what the end is."
  Quickly now he bends his fire-bow,
  On his left knee rests the weapon,
  With his right foot firmly planted,
  Thus he strings his bow of envy;
  Takes three arrows from his quiver,
  Choosing well the best among them,
  Carefully adjusts the bow-string,
  Sets with care the feathered arrow,
  To the flaxen string he lays it,
  Holds the cross-bow to his shoulder,
  Aiming well along the margin,
  At the heart of Wainamoinen,
  Waiting till he gallops nearer;
  In the shadow of a thicket,
  Speaks these words while he is waiting
  "Be thou, flaxen string, elastic;
  Swiftly fly, thou feathered ash-wood,
  Swiftly speed, thou deadly missile,
  Quick as light, thou poisoned arrow,
  To the heart of Wainamoinen.
  If my hand too low should hold thee,
  May the gods direct thee higher;
  If too high mine eye should aim thee,
  May the gods direct thee lower."
  Steady now he pulls the trigger;
  Like the lightning flies the arrow
  O'er the head of Wainamoinen;
  To the upper sky it darteth,
  And the highest clouds it pierces,
  Scatters all the flock of lamb-clouds,
  On its rapid journey skyward.
  Not discouraged, quick selecting,
  Quick adjusting, Youkahainen,
  Quickly aiming shoots a second.
  Speeds the arrow swift as lightning;
  Much too low he aimed the missile,
  Into earth the arrow plunges,
  Pierces to the lower regions,
  Splits in two the old Sand Mountain.
  Nothing daunted, Youkahainen,
  Quick adjusting shoots a third one.
  Swift as light it speeds its journey,
  Strikes the steed of Wainamoinen,
  Strikes the light-foot, ocean-swimmer,
  Strikes him near his golden girdle,
  Through the shoulder of the racer.
  Thereupon wise Wainamoinen
  Headlong fell upon the waters,
  Plunged beneath the rolling billows,
  From the saddle of the courser,
  From his dappled steed of magic.
  Then arose a mighty storm-wind,
  Roaring wildly on the waters,
  Bore away old Wainamoinen
  Far from land upon the billows,
  On the high and rolling billows,
  On the broad sea's great expanses.
  Boasted then young Youkahainen,
  Thinking Waino dead and buried,
  These the boastful words be uttered:
  "Nevermore, old Wainamoinen,
  Nevermore in all thy life-time,
  While the golden moonlight glistens,
  Nevermore wilt fix thy vision
  On the meadows of Wainola,
  On the plains of Kalevala;
  Full six years must swim the ocean,
  Tread the waves for seven summers,
  Eight years ride the foamy billows,
  In the broad expanse of water;
  Six long autumns as a fir-tree,
  Seven winters as a pebble;
  Eight long summers as an aspen."
  Thereupon the Lapland minstrel
  Hastened to his room delighting,
  When his mother thus addressed him
  "Hast thou slain good Wainamoinen,
  Slain the son of Kalevala?"
  Youkahainen thus made answer:
  "I have slain old Wainamoinen,
  Slain the son of Kalevala,
  That he now may plow the ocean,
  That he now may sweep the waters,
  On the billows rock and slumber.
  In the salt-sea plunged he headlong,
  In the deep sank the magician,
  Sidewise turned he to the sea-shore
  On his back to rock forever,
  Thus the boundless sea to travel,
  Thus to ride the rolling billows."
  This the answer of the mother:
  "Woe to earth for this thine action,
  Gone forever, joy and singing,
  Vanished is the wit of ages!
  Thou hast slain good Wainamoinen.
  Slain the ancient wisdom-singer,
  Slain the pride of Suwantala,
  Slain the hero of Wainola,
  Slain the joy of Kalevala."



  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Swam through all the deep-sea waters,
  Floating like a branch of aspen,
  Like a withered twig of willow;
  Swam six days in summer weather,
  Swam six nights in golden moonlight;
  Still before him rose the billows,
  And behind him sky and ocean.
  Two days more he swam undaunted,
  Two long nights be struggled onward.
  On the evening of the eighth day,
  Wainamoinen grew disheartened,
  Felt a very great discomfort,
  For his feet had lost their toe-nails,
  And his fingers dead and dying.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Sad and weary, spake as follows:
  "Woe is me, my old life fated!
  Woe is me, misfortune's offspring!
  Fool was I when fortune, favored,
  To forsake my home and kindred,
  For a maiden fair and lovely,
  Here beneath the starry heavens,
  In this cruel waste of waters,
  Days and nights to swim and wander,
  Here to struggle with the storm-winds,
  To be tossed by heaving billows,
  In this broad sea's great expanses,
  In this ocean vast and boundless.
  "Cold my life and sad and dreary,
  Painful too for me to linger
  Evermore within these waters,
  Thus to struggle for existence!
  Cannot know how I can prosper,
  How to find me food and shelter,
  In these cold and lifeless waters,
  In these days of dire misfortune.
  Build I in the winds my dwelling?
  It will find no sure foundation.
  Build my home upon the billows?
  Surely would the waves destroy it."
  Comes a bird from far Pohyola,
  From the occident, an eagle,
  Is not classed among the largest,
  Nor belongs he to the smallest;
  One wing touches on the waters,
  While the other sweeps the heavens;
  O'er the waves he wings his body,
  Strikes his beak upon the sea-cliffs,
  Flies about, then safely perches,
  Looks before him, looks behind him,
  There beholds brave Wainamoinen,
  On the blue-back of the ocean,
  And the eagle thus accosts him:
  "Wherefore art thou, ancient hero,
  Swimming in the deep-sea billows?
  Thus the water-minstrel answered:
  "I am ancient Wainamoinen,
  Friend and fellow of the waters
  I, the famous wisdom-singer;
  Went to woo a Northland maiden,
  Maiden from the dismal Darkland,
  Quickly galloped on my journey,
  Riding on the plain of ocean.
  I arrived one morning early,
  At the breaking of the day-dawn.
  At the bay of Luotola,
  Near Youkola's foaming river,
  Where the evil Youkahainen
  Slew my steed with bow and arrow,
  Tried to slay me with his weapons.
  On the waters fell I headlong,
  Plunged beneath the salt-sea's surface,
  From the saddle of the courser,
  From my dappled steed of magic.
  "Then arose a mighty storm-wind,
  From the East and West a whirlwind,
  Washed me seaward on the surges,
  Seaward, seaward, further, further,
  Where for many days I wandered,
  Swam and rocked upon the billows,
  Where as many nights I struggled,
  In the dashing waves and sea-foam,
  With the angry winds and waters.
  "Woe is me, my life hard-fated!
  Cannot solve this heavy problem,
  How to live nor how to perish
  In this cruel salt-sea water.
  Build I in the winds my dwelling?
  It will find no sure foundation.
  Build my home upon the waters?
  Surely will the waves destroy it.
  Must I swim the sea forever,
  Must I live, or must I perish?
  What will happen if I perish,
  If I sink below the billows,
  Perish here from cold and hunger?"
  Thus the bird of Ether answered
  "Be not in the least disheartened,
  Place thyself between my shoulders,
  On my back be firmly seated,
  I will lift thee from the waters,
  Bear thee with my pinions upward,
  Bear thee wheresoe'er thou willest.
  Well do I the day remember
  Where thou didst the eagle service,
  When thou didst the birds a favor.
  Thou didst leave the birch-tree standing,
  When were cleared the Osmo-forests,
  From the lands of Kalevala,
  As a home for weary song-birds,
  As a resting-place for eagles."
  Then arises Wainamoinen,
  Lifts his head above the waters,
  Boldly rises from the sea-waves,
  Lifts his body from the billows,
  Seats himself upon the eagle,
  On the eagle's feathered shoulders.
  Quick aloft the huge bird bears him,
  Bears the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Bears him on the path of zephyrs,
  Floating on the vernal breezes,
  To the distant shore of Northland,
  To the dismal Sariola,
  Where the eagle leaves his burden,
  Flies away to join his fellows.
  Wainamoinen, lone and weary,
  Straightway fell to bitter weeping,
  Wept and moaned in heavy accents,
  On the border of the blue-sea.
  On a cheerless promontory,
  With a hundred wounds tormented,
  Made by cruel winds and waters,
  With his hair and beard dishevelled
  By the surging of the billows.
  Three long days he wept disheartened
  Wept as many nights in anguish,
  Did not know what way to journey,
  Could not find a woodland foot-print,
  That would point him to the highway,
  To his home in Kalevala,
  To his much-loved home and kindred.
  Northland's young and slender maiden,
  With complexion fair and lovely,
  With the Sun had laid a wager,
  With the Sun and Moon a wager,
  Which should rise before the other,
  On the morning of the morrow.
  And the maiden rose in beauty,
  Long before the Sun had risen,
  Long before the Moon bad wakened,
  From their beds beneath the ocean.
  Ere the cock had crowed the day-break,
  Ere the Sun had broken slumber
  She had sheared six gentle lambkins,
  Gathered from them six white fleeces,
  Hence to make the rolls for spinning,
  Hence to form the threads for weaving,
  Hence to make the softest raiment,
  Ere the morning dawn had broken,
  Ere the sleeping Sun had risen.
  When this task the maid had ended,
  Then she scrubbed the birchen tables,
  Sweeps the ground-floor of the stable,
  With a broom of leaves and branches
  From the birches of the Northland,
  Scrapes the sweepings well together
  On a shovel made of copper,
  Carries them beyond the stable,
  From the doorway to the meadow,
  To the meadow's distant border,
  Near the surges of the great-sea,
  Listens there and looks about her,
  Hears a wailing from the waters,
  Hears a weeping from the sea-shore,
  Hears a hero-voice lamenting.
  Thereupon she hastens homeward,
  Hastens to her mother's dwelling,
  These the words the maiden utters:
  "I have heard a wail from ocean,
  Heard a weeping from the sea-coast,
  On the shore some one lamenting."
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Ancient, toothless dame of Northland,
  Hastens from her door and court-yard,
  Through the meadow to the sea-shore,
  Listens well for sounds of weeping,
  For the wail of one in sorrow;
  Hears the voice of one in trouble,
  Hears a hero-cry of anguish.
  Thus the ancient Louhi answers:
  "This is not the wail of children,
  These are not the tears of women,
  In this way weep bearded heroes;
  This the hero-cry of anguish."
  Quick she pushed her boat to water,
  To the floods her goodly vessel,
  Straightway rows with lightning swiftness,
  To the weeping Wainamoinen;
  Gives the hero consolation,
  Comfort gives she to the minstrel
  Wailing in a grove of willows,
  In his piteous condition,
  Mid the alder-trees and aspens,
  On the border of the salt-sea,
  Visage trembling, locks dishevelled.
  Ears, and eyes, and lips of sadness.
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Thus addresses Wainamoinen:
  "Tell me what has been thy folly,
  That thou art in this condition."
  Old and truthful Wainamoinen
  Lifts aloft his bead and answers:
  "Well I know that it is folly
  That has brought me all this trouble,
  Brought me to this land of strangers,
  To these regions unbefitting
  Happy was I with my kindred,
  In my distant home and country,
  There my name was named in honor."
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Thus replied to Wainamoinen:
  "I would gain the information,
  Should I be allowed to ask thee,
  Who thou art of ancient heroes,
  Who of all the host of heroes?
  This is Wainamoinen's answer:
  "Formerly my name was mentioned,
  Often was I heard and honored,
  As a minstrel and magician,
  In the long and dreary winters,
  Called the 'Singer of the Northland,
  In the valleys of Wainola,
  On the plains of Kalevala;
  No one thought that such misfortune
  Could befall wise Wainamoinen."
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Thus replied in cheering accents
  "Rise, O hero, from discomfort,
  From thy bed among the willows;
  Enter now upon the new-way,
  Come with me to yonder dwelling,
  There relate thy strange adventures,
  Tell the tale of thy misfortunes."
  Now she takes the hapless hero,
  Lifts him from his bed of sorrow,
  In her boat she safely seats him,
  And begins at once her rowing,
  Rows with steady hand and mighty
  To her home upon the sea-shore,
  To the dwellings of Pohyola.
  There she feeds the starving hero,
  Rests the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Gives him warmth, and food, and shelter,
  And the hero soon recovers.
  Then the hostess of Pohyola
  Questioned thus the ancient singer:
  "Wherefore didst thou, Wainamoinen,
  Friend and fellow of the waters,
  Weep in sad and bitter accents,
  On the border of the ocean,
  Mid the aspens and the willows?"
  This is Wainamoinen's answer:
  Had good reason for my weeping,
  Cause enough for all my sorrow;
  Long indeed had I been swimming,
  Had been buffeting the billows,
  In the far outstretching waters.
  This the reason for my weeping;
  I have lived in toil and torture,
  Since I left my home and country,
  Left my native land and kindred,
  Came to this the land of strangers,
  To these unfamiliar portals.
  All thy trees have thorns to wound me,
  All thy branches, spines to pierce me,
  Even birches give me trouble,
  And the alders bring discomfort,
  My companions, winds and waters,
  Only does the Sun seem friendly,
  In this cold and cruel country,
  Near these unfamiliar portals."
  Louhi thereupon made answer,
  Weep no longer, Wainamoinen,
  Grieve no more, thou friend of waters,
  Good for thee, that thou shouldst linger
  At our friendly homes and firesides;
  Thou shalt live with us and welcome,
  Thou shalt sit at all our tables,
  Eat the salmon from our platters,
  Eat the sweetest of our bacon,
  Eat the whiting from our waters."
  Answers thus old Wainamoinen,
  Grateful for the invitation:
  "Never do I court strange tables,
  Though the food be rare and toothsome;
  One's own country is the dearest,
  One's own table is the sweetest,
  One's own home, the most attractive.
  Grant, kind Ukko, God above me,
  Thou Creator, full of mercy,
  Grant that I again may visit
  My beloved home and country.
  Better dwell in one's own country,
  There to drink Its healthful waters
  From the simple cups of birch-wood,
  Than in foreign lands to wander,
  There to drink the rarest liquors
  From the golden bowls of strangers."
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Thus replied to the magician:
  "What reward wilt thou award me,
  Should I take thee where thou willest,
  To thy native land and kindred,
  To thy much-loved home and fireside,
  To the meadows of Wainola,
  To the plains of Kalevala?"
  These the words of Wainamoinen:
  "What would be reward sufficient,
  Shouldst thou take me to my people,
  To my home and distant country,
  To the borders of the Northland,
  There to hear the cuckoo singing,
  Hear the sacred cuckoo calling?
  Shall I give thee golden treasures,
  Fill thy cups with finest silver?"
  This is Louhi's simple answer:
  "O thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Only true and wise magician,
  Never will I ask for riches,
  Never ask for gold nor silver;
  Gold is for the children's flowers,
  Silver for the stallion's jewels.
  Canst thou forge for me the Sampo,
  Hammer me the lid in colors,
  From the tips of white-swan feathers
  From the milk of greatest virtue,
  From a single grain of barley,
  From the finest wool of lambkins?
  "I will give thee too my daughter,
  Will reward thee through the maiden,
  Take thee to thy much-loved home-land,
  To the borders of Wainola,
  There to hear the cuckoo singing,
  Hear the sacred cuckoo calling."
  Wainamoinen, much regretting,
  Gave this answer to her question:
  "Cannot forge for thee the Sampo,
  Cannot make the lid in colors.
  Take me to my distant country,
  I will send thee Ilmarinen,
  He will forge for thee the Sampo,
  Hammer thee the lid in colors,
  He may win thy lovely maiden;
  Worthy smith is Ilmarinen,
  In this art is first and master;
  He, the one that forged the heavens.
  Forged the air a hollow cover;
  Nowhere see we hammer-traces,
  Nowhere find a single tongs-mark."
  Thus replied the hostess, Louhi:
  "Him alone I'll give my daughter,
  Promise him my child in marriage,
  Who for me will forge the Sampo,
  Hammer me the lid in colors,
  From the tips of white-swan feathers,
  From the milk of greatest virtue,
  From a single grain of barley,
  From the finest wool of lambkins."
  Thereupon the hostess Louhi,
  Harnessed quick a dappled courser,
  Hitched him to her sledge of birch-wood,
  Placed within it Wainamoinen,
  Placed the hero on the cross-bench,
  Made him ready for his journey;
  Then addressed the ancient minstrel,
  These the words that Louhi uttered:
  "Do not raise thine eyes to heaven,
  Look not upward on thy journey,
  While thy steed is fresh and frisky,
  While the day-star lights thy pathway,
  Ere the evening star has risen;
  If thine eyes be lifted upward,
  While the day-star lights thy pathway,
  Dire misfortune will befall thee,
  Some sad fate will overtake thee."
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Fleetly drove upon his journey,
  Merrily he hastened homeward,
  Hastened homeward, happy-hearted
  From the ever-darksome Northland
  From the dismal Sariola.



  Pohyola's fair and winsome daughter,
  Glory of the land and water,
  Sat upon the bow of heaven,
  On its highest arch resplendent,
  In a gown of richest fabric,
  In a gold and silver air-gown,
  Weaving webs of golden texture,
  Interlacing threads of silver;
  Weaving with a golden shuttle,
  With a weaving-comb of silver;
  Merrily flies the golden shuttle,
  From the maiden's nimble fingers,
  Briskly swings the lathe in weaving,
  Swiftly flies the comb of silver,
  From the sky-born maiden's fingers,
  Weaving webs of wondrous beauty.
  Came the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Driving down the highway homeward,
  From the ever sunless Northland,
  From the dismal Sariola;
  Few the furlongs he had driven,
  Driven but a little distance,
  When he heard the sky-loom buzzing,
  As the maiden plied the shuttle.
  Quick the thoughtless Wainamoinen
  Lifts his eyes aloft in wonder,
  Looks upon the vault of heaven,
  There beholds the bow of beauty,
  On the bow the maiden sitting,
  Beauteous Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Glory of the earth and ocean,
  Weaving there a golden fabric,
  Working with the rustling silver.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Quickly checks his fleet-foot racer,
  Looks upon the charming maiden,
  Then addresses her as follows:
  "Come, fair maiden, to my snow-sledge,
  By my side I wish thee seated."
  Thus the Maid of Beauty answers:
  "Tell me what thou wishest of me,
  Should I join thee in the snow-sledge."
  Speaks the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Answers thus the Maid of Beauty:
  "This the reason for thy coming:
  Thou shalt bake me honey-biscuit,
  Shalt prepare me barley-water,
  Thou shalt fill my foaming beer-cups,
  Thou shalt sing beside my table,
  Shalt rejoice within my portals,
  Walk a queen within my dwelling,
  In the Wainola halls and chambers,
  In the courts of Kalevala."
  Thus the Maid of Beauty answered
  From her throne amid the heavens:
  "Yesterday at hour of twilight,
  Went I to the flowery meadows,
  There to rock upon the common,
  Where the Sun retires to slumber;
  There I heard a song-bird singing,
  Heard the thrush simple measures,
  Singing sweetly thoughts of maidens,
  And the minds of anxious mothers.
  "Then I asked the pretty songster,
  Asked the thrush this simple question:
  'Sing to me, thou pretty song-bird,
  Sing that I may understand thee,
  Sing to me in truthful accents,
  How to live in greatest pleasure,
  And in happiness the sweetest,
  As a maiden with her father,
  Or as wife beside her husband.'
  "Thus the song-bird gave me answer,
  Sang the thrush this information:
  'Bright and warm are days of summer,
  Warmer still is maiden-freedom;
  Cold is iron in the winter,
  Thus the lives of married women;
  Maidens living with their mothers
  Are like ripe and ruddy berries;
  Married women, far too many,
  Are like dogs enchained in kennel,
  Rarely do they ask for favors,
  Not to wives are favors given.'"
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Answers thus the Maid of Beauty:
  "Foolish is the thrush thus singing,
  Nonsense is the song-bird's twitter;
  Like to babes are maidens treated,
  Wives are queens and highly honored.
  Come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge,
  I am not despised as hero,
  Not the meanest of magicians;
  Come with me and I will make thee
  Wife and queen in Kalevala."
  Thus the Maid of Beauty answered--
  "Would consider thee a hero,
  Mighty hero, I would call thee,
  When a golden hair thou splittest,
  Using knives that have no edges;
  When thou snarest me a bird's egg
  With a snare that I can see not."
  Wainamoinen, skilled and ancient,
  Split a golden hair exactly,
  Using knives that had no edges;
  And he snared an egg as nicely
  With a snare the maiden saw not.
  "Come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge,
  I have done what thou desirest."
  Thus the maiden wisely answered:
  "Never enter I thy snow-sledge,
  Till thou peelest me the sandstone,
  Till thou cuttest me a whip-stick
  From the ice, and make no splinters,
  Losing not the smallest fragment."
  Wainamoinen, true magician,
  Nothing daunted, not discouraged,
  Deftly peeled the rounded sandstone,
  Deftly cut from ice a whip-stick,
  Cutting not the finest splinter,
  Losing not the smallest fragment.
  Then again be called the maiden,
  To a seat within his snow-sledge.
  But the Maid or Beauty answered,
  Answered thus the great magician:
  I will go with that one only
  That will make me ship or shallop,
  From the splinters of my spindle,
  From the fragments of my distaff,
  In the waters launch the vessel,
  Set the little ship a-floating,
  Using not the knee to push it,
  Using not the arm to move it,
  Using not the hand to touch it,
  Using not the foot to turn it,
  Using nothing to propel it."
  Spake the skilful Wainamoinen,
  These the words the hero uttered:
  "There is no one in the Northland,
  No one under vault of heaven,
  Who like me can build a vessel,
  From the fragments of the distaff,
  From the splinters of the spindle."
  Then he took the distaff-fragments,
  Took the splinters of the spindle,
  Hastened off the boat to fashion,
  Hastened to an iron mountain,
  There to join the many fragments.
  Full of zeal be plies the hammer,
  Swings the hammer and the hatchet;
  Nothing daunted, builds the vessel,
  Works one day and then a second,
  Works with steady hand the third day;
  On the evening of the third day,
  Evil Hisi grasps the hatchet,
  Lempo takes the crooked handle,
  Turns aside the axe in falling,
  Strikes the rocks and breaks to pieces;
  From the rocks rebound the fragments,
  Pierce the flesh of the magician,
  Cut the knee of Wainamoinen.
  Lempo guides the sharpened hatchet,
  And the veins fell Hisi severs.
  Quickly gushes forth a blood-stream,
  And the stream is crimson-colored.
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  The renowned and wise enchanter,
  Thus outspeaks in measured accents:
  "O thou keen and cruel hatchet,
  O thou axe of sharpened metal,
  Thou shouldst cut the trees to fragments,
  Cut the pine-tree and the willow,
  Cut the alder and the birch-tree,
  Cut the juniper and aspen,
  Shouldst not cut my knee to pieces,
  Shouldst not tear my veins asunder."
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Thus begins his incantations,
  Thus begins his magic singing,
  Of the origin of evil;
  Every word in perfect order,
  Makes no effort to remember,
  Sings the origin of iron,
  That a bolt he well may fashion,
  Thus prepare a look for surety,
  For the wounds the axe has given,
  That the hatchet has torn open.
  But the stream flows like a brooklet,
  Rushing like a maddened torrent,
  Stains the herbs upon the meadows,
  Scarcely is a bit of verdure
  That the blood-stream does not cover
  As it flows and rushes onward
  From the knee of the magician,
  From the veins of Wainamoinen.
  Now the wise and ancient minstrel
  Gathers lichens from the sandstone,
  Picks them from the trunks of birches,
  Gathers moss within the marshes,
  Pulls the grasses from the meadows,
  Thus to stop the crimson streamlet,
  Thus to close the wounds laid open;
  But his work is unsuccessful,
  And the crimson stream flows onward.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Feeling pain and fearing languor,
  Falls to weeping, heavy-hearted;
  Quickly now his steed he hitches,
  Hitches to the sledge of birch-wood,
  Climbs with pain upon the cross-bench,
  Strikes his steed in quick succession,
  Snaps his whip above the racer,
  And the steed flies onward swiftly;
  Like the winds he sweeps the highway,
  Till be nears a Northland village,
  Where the way is triple-parted.
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Takes the lowest of the highways,
  Quickly nears a spacious cottage,
  Quickly asks before the doorway:
  "Is there any one here dwelling,
  That can know the pain I suffer,
  That can heal this wound of hatchet.
  That can check this crimson streamlet?"
  Sat a boy within a corner,
  On a bench beside a baby,
  And he answered thus the hero:
  "There is no one in this dwelling
  That can know the pain thou feelest,
  That can heal the wounds of hatchet,
  That can check the crimson streamlet;
  Some one lives in yonder cottage,
  That perchance can do thee service."
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Whips his courser to a gallop,
  Dashes on along the highway;
  Only drives a little distance,
  On the middle of the highways,
  To a cabin on the road-side,
  Asks one standing on the threshold,
  Questions all through open windows,
  These the words the hero uses:
  "Is there no one in this cabin,
  That can know the pain I suffer,
  That can heal this wound of hatchet,
  That can check this crimson streamlet?"
  On the floor a witch was lying,
  Near the fire-place lay the beldame,
  Thus she spake to Wainamoinen,
  Through her rattling teeth she answered.
  "There is no one in this cabin
  That can know the pain thou feelest,
  That can heal the wounds of hatchets,
  That can check the crimson streamlet;
  Some one lives in yonder cottage,
  That perchance can do thee service."
  Wainamoinen, nothing daunted,
  Whips his racer to a gallop,
  Dashes on along the highway;
  Only drives a little distance,
  On the upper of the highways,
  Gallops to a humble cottage,
  Asks one standing near the penthouse,
  Sitting on the penthouse-doorsill:
  "Is there no one in this cottage,
  That can know the pain I suffer,
  That can heal this wound of hatchet,
  That can check this crimson streamlet?"
  Near the fireplace sat an old man,
  On the hearthstone sat the gray-beard,
  Thus he answered Wainamoinen:
  "Greater things have been accomplished,
  Much more wondrous things effected,
  Through but three words of the master;
  Through the telling of the causes,
  Streams and oceans have been tempered,
  River cataracts been lessened,
  Bays been made of promontories,
  Islands raised from deep sea-bottoms."



  Wainamoinen, thus encouraged,
  Quickly rises in his snow-sledge,
  Asking no one for assistance,
  Straightway hastens to the cottage,
  Takes a seat within the dwelling.
  Come two maids with silver pitchers,
  Bringing also golden goblets;
  Dip they up a very little,
  But the very smallest measure
  Of the blood of the magician,
  From the wounds of Wainamoinen.
  From the fire-place calls the old man,
  Thus the gray-beard asks the minstrel:
  "Tell me who thou art of heroes,
  Who of all the great magicians?
  Lo! thy blood fills seven sea-boats,
  Eight of largest birchen vessels,
  Flowing from some hero's veinlets,
  From the wounds of some magician.
  Other matters I would ask thee;
  Sing the cause of this thy trouble,
  Sing to me the source of metals,
  Sing the origin of iron,
  How at first it was created."
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Made this answer to the gray-beard:
  "Know I well the source of metals,
  Know the origin of iron;
  f can tell bow steel is fashioned.
  Of the mothers air is oldest,
  Water is the oldest brother,
  And the fire is second brother,
  And the youngest brother, iron;
  Ukko is the first creator.
  Ukko, maker of the heavens,
  Cut apart the air and water,
  Ere was born the metal, iron.
  Ukko, maker of the heavens,
  Firmly rubbed his hands together,
  Firmly pressed them on his knee-cap,
  Then arose three lovely maidens,
  Three most beautiful of daughters;
  These were mothers of the iron,
  And of steel of bright-blue color.
  Tremblingly they walked the heavens,
  Walked the clouds with silver linings,
  With their bosoms overflowing
  With the milk of future iron,
  Flowing on and flowing ever,
  From the bright rims of the cloudlets
  To the earth, the valleys filling,
  To the slumber-calling waters.
  "Ukko's eldest daughter sprinkled
  Black milk over river channels
  And the second daughter sprinkled
  White milk over hills and mountains,
  While the youngest daughter sprinkled
  Red milk over seas and oceans.
  Whero the black milk had been sprinked,
  Grew the dark and ductile iron;
  Where the white milk had been sprinkled.
  Grew the iron, lighter-colored;
  Where the red milk had been sprinkled,
  Grew the red and brittle iron.
  "After Time had gone a distance,
  Iron hastened Fire to visit,
  His beloved elder brother,
  Thus to know his brother better.
  Straightway Fire began his roarings,
  Labored to consume his brother,
  His beloved younger brother.
  Straightway Iron sees his danger,
  Saves himself by fleetly fleeing,
  From the fiery flame's advances,
  Fleeing hither, fleeing thither,
  Fleeing still and taking shelter
  In the swamps and in the valleys,
  In the springs that loudly bubble,
  By the rivers winding seaward,
  On the broad backs of the marshes,
  Where the swans their nests have builded,
  Where the wild geese hatch their goslings.
  "Thus is iron in the swamp-lands,
  Stretching by the water-courses,
  Hidden well for many ages,
  Hidden in the birchen forests,
  But he could not hide forever
  From the searchings of his brother;
  Here and there the fire has caught him,
  Caught and brought him to his furnace,
  That the spears, and swords, and axes,
  Might be forged and duly hammered.
  In the swamps ran blackened waters,
  From the heath the bears came ambling,
  And the wolves ran through the marshes.
  Iron then made his appearance,
  Where the feet of wolves had trodden,
  Where the paws of bears had trampled.
  "Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Came to earth to work the metal;
  He was born upon the Coal-mount,
  Skilled and nurtured in the coal-fields;
  In one hand, a copper hammer,
  In the other, tongs of iron;
  In the night was born the blacksmith,
  In the morn he built his smithy,
  Sought with care a favored hillock,
  Where the winds might fill his bellows;
  Found a hillock in the swamp-lands,
  Where the iron hid abundant;
  There he built his smelting furnace,
  There he laid his leathern bellows,
  Hastened where the wolves had travelled,
  Followed where the bears had trampled,
  Found the iron's young formations,
  In the wolf-tracks of the marshes,
  In the foot-prints of the gray-bear.
  "Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  'Thus addressed the sleeping iron:
  Thou most useful of the metals,
  Thou art sleeping in the marshes,
  Thou art hid in low conditions,
  Where the wolf treads in the swamp-lands,
  Where the bear sleeps in the thickets.
  Hast thou thought and well considered,
  What would be thy future station,
  Should I place thee in the furnace,
  Thus to make thee free and useful?'
  "Then was Iron sorely frightened,
  Much distressed and filled with horror,
  When of Fire he heard the mention,
  Mention of his fell destroyer.
  "Then again speaks Ilmarinen,
  Thus the smith addresses Iron:
  'Be not frightened, useful metal,
  Surely Fire will not consume thee,
  Will not burn his youngest brother,
  Will not harm his nearest kindred.
  Come thou to my room and furnace,
  Where the fire is freely burning,
  Thou wilt live, and grow, and prosper,
  Wilt become the swords of heroes,
  Buckles for the belts of women.'
  "Ere arose the star of evening,
  Iron ore had left the marshes,
  From the water-beds had risen,
  Had been carried to the furnace,
  In the fire the smith had laid it,
  Laid it in his smelting furnace.
  Ilmarinen starts the bellows,
  Gives three motions of the handle,
  And the iron flows in streamlets
  From the forge of the magician,
  Soon becomes like baker's leaven,
  Soft as dough for bread of barley.
  Then out-screamed the metal, Iron:
  'Wondrous blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Take, O take me from thy furnace,
  From this fire and cruel torture.'
  "Ilmarinen thus made answer:
  'I will take thee from my furnace,
  'Thou art but a little frightened,
  Thou shalt be a mighty power,
  Thou shalt slay the best of heroes,
  Thou shalt wound thy dearest brother.'
  "Straightway Iron made this promise,
  Vowed and swore in strongest accents,
  By the furnace, by the anvil,
  By the tongs, and by the hammer,
  These the words he vowed and uttered:
  'Many trees that I shall injure,
  Shall devour the hearts of mountains,
  Shall not slay my nearest kindred,
  Shall not kill the best of heroes,
  Shall not wound my dearest brother;
  Better live in civil freedom,
  Happier would be my life-time,
  Should I serve my fellow-beings,
  Serve as tools for their convenience,
  Than as implements of warfare,
  Slay my friends and nearest. kindred,
  Wound the children of my mother.'
  "Now the master, Ilmarinen,
  The renowned and skilful blacksmith,
  From the fire removes the iron,
  Places it upon the anvil,
  Hammers well until it softens,
  Hammers many fine utensils,
  Hammers spears, and swords, and axes,
  Hammers knives, and forks, and hatchets,
  Hammers tools of all descriptions.
  "Many things the blacksmith needed,
  Many things he could not fashion,
  Could not make the tongue of iron,
  Could not hammer steel from iron,
  Could not make the iron harden.
  Well considered Ilmarinen,
  Deeply thought and long reflected.
  Then he gathered birchen ashes,
  Steeped the ashes in the water,
  Made a lye to harden iron,
  Thus to form the steel most needful.
  With his tongue he tests the mixture,
  Weighs it long and well considers,
  And the blacksmith speaks as follows:
  'All this labor is for nothing,
  Will not fashion steel from iron,
  Will not make the soft ore harden.'
  "Now a bee flies from the meadow,
  Blue-wing coming from the flowers,
  Flies about, then safely settles
  Near the furnace of the smithy.
  "'Thus the smith the bee addresses,
  These the words of Ilmarinen:
  'Little bee, thou tiny birdling,
  Bring me honey on thy winglets,
  On thy tongue, I pray thee, bring me
  Sweetness from the fragrant meadows,
  From the little cups of flowers,
  From the tips of seven petals,
  That we thus may aid the water
  To produce the steel from iron.'
  "Evil Hisi's bird, the hornet,
  Heard these words of Ilmarinen,
  Looking from the cottage gable,
  Flying to the bark of birch-trees,
  While the iron bars were heating
  While the steel was being tempered;
  Swiftly flew the stinging hornet,
  Scattered all the Hisi horrors,
  Brought the blessing of the serpent,
  Brought the venom of the adder,
  Brought the poison of the spider,
  Brought the stings of all the insects,
  Mixed them with the ore and water,
  While the steel was being, tempered.
  "Ilmarinen, skilful blacksmith,
  First of all the iron-workers,
  Thought the bee had surely brought him
  Honey from the fragrant meadows,
  From the little cups of flowers,
  From the tips of seven petals,
  And he spake the words that follow:
  'Welcome, welcome, is thy coming,
  Honeyed sweetness from the flowers
  Thou hast brought to aid the water,
  Thus to form the steel from iron!'
  "Ilmarinen, ancient blacksmith,
  Dipped the iron into water,
  Water mixed with many poisons,
  Thought it but the wild bee's honey;
  Thus he formed the steel from iron.
  When he plunged it into water,
  Water mixed with many poisons,
  When be placed it in the furnace,
  Angry grew the hardened iron,
  Broke the vow that he had taken,
  Ate his words like dogs and devils,
  Mercilessly cut his brother,
  Madly raged against his kindred,
  Caused the blood to flow in streamlets
  From the wounds of man and hero.
  This, the origin of iron,
  And of steel of light blue color."
  From the hearth arose the gray-beard,
  Shook his heavy looks and answered:
  "Now I know the source of iron,
  Whence the steel and whence its evils;
  Curses on thee, cruel iron,
  Curses on the steel thou givest,
  Curses on thee, tongue of evil,
  Cursed be thy life forever!
  Once thou wert of little value,
  Having neither form nor beauty,
  Neither strength nor great importance,
  When in form of milk thou rested,
  When for ages thou wert hidden
  In the breasts of God's three daughters,
  Hidden in their heaving bosoms,
  On the borders of the cloudlets,
  In the blue vault of the heavens.
  "Thou wert once of little value,
  Having neither form nor beauty,
  Neither strength nor great importance,
  When like water thou wert resting
  On the broad back of the marshes,
  On the steep declines of mountains,
  When thou wert but formless matter,
  Only dust of rusty color.
  "Surely thou wert void of greatness,
  Having neither strength nor beauty,
  When the moose was trampling on thee,
  When the roebuck trod upon thee,
  When the tracks of wolves were in thee,
  And the bear-paws scratched thy body.
  Surely thou hadst little value
  When the skilful Ilmarinen,
  First of all the iron-workers,
  Brought thee from the blackened swamp-lands,
  Took thee to his ancient smithy,
  Placed thee in his fiery furnace.
  Truly thou hadst little vigor,
  Little strength, and little danger,
  When thou in the fire wert hissing,
  Rolling forth like seething water,
  From the furnace of the smithy,
  When thou gavest oath the strongest,
  By the furnace, by the anvil,
  By the tongs, and by the hammer,
  By the dwelling of the blacksmith,
  By the fire within the furnace.
  "Now forsooth thou hast grown mighty,
  Thou canst rage in wildest fury;
  Thou hast broken all thy pledges,
  All thy solemn vows hast broken,
  Like the dogs thou shamest honor,
  Shamest both thyself and kindred,
  Tainted all with breath of evil.
  Tell who drove thee to this mischief,
  Tell who taught thee all thy malice,
  Tell who gavest thee thine evil!
  Did thy father, or thy mother,
  Did the eldest of thy brothers,
  Did the youngest of thy sisters,
  Did the worst of all thy kindred
  Give to thee thine evil nature?
  Not thy father, nor thy mother,
  Not the eldest of thy brothers,
  Not the youngest of thy sisters,
  Not the worst of all thy kindred,
  But thyself hast done this mischief,
  Thou the cause of all our trouble.
  Come and view thine evil doings,
  And amend this flood of damage,
  Ere I tell thy gray-haired mother,
  Ere I tell thine aged father.
  Great indeed a mother's anguish,
  Great indeed a father's sorrow,
  When a son does something evil,
  When a child runs wild and lawless.
  "Crimson streamlet, cease thy flowing
  From the wounds of Wainamoinen;
  Blood of ages, stop thy coursing
  From the veins of the magician;
  Stand like heaven's crystal pillars,
  Stand like columns in the ocean,
  Stand like birch-trees in the forest,
  Like the tall reeds in the marshes,
  Like the high-rocks on the sea-coast,
  Stand by power of mighty magic!
  "Should perforce thy will impel thee,
  Flow thou on thine endless circuit,
  Through the veins of Wainamoinen,
  Through the bones, and through the muscles,
  Through the lungs, and heart, and liver,
  Of the mighty sage and singer;
  Better be the food of heroes,
  Than to waste thy strength and virtue
  On the meadows and the woodlands,
  And be lost in dust and ashes.
  Flow forever in thy circle;
  Thou must cease this crimson out-flow;
  Stain no more the grass and flowers,
  Stain no more these golden hill-tops,
  Pride and beauty of our heroes.
  In the veins of the magician,
  In the heart of Wainamoinen,
  Is thy rightful home and storehouse.
  Thither now withdraw thy forces,
  Thither hasten, swiftly flowing;
  Flow no more as crimson currents,
  Fill no longer crimson lakelets,
  Must not rush like brooks in spring-tide,
  Nor meander like the rivers.
  "Cease thy flow, by word of magic,
  Cease as did the falls of Tyrya,
  As the rivers of Tuoni,
  When the sky withheld her rain-drops,
  When the sea gave up her waters,
  In the famine of the seasons,
  In the years of fire and torture.
  If thou heedest not this order,
  I shall offer other measures,
  Know I well of other forces;
  I shall call the Hisi irons,
  In them I shall boil and roast thee,
  Thus to check thy crimson flowing,
  Thus to save the wounded hero.
  "If these means be inefficient,
  Should these measures prove unworthy,
  I shall call omniscient Ukko,
  Mightiest of the creators,
  Stronger than all ancient heroes,
  Wiser than the world-magicians;
  He will check the crimson out-flow,
  He will heal this wound of hatchet.
  "Ukko, God of love and mercy,
  God and Master Of the heavens,
  Come thou hither, thou art needed,
  Come thou quickly I beseech thee,
  Lend thy hand to aid thy children,
  Touch this wound with healing fingers,
  Stop this hero's streaming life-blood,
  Bind this wound with tender leaflets,
  Mingle with them healing flowers,
  Thus to check this crimson current,
  Thus to save this great magician,
  Save the life of Wainamoinen."
  Thus at last the blood-stream ended,
  As the magic words were spoken.
  Then the gray-beard, much rejoicing,
  Sent his young son to the smithy,
  There to make a healing balsam,
  From the herbs of tender fibre,
  From the healing plants and flowers,
  From the stalks secreting honey,
  From the roots, and leaves, and blossoms.
  On the way he meets an oak-tree,
  And the oak the son addresses:
  "Hast thou honey in thy branches,
  Does thy sap run full of sweetness?"
  Thus the oak-tree wisely answers:
  "Yea, but last night dripped the honey
  Down upon my spreading branches,
  And the clouds their fragrance sifted,
  Sifted honey on my leaflets,
  From their home within the heavens."
  Then the son takes oak-wood splinters,
  Takes the youngest oak-tree branches,
  Gathers many healing grasses,
  Gathers many herbs and flowers,
  Rarest herbs that grow in Northland,
  Places them within the furnace
  In a kettle made of copper;
  Lets them steep and boil together,
  Bits of bark chipped from the oak-tree,
  Many herbs of healing virtues;
  Steeps them one day, then a second,
  Three long days of summer weather,
  Days and nights in quick succession;
  Then he tries his magic balsam,
  Looks to see if it is ready,
  If his remedy is finished;
  But the balsam is unworthy.
  Then he added other grasses,
  Herbs of every healing virtue,
  That were brought from distant nations,
  Many hundred leagues from Northland,
  Gathered by the wisest minstrels,
  Thither brought by nine enchanters.
  Three days more be steeped the balsam,
  Three nights more the fire be tended,
  Nine the days and nights be watched it,
  Then again be tried the ointment,
  Viewed it carefully and tested,
  Found at last that it was ready,
  Found the magic balm was finished.
  Near by stood a branching birch-tree.
  On the border of the meadow,
  Wickedly it had been broken,
  Broken down by evil Hisi;
  Quick he takes his balm of healing,
  And anoints the broken branches,
  Rubs the balsam in the fractures,
  Thus addresses then the birch-tree:
  "With this balsam I anoint thee,
  With this salve thy wounds I cover,
  Cover well thine injured places;
  Now the birch-tree shall recover,
  Grow more beautiful than ever."
  True, the birch-tree soon recovered,
  Grew more beautiful than ever,
  Grew more uniform its branches,
  And its bole more strong and stately.
  Thus it was be tried the balsam,
  Thus the magic salve he tested,
  Touched with it the splintered sandstone,
  Touched the broken blocks of granite,
  Touched the fissures in the mountains,
  And the broken parts united,
  All the fragments grew together.
  Then the young boy quick returning
  With the balsam he had finished,
  To the gray-beard gave the ointment,
  And the boy these measures uttered
  "Here I bring the balm of healing,
  Wonderful the salve I bring thee;
  It will join the broken granite,
  Make the fragments grow together,
  Heat the fissures in the mountains,
  And restore the injured birch-tree."
  With his tongue the old man tested,
  Tested thus the magic balsam,
  Found the remedy effective,
  Found the balm had magic virtues;
  Then anointed he the minstrel,
  Touched the wounds of Wainamoinen,
  Touched them with his magic balsam,
  With the balm of many virtues;
  Speaking words of ancient wisdom,
  These the words the gray-beard uttered:
  "Do not walk in thine own virtue,
  Do not work in thine own power,
  Walk in strength of thy Creator;
  Do not speak in thine own wisdom,
  Speak with tongue of mighty Ukko.
  In my mouth, if there be sweetness,
  It has come from my Creator;
  If my bands are filled with beauty,
  All the beauty comes from Ukko."
  When the wounds had been anointed,
  When the magic salve had touched them,
  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen
  Suffered fearful pain and anguish,
  Sank upon the floor in torment,
  Turning one way, then another,
  Sought for rest and found it nowhere,
  Till his pain the gray-beard banished,
  Banished by the aid of magic,
  Drove away his killing torment
  To the court of all our trouble,
  To the highest hill of torture,
  To the distant rocks and ledges,
  To the evil-bearing mountains,
  To the realm of wicked Hisi.
  Then be took some silken fabric,
  Quick he tore the silk asunder,
  Making equal strips for wrapping,
  Tied the ends with silken ribbons,
  Making thus a healing bandage;
  Then he wrapped with skilful fingers
  Wainamoinen's knee and ankle,
  Wrapped the wounds of the magician,
  And this prayer the gray-beard uttered
  "Ukko's fabric is the bandage,
  Ukko's science is the surgeon,
  These have served the wounded hero,
  Wrapped the wounds of the magician.
  Look upon us, God of mercy,
  Come and guard us, kind Creator,
  And protect us from all evil!
  Guide our feet lest they may stumble,
  Guard our lives from every danger,
  From the wicked wilds of Hisi."
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Felt the mighty aid of magic,
  Felt the help of gracious Ukko,
  Straightway stronger grew in body,
  Straightway were the wounds united,
  Quick the fearful pain departed.
  Strong and hardy grew the hero,
  Straightway walked in perfect freedom,
  Turned his knee in all directions,
  Knowing neither pain nor trouble.
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Raised his eyes to high Jumala,
  Looked with gratitude to heaven,
  Looked on high, in joy and gladness,
  Then addressed omniscient Ukko,
  This the prayer the minstrel uttered:
  "O be praised, thou God of mercy,
  Let me praise thee, my Creator,
  Since thou gavest me assistance,
  And vouchsafed me thy protection,
  Healed my wounds and stilled mine anguish,
  Banished all my pain and trouble,
  Caused by Iron and by Hisi.
  O, ye people of Wainola,
  People of this generation,
  And the folk of future ages,
  Fashion not in emulation,
  River boat, nor ocean shallop,
  Boasting of its fine appearance,
  God alone can work completion,
  Give to cause its perfect ending,
  Never hand of man can find it,
  Never can the hero give it,
  Ukko is the only Master."



  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  Takes his steed of copper color,
  Hitches quick his fleet-foot courser,
  Puts his racer to the snow-sledge,
  Straightway springs upon the cross-seat,
  Snaps his whip adorned with jewels.
  Like the winds the steed flies onward,
  Like a lightning flash, the racer
  Makes the snow-sledge creak and rattle,
  Makes the highway quickly vanish,
  Dashes on through fen and forest,
  Over hills and through the valleys,
  Over marshes, over mountains,
  Over fertile plains and meadows;
  Journeys one day, then a second,
  So a third from morn till evening,
  Till the third day evening brings him
  To the endless bridge of Osmo,
  To the Osmo-fields and pastures,
  To the plains of Kalevala;
  When the hero spake as follows:
  "May the wolves devour the dreamer,
  Eat the Laplander for dinner,
  May disease destroy the braggart,
  Him who said that I should never
  See again my much-loved home-land,
  Nevermore behold my kindred,
  Never during all my life-time,
  Never while the sunshine brightens,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers
  On the meadows of Wainola,
  On the plains of Kalevala."
  Then began old Wainamoinen,
  Ancient bard and famous singer,
  To renew his incantations;
  Sang aloft a wondrous pine-tree,
  Till it pierced the clouds in growing
  With its golden top and branches,
  Till it touched the very heavens,
  Spread its branches in the ether,
  In the ever-shining sunlight.
  Now he sings again enchanting,
  Sings the Moon to shine forever
  In the fir-tree's emerald branches;
  In its top he sings the Great Bear.
  Then be quickly journeys homeward,
  Hastens to his golden portals,
  Head awry and visage wrinkled,
  Crooked cap upon his forehead,
  Since as ransom he had promised
  Ilmarinen, magic artist,
  Thus to save his life from torture
  On the distant fields of Northland
  In the dismal Sariola.
  When his stallion he had halted
  On the Osmo-field and meadow,
  Quickly rising in his snow-sledge,
  The magician heard one knocking,
  Breaking coal within the smithy,
  Beating with a heavy hammer.
  Wainamoinen, famous minstrel,
  Entering the smithy straightway,
  Found the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Knocking with his copper hammer.
  Ilmarinen spake as follows:
  "Welcome, brother Wainamoinen,
  Old and worthy Wainamoinen!
  Why so long hast thou been absent,
  Where hast thou so long been hiding?"
  Wainamoinen then made answer,
  These the words of the magician:
  "Long indeed have I been living,
  Many dreary days have wandered,
  Many cheerless nights have lingered,
  Floating on the cruel ocean,
  Weeping in the fens and woodlands
  Of the never-pleasant Northland,
  In the dismal Sariola;
  With the Laplanders I've wandered,
  With the people filled with witchcraft."
  Promptly answers Ilmarinen,
  These the words the blacksmith uses:
  "O thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Famous and eternal singer,
  Tell me of thy journey northward,
  Of thy wanderings in Lapland,
  Of thy dismal journey homeward."
  Spake the minstrel, Wainamoinen:
  "I have much to tell thee, brother,
  Listen to my wondrous story:
  In the Northland lives a virgin,
  In a village there, a maiden,
  That will not accept a lover,
  That a hero's hand refuses,
  That a wizard's heart disdaineth;
  All of Northland sings her praises,
  Sings her worth and magic beauty,
  Fairest maiden of Pohyola,
  Daughter of the earth and ocean.
  From her temples beams the moonlight,
  From her breast, the gleam of sunshine,
  From her forehead shines the rainbow,
  On her neck, the seven starlets,
  And the Great Bear from her shoulder.
  "Ilmarinen, worthy brother,
  Thou the only skilful blacksmith,
  Go and see her wondrous beauty,
  See her gold and silver garments,
  See her robed in finest raiment,
  See her sitting on the rainbow,
  Walking on the clouds of purple.
  Forge for her the magic Sampo,
  Forge the lid in many colors,
  Thy reward shall be the virgin,
  Thou shalt win this bride of beauty;
  Go and bring the lovely maiden
  To thy home in Kalevala."
  Spake the brother, Ilmarinen:
  O thou cunning Wainamoinen,
  Thou hast promised me already
  To the ever-darksome Northland,
  Thy devoted head to ransom,
  Thus to rescue thee from trouble.
  I shall never visit Northland,
  Shall not go to see thy maiden,
  Do not love the Bride of Beauty;
  Never while the moonlight glimmers,
  Shall I go to dreary Pohya,
  To the plains of Sariola,
  Where the people eat each other,
  Sink their heroes in the ocean,
  Not for all the maids of Lapland."
  Spake the brother, Wainamoinen:
  "I can tell thee greater wonders,
  Listen to my wondrous story:
  I have seen the fir-tree blossom,
  Seen its flowers with emerald branches,
  On the Osmo-fields and woodlands;
  In its top, there shines the moonlight,
  And the Bear lives in its branches."
  Ilmarinen thus made answer:
  "I cannot believe thy story,
  Cannot trust thy tale of wonder,
  Till I see the blooming fir-tree,
  With its many emerald branches,
  With its Bear and golden moonlight."
  This is Wainamoinen's answer:
  "Wilt thou not believe my story?
  Come with me and I will show thee
  If my lips speak fact or fiction."
  Quick they journey to discover,
  Haste to view the wondrous fir-tree;
  Wainamoinen leads the journey,
  Ilmarinen closely follows.
  As they near the Osmo-borders,
  Ilmarinen hastens forward
  That be may behold the wonder,
  Spies the Bear Within the fir-top,
  Sitting on its emerald branches,
  Spies the gleam of golden moonlight.
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen,
  These the words the singer uttered:
  Climb this tree, dear Ilmarinen,
  And bring down the golden moonbeams,
  Bring the Moon and Bear down with thee
  From the fir-tree's lofty branches."
  Ilmarinen, full consenting,
  Straightway climbed the golden fir-tree,
  High upon the bow of heaven,
  Thence to bring the golden moonbeams,
  Thence to bring the Bear of heaven,
  From the fir-tree's topmost branches.
  Thereupon the blooming fir-tree
  Spake these words to Ilmarinen:
  "O thou senseless, thoughtless hero,
  Thou hast neither wit nor instinct;
  Thou dost climb my golden branches,
  Like a thing of little judgment,
  Thus to get my pictured moonbeams,
  Take away my silver starlight,
  Steal my Bear and blooming branches."
  Quick as thought old Wainamoinen
  Sang again in magic accents,
  Sang a storm-wind in the heavens,
  Sang the wild winds into fury,
  And the singer spake as follows:
  `Take, O storm-wind, take the forgeman,
  Carry him within thy vessel,
  Quickly hence, and land the hero
  On the ever-darksome Northland,
  On the dismal Sariola."
  Now the storm-wind quickly darkens,
  Quickly piles the air together,
  Makes of air a sailing vessel,
  Takes the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Fleetly from the fir-tree branches,
  Toward the never-pleasant Northland,
  Toward the dismal Sariola.
  Through the air sailed Ilmarinen,
  Fast and far the hero travelled,
  Sweeping onward, sailing northward,
  Riding in the track of storm-winds,
  O'er the Moon, beneath the sunshine,
  On the broad back of the Great Bear,
  Till he neared Pohyola's woodlands,
  Neared the homes of Sariola,
  And alighted undiscovered,
  Was Dot noticed by the hunters,
  Was not scented by the watch-dogs.
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Ancient, toothless dame of Northland,
  Standing in the open court-yard,
  Thus addresses Ilmarinen,
  As she spies the hero-stranger:
  "Who art thou of ancient heroes,
  Who of all the host of heroes,
  Coming here upon the storm-wind,
  O'er the sledge-path of the ether,
  Scented not by Pohya's watch-dogs?
  This is Ilmarinen's answer:
  "I have surely not come hither
  To be barked at by the watch-dogs,
  At these unfamiliar portals,
  At the gates of Sariola."
  Thereupon the Northland hostess
  Asks again the hero-stranger:
  "Hast thou ever been acquainted
  With the blacksmith of Wainola,
  With the hero, Ilmarinen,
  With the skilful smith and artist?
  Long I've waited for his coming,
  Long this one has been expected,
  On the borders of the Northland,
  Here to forge for me the Sampo."
  Spake the hero, Ilmarinen:
  "Well indeed am I acquainted
  With the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  I myself am Ilmarinen,
  I, the skilful smith and artist."
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Toothless dame of Sariola,
  Straightway rushes to her dwelling,
  These the words that Louhi utters:
  "Come, thou youngest of my daughters,
  Come, thou fairest of my maidens,
  Dress thyself in finest raiment,
  Deck thy hair with rarest jewels,
  Pearls upon thy swelling bosom,
  On thy neck, a golden necklace,
  Bind thy head with silken ribbons,
  Make thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy,
  And thy visage fair and winsome,
  Since the artist, Ilmarinen,
  Hither comes from Kalevala,
  Here to forge for us the Sampo,
  Hammer us the lid in colors."
  Now the daughter of the Northland,
  Honored by the land and water,
  Straightway takes her choicest raiment,
  Takes her dresses rich in beauty,
  Finest of her silken wardrobe,
  Now adjusts her silken fillet,
  On her brow a band of copper,
  Round her waist a golden girdle,
  Round her neck a pearly necklace,
  Shining gold upon her bosom,
  In her hair the threads of silver.
  From her dressing-room she hastens,
  To the hall she bastes and listens,
  Full of beauty, full of joyance,
  Ears erect and eyes bright-beaming,
  Ruddy cheeks and charming visage,
  Waiting for the hero-stranger.
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Leads the hero, Ilmarinen,
  To her dwelling-rooms in Northland,
  To her home in Sariola,
  Seats him at her well-filled table,
  Gives to him the finest viands,
  Gives him every needed comfort,
  Then addresses him as follows:
  "O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Master of the forge and smithy,
  Canst thou forge for me the Sampo,
  Hammer me the lid in colors,
  From the tips of white-swan feathers,
  From the milk of greatest virtue,
  From a single grain of barley,
  From the finest wool of lambkins?
  Thou shalt have my fairest daughter,
  Recompense for this thy service."
  These the words of Ilmarinen:
  "I will forge for thee the Sampo,
  Hammer thee the lid in colors,
  From the tips of white-swan feathers,
  From the milk of greatest virtue,
  From a single grain of barley,
  From the finest wool of lambkins?
  Since I forged the arch of heaven,
  Forged the air a concave cover,
  Ere the earth had a beginning."
  Thereupon the magic blacksmith
  Went to forge the wondrous Sampo,
  Went to find a blacksmith's workshop,
  Went to find the tools to work with;
  But he found no place for forging,
  Found no smithy, found no bellows,
  Found no chimney, found no anvil,
  Found no tongs, and found no hammer.
  Then the-artist, Ilmarinen.
  Spake these words, soliloquizing:
  "Only women grow discouraged,
  Only knaves leave work unfinished,
  Not the devils, nor the heroes,
  Nor the Gods of greater knowledge."
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Sought a place to build a smithy,
  Sought a place to plant a bellows,
  On the borders of the Northland,
  On the Pohya-hills and meadows;
  Searched one day, and then a second;
  Ere the evening of the third day,
  Came a rock within his vision,
  Came a stone with rainbow-colors.
  There the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Set at work to build his smithy,
  Built a fire and raised a chimney;
  On the next day laid his bellows,
  On the third day built his furnace,
  And began to forge the Sampo.
  The eternal magic artist,
  Ancient blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  First of all the iron-workers,
  Mixed together certain metals,
  Put the mixture in the caldron,
  Laid it deep within the furnace,
  Called the hirelings to the forging.
  Skilfully they work the bellows,
  Tend the fire and add the fuel,
  Three most lovely days of summer,
  Three short nights of bright midsummer,
  Till the rocks begin to blossom,
  In the foot-prints of the workmen,
  From the magic heat and furnace.
  On the first day, Ilmarinen
  Downward bent and well examined,
  On the bottom of his furnace,
  Thus to see what might be forming
  From the magic fire and metals.
  From the fire arose a cross-bow,
  "With the brightness of the moonbeams,
  Golden bow with tips of silver;
  On the shaft was shining copper,
  And the bow was strong and wondrous,
  But alas! it was ill-natured,
  Asking for a hero daily,
  Two the heads it asked on feast-days.
  Ilmarinen, skilful artist,
  Was not pleased with this creation,
  Broke the bow in many pieces,
  Threw them back within the furnace,
  Kept the workmen at the bellows,
  Tried to forge the magic Sampo.
  On the second day, the blacksmith
  Downward bent and well examined,
  On the bottom of the furnace;
  From the fire, a skiff of metals,
  Came a boat of purple color,
  All the ribs were colored golden,
  And the oars were forged from copper;
  Thus the skiff was full of beauty,
  But alas! a thing of evil;
  Forth it rushes into trouble,
  Hastens into every quarrel,
  Hastes without a provocation
  Into every evil combat.
  Ilmarinen, metal artist,
  Is not pleased with this creation,
  Breaks the skiff in many fragments,
  Throws them back within the furnace,
  Keeps the workmen at the bellows,
  Thus to forge the magic Sampo.
  On the third day, Ilmarinen,
  First of all the metal-workers,
  Downward bent and well examined,
  On the bottom of the furnace;
  There be saw a heifer rising,
  Golden were the horns of Kimmo,
  On her head the Bear of heaven,
  On her brow a disc of sunshine,
  Beautiful the cow of magic;
  But alas! she is ill-tempered,
  Rushes headlong through the forest,
  Rushes through the swamps and meadows,
  Wasting all her milk in running.
  Ilmarinen, the magician.
  Is not pleased with this creation,
  Cuts the magic cow in pieces,
  Throws them in the fiery furnace,
  Sets the workmen at the bellows,
  Thus to forge the magic Sampo.
  On the fourth day, Ilmarinen
  Downward bent and well examined,
  To the bottom of the furnace;
  There beheld a plow in beauty
  Rising from the fire of metals,
  Golden was the point and plowshare,
  And the beam was forged from copper,
  And the handles, molten silver,
  Beautiful the plow and wondrous;
  But alas! it is ill-mannered,
  Plows up fields of corn and barley,
  Furrows through the richest meadows.
  Ilmarinen, metal artist,
  Is not pleased with this creation,
  Quickly breaks the plow in pieces,
  Throws them back within the furnace,
  Lets the winds attend the bellows,
  Lets the storm-winds fire the metals.
  Fiercely vie the winds of heaven,
  East-wind rushing, West-wind roaring,
  South-wind crying, North-wind howling,
  Blow one day and then a second,
  Blow the third from morn till even,
  When the fire leaps through the windows,
  Through the door the sparks fly upward,
  Clouds of smoke arise to heaven;
  With the clouds the black smoke mingles,
  As the storm-winds ply the bellows.
  On the third night Ilmarinen,
  Bending low to view his metals,
  On the bottom of the furnace,
  Sees the magic Sampo rising,
  Sees the lid in many colors.
  Quick the artist of Wainola
  Forges with the tongs and anvil,
  Knocking with a heavy hammer,
  Forges skilfully the Sampo;
  On one side the flour is grinding,
  On another salt is making,
  On a third is money forging,
  And the lid is many-colored.
  Well the Sampo grinds when finished,
  To and fro the lid in rocking,
  Grinds one measure at the day-break,
  Grinds a measure fit for eating,
  Grinds a second for the market,
  Grinds a third one for the store-house.
  Joyfully the dame of Northland,
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Takes away the magic Sampo,
  To the hills of Sariola,
  To the copper-bearing mountains,
  Puts nine locks upon the wonder,
  Makes three strong roots creep around it;
  In the earth they grow nine fathoms,
  One large root beneath the mountain,
  One beneath the sandy sea-bed,
  One beneath the mountain-dwelling.
  Modestly pleads Ilmarinen
  For the maiden's willing answer,
  These the words of the magician:
  "Wilt thou come with me, fair maiden,
  Be my wife and queen forever?
  I have forged for thee the Sampo,
  Forged the lid in many colors."
  Northland's fair and lovely daughter
  Answers thus the metal-worker:
  "Who will in the coming spring-time,
  Who will in the second summer,
  Guide the cuckoo's song and echo?
  Who will listen to his calling,
  Who will sing with him in autumn,
  Should I go to distant regions,
  Should this cheery maiden vanish
  From the fields of Sariola,
  From Pohyola's fens and forests,
  Where the cuckoo sings and echoes?
  Should I leave my father's dwelling,
  Should my mother's berry vanish,
  Should these mountains lose their cherry,
  Then the cuckoo too would vanish,
  All the birds would leave the forest,
  Leave the summit of the mountain,
  Leave my native fields and woodlands,
  Never shall I, in my life-time,
  Say farewell to maiden freedom,
  Nor to summer cares and labors,
  Lest the harvest be ungarnered,
  Lest the berries be ungathered,
  Lest the song-birds leave the forest,
  Lest the mermaids leave the waters,
  Lest I sing with them no longer."
  Ilmarinen, the magician,
  The eternal metal-forger,
  Cap awry and head dejected,
  Disappointed, heavy-hearted,
  Empty-handed, well considers,
  How to reach his distant country,
  Reach his much-loved home and kinded,
  Gain the meadows of Wainola,
  From the never-pleasant Northland,
  From the darksome Sariola.
  Louhi thus addressed the suitor:
  "O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Why art thou so heavy-hearted,
  Why thy visage so dejected?
  Hast thou in thy mind to journey
  From the vales and hills of Pohya,
  To the meadows of Wainola,
  To thy home in Kalevala?
  This is Ilmarinen's answer:
  "Thitherward my mind is tending,
  To my home-land let me journey,
  With my kindred let me linger,
  Be at rest in mine own country."
  Straightway Louhi, dame of Northland,
  Gave the hero every comfort,
  Gave him food and rarest viands,
  Placed him in a boat of copper,
  In a copper-banded vessel,
  Called the winds to his assistance,
  Made the North-wind guide him homeward.
  Thus the skilful Ilmarinen
  Travels toward his native country,
  On the blue back of the waters,
  Travels one day, then a second,
  Till the third day evening brings him
  To Wainola's peaceful meadows,
  To his home in Kalevala.
  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen
  Thus addresses Ilmarinen:
  "O my brother, metal-artist,
  Thou eternal wonder-worker,
  Didst thou forge the magic Sampo,
  Forge the lid in many colors?"
  Spake the brother, Ilmarinen,
  These the words the master uttered:
  "Yea, I forged the magic Sampo,
  Forged the lid in many colors;
  To and fro the lid in rocking
  Grinds one measure at the day-dawn,
  Grinds a measure fit for eating,
  Grinds a second for the market,
  Grinds a third one for the store-house.
  Louhi has the wondrous Sampo,
  I have not the Bride of Beauty."



  This the time to sing of Ahti,
  Son of Lempo, Kaukomieli,
  Also known as Lemminkainen.
  Ahti was the king of islands,
  Grew amid the island-dwellings,
  At the site of his dear mother,
  On the borders of the ocean,
  On the points of promontories.
  Ahti fed upon the salmon,
  Fed upon the ocean whiting,
  Thus became a mighty hero,
  In his veins the blood of ages,
  Read erect and form commanding,
  Growth of mind and body perfect
  But alas! he had his failings,
  Bad indeed his heart and morals,
  Roaming in unworthy places,
  Staying days and nights in sequences
  At the homes of merry maidens,
  At the dances of the virgins,
  With the maids of braided tresses.
  Up in Sahri lived a maiden,
  Lived the fair and winsome Kulli,
  Lovely as a summer-flower,
  From a kingly house descended,
  Grew to perfect form and beauty,
  Living in her father's cottage,
  Home of many ancient heroes,
  Beautiful was she and queenly,
  Praised throughout the whole of Ehstland;
  From afar men came to woo her,
  To the birthplace of the virgin,
  To the household of her mother.
  For his son the Day-star wooes her,
  But she will not go to Sun-land,
  Will not shine beside the Day-star,
  In his haste to bring the summer.
  For her son, the bright Moon wooes her,
  But she will not go to Moon-land,
  By the bright Moon will not glimmer,
  Will not run through boundless ether.
  For his son the Night-star wooes her,
  But she will not go to Star-land,
  Will not twinkle in the starlight,
  Through the dreary nights in winter.
  Lovers come from distant Ehstlaud,
  Others come from far-off Ingern,
  But they cannot win the maiden,
  This the answer that she gives them
  "Vainly are your praises lavished
  Vainly is your silver offered,
  Wealth and praise are no temptation;
  Never shall I go to Ehstland,
  Never shall I go a-rowing
  On the waters of the Ingern,
  Shall not cross the Sahri-waters,
  Never eat the fish of Ehstland,
  Never taste the Ehstland viands.
  Ingerland shall never see me,
  Will not row upon her rivers,
  Will not step within her borders;
  Hunger there, and fell starvation,
  Wood is absent, fuel wanting,
  Neither water, wheat, nor barley,
  Even rye is not abundant."
  Lemminkainen of the islands,
  Warlike hero, Kaukomieli,
  Undertakes to win the maiden,
  Woo and win the Sahri-flower,
  Win a bride so highly honored,
  Win the maid with golden tresses,
  Win the Sahri maid of beauty;
  But his mother gives him warning:
  "Nay," replies his gray-haired mother,
  "Do not woo, my son beloved,
  Maiden of a higher station;
  She will never make thee happy
  With her lineage of Sahri."
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen,
  These the words of Kaukomieli:
  "Should I come from lowly station,
  Though my tribe is not the highest,
  I shall woo to please my fancy,
  Woo the maiden fair and lovely,
  Choose a wife for worth and beauty."
  This the anxious mother's answer:
  "Lemminkainen, son beloved,
  Listen to advice maternal:
  Do not go to distant Sahri,
  To her tribe of many branches;
  All the maidens there will taunt thee,
  All the women will deride thee."
  Lemminkainen, little hearing,
  Answers thus his mother's pleading:
  "I will still the sneers of women,
  Silence all the taunts of maidens,
  I will crush their haughty bosoms,
  Smite the hands and cheeks of infants;
  Surely this will check their insults,
  Fitting ending to derision!"
  This the answer of' the mother:
  "Woe is me, my son beloved!
  Woe is me, my life hard-fated!
  Shouldst thou taunt the Sahri daughters.
  Or insult the maids of virtue,
  Shouldst thou laugh them to derision,
  There will rise a great contention,
  Fierce the battle that will follow.
  All the hosts of Sahri-suitors,
  Armed in thousands will attack thee,
  And will slay thee for thy folly."
  Nothing listing, Lemminkainen,
  Heeding not his mother's warning,
  Led his war-horse from the stables,
  Quickly hitched the fiery charger,
  Fleetly drove upon his journey,
  To the distant Sahri-village,
  There to woo the Sahri-flower,
  There to win the Bride of Beauty.
  All the aged Sahri-women,
  All the young and lovely maidens
  Laughed to scorn the coming stranger
  Driving careless through the alleys,
  Wildly driving through the court-yard,
  Now upsetting in the gate-way,
  Breaking shaft, and hame, and runner.
  Then the fearless Lemminkainen,
  Mouth awry and visage wrinkled,
  Shook his sable locks and answered:
  "Never in my recollection
  Have I heard or seen such treatment,
  Never have I been derided,
  Never suffered sneers of women,
  Never suffered scorn of virgins,
  Not in my immortal life-time.
  Is there any place befitting
  On the Sahri-plains and pastures,
  Where to join in songs and dances?
  Is there here a hall for pleasure,
  Where the Sahri-maidens linger,
  Merry maids with braided tresses?"
  Thereupon the Sahri-maidens
  Answered from their promontory.,
  "Room enough is there in Sahri,
  Room upon the Sahri-pastures,
  Room for pleasure-halls and dances;
  Sing and dance upon our meadows,
  Be a shepherd on the mountains,
  Shepherd-boys have room for dancing;
  Indolent the Sahri-children,
  But the colts are fat and frisky."
  Little caring, Lemminkainen
  Entered service there as shepherd,
  In the daytime on the pastures,
  In the evening, making merry
  At the games of lively maidens,
  At the dances with the virgins,
  With the maids with braided tresses.
  Thus it was that Lemminkainen,
  Thus the shepherd, Kaukomieli,
  Quickly hushed the women's laughter,
  Quickly quenched the taunts of maidens,
  Quickly silenced their derision.
  All the dames and Sahri-daughters
  Soon were feasting Lemminkainen,
  At his side they danced and lingered.
  Only was there one among them,
  One among the Sahri-virgins,
  Harbored neither love nor wooers,
  Favored neither gods nor heroes,
  This the lovely maid Kyllikki,
  This the Sahri's fairest flower.
  Lemminkainen, full of pleasure,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Rowed a hundred boats in pieces,
  Pulled a thousand oars to fragments,
  While he wooed the Maid of Beauty,
  Tried to win the fair Kyllikki.
  Finally the lovely maiden,
  Fairest daughter of the Northland,
  Thus addresses Lemminkainen:
  "Why dost linger here, thou weak one,
  Why dost murmur on these borders,
  Why come wooing at my fireside,
  Wooing me in belt of copper?
  Have no time to waste upon thee,
  Rather give this stone its polish,
  Rather would I turn the pestle
  In the heavy sandstone mortar;
  Rather sit beside my mother
  In the dwellings of my father.
  Never shall I heed thy wooing,
  Neither wights nor whisks I care for,
  Sooner have a slender husband
  Since I have a slender body;
  Wish to have him fine of figure,
  Since perchance I am well-shapen;
  Wish to have him tall and stately,
  Since my form perchance is queenly;
  Never waste thy time in wooing
  Saliri's maid and favored flower."
  Time had gone but little distance,
  Scarcely had a month passed over,
  When upon a merry evening,
  Where the maidens meet for dancing,
  In the glen beyond the meadow,
  On a level patch of verdure,
  Came too soon the maid Kyllikki,
  Sahri's pride, the Maid of Beauty;
  Quickly followed Lemminkainen,
  With his stallion proudly prancing,
  Fleetest racer of the Northland,
  Fleetly drives beyond the meadow,
  Where the maidens meet for dancing,
  Snatches quick the maid Kyllikki,
  On the settle seats the maiden,
  Quickly draws the leathern cover,
  And adjusts the brichen cross-bar,
  Whips his courser to a gallop.
  With a rush, and roar, and rattle,
  Speeds he homeward like the storm-wind,
  Speaks these words to those that listen:
  "Never, never, anxious maidens,
  Must ye give the information,
  That I carried off Kyllikki
  To my distant home and kindred.
  If ye do not heed this order,
  Ye shall badly fare as maidens;
  I shall sing to war your suitors,
  Sing them under spear and broadsword,
  That for months, and years, and ages,
  Never ye will see their faces,
  Never hear their merry voices,
  Never will they tread these uplands,
  Never will they join these dances,
  Never will they drive these highways."
  Sad the wailing of Kyllikki,
  Sad the weeping flower of Sahri!
  Listen to her tearful pleading:
  "Give, O give me back my freedom,
  Free me from the throes of thralldom,
  Let this maiden wander homeward,
  By some foot-path let me wander
  To my father who is grieving,
  To my mother who is weeping;
  Let me go or I will curse thee!
  If thou wilt not give me freedom,
  Wilt not let me wander homeward,
  Where my loved ones wait my coming,
  I have seven stalwart brothers,
  Seven sons of father's brother,
  Seven sons of mother's sister,
  Who pursue the tracks of red-deer,
  Hunt the hare upon the heather;
  They will follow thee and slay thee,
  Thus I'll gain my wished-for freedom."
  Lemminkainen, little heeding,
  Would not grant the maiden's wishes,
  Would not heed her plea for mercy.
  Spake again the waiting virgin,
  Pride and beauty of the Northland:
  "Joyful was I with my kindred,
  Joyful born and softly nurtured
  Merrily I spent my childhood,
  Happy I, in virgin-freedom,
  In the dwelling of my father,
  By the bedside of my mother,
  With my lineage in Sahri;
  But alas! all joy has vanished,
  All my happiness departed,
  All my maiden beauty waneth
  Since I met thine evil spirit,
  Shameless hero of dishonor,
  Cruel fighter of the islands,
  Merciless in civil combat."
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen,
  These the words of Kaukomieli:
  "Dearest maiden, fair Kyllikki,
  My sweet strawberry of Pohya,
  Still thine anguish, cease thy weeping,
  Be thou free from care and sorrow,
  Never shall I do thee evil,
  Never will my hands maltreat thee,
  Never will mine arms abuse thee,
  Never will my tongue revile thee,
  Never will my heart deceive thee.
  "Tell me why thou hast this anguish,
  Why thou hast this bitter sorrow,
  Why this sighing and lamenting,
  Tell me why this wail of sadness?
  Banish all thy cares and sorrows,
  Dry thy tears and still thine anguish,
  I have cattle, food, and shelter,
  I have home, and friends, and kindred,
  Kine upon the plains and uplands,
  In the marshes berries plenty,
  Strawberries upon the mountains
  I have kine that need no milking,
  Handsome kine that need no feeding,
  Beautiful if not well-tended;
  Need not tie them up at evening,
  Need not free them in the morning,
  Need not hunt them, need not feed them,
  Need not give them salt nor water.
  "Thinkest thou my race is lowly,
  Dost thou think me born ignoble,
  Does my lineage agrieve thee?
  Was not born in lofty station,
  From a tribe of noble heroes,
  From a worthy race descended;
  But I have a sword of fervor,
  And a spear yet filled with courage,
  Surely these are well descended,
  These were born from hero-races,
  Sharpened by the mighty Hisi,
  By the gods were forged and burnished;
  Therefore will I give thee greatness,
  Greatness of my race and nation,
  With my broadsword filled with fervor,
  With my spear still filled with courage."
  Anxiously the sighing maiden
  Thus addresses Lemminkainen:
  "O thou Ahti, son of Lempo,
  Wilt thou take this trusting virgin,
  As thy faithful life-companion,
  Take me under thy protection,
  Be to me a faithful husband,
  Swear to me an oath of honor,
  That thou wilt not go to battle,
  When for gold thou hast a longing,
  When thou wishest gold and silver?"
  This is Lemminkainen's answer:
  I will swear an oath of honor,
  That I'll never go to battle,
  When for gold I feel a longing,
  When I wish for gold and silver.
  Swear thou also on thine honor,
  Thou wilt go not to the village,
  When desire for dance impels thee,
  Wilt not visit village-dances."
  Thus the two made oath together,
  Registered their vows in heaven,
  Vowed before omniscient Ukko,
  Ne'er to go to war vowed Ahti,
  Never to the dance, Kyllikki.
  Lemminkainen, full of joyance,
  Snapped his whip above his courser,
  Whipped his racer to a gallop,
  And these words the hero uttered:
  "Fare ye well, ye Sahri-meadows,
  Roots of firs, and stumps of birch-trees.
  That I wandered through in summer,
  That I travelled o'er in winter,
  Where ofttimes in rainy seasons,
  At the evening hour I lingered,
  When I sought to win the virgin,
  Sought to win the Maid of Beauty,
  Fairest of the Sahri-flowers.
  Fare ye well, ye Sahri-woodlands,
  Seas and oceans, lakes and rivers,
  Vales and mountains, isles and inlets,
  Once the home of fair Kyllikki!"
  Quick the racer galloped homeward,
  Galloped on along the highway,
  Toward the meadows of Wainola,
  To the plains of Kalevala.
  As they neared the Ahti-dwellings,
  Thus Kyllikki spake in sorrow:
  "Cold and drear is thy cottage,
  Seeming like a place deserted;
  Who may own this dismal cabin,
  Who the one so little honored?"
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen,
  These the words that Ahti uttered:
  "Do not grieve about my cottage,
  Have no care about my chambers;
  I shall build thee other dwellings,
  I shall fashion them much better,
  Beams, and posts, and sills, and rafters,
  Fashioned from the sacred birch-wood."
  Now they reach the home of Ahti,
  Lemminkainen's home and birthplace,
  Enter they his mother's cottage;
  There they meet his aged mother,
  These the words the mother uses:
  "Long indeed hast thou been absent,
  Long in foreign lands hast wandered,
  Long in Sahri thou hast lingered!"
  This is Lemminkainen's answer:
  "All the host of Sahri-women,
  All the chaste and lovely maidens,
  All the maids with braided tresses,
  Well have paid for their derision,
  For their scorn and for their laughter,
  That they basely heaped upon me.
  I have brought the best among them
  In my sledge to this thy cottage;
  Well I wrapped her in my fur-robes,
  Kept her warm enwrapped in bear-skin,
  Brought her to my mother's dwelling,
  As my faithful life-companion;
  Thus I paid the scornful maidens,
  Paid them well for their derision.
  "Cherished mother of my being,
  I have found the long-sought jewel,
  I have won the Maid of Beauty.
  Spread our couch with finest linen,
  For our heads the softest pillows,
  On our table rarest viands,
  So that I may dwell in pleasure
  With my spouse, the bride of honor,
  With the pride of distant Sahri."
  This the answer of the mother:
  "Be thou praised, O gracious Ukko,
  Loudly praised, O thou Creator,
  Since thou givest me a daughter,
  Ahti's bride, my second daughter,
  Who can stir the fire at evening,
  Who can weave me finest fabrics,
  Who can twirl the useful spindle,
  Who can rinse my silken ribbons,
  Who can full the richest garments.
  "Son beloved, praise thy Maker,
  For the winning of this virgin,
  Pride and joy of distant Sahri
  Kind indeed is thy Creator,
  Wise the ever-knowing Ukko!
  Pure the snow upon the mountains,
  Purer still thy Bride of Beauty;
  White the foam upon the ocean,
  Whiter still her virgin-spirit;
  Graceful on the lakes, the white-swan,
  Still more graceful, thy companion:
  Beautiful the stars in heaven,
  Still more beautiful, Kyllikki.
  Larger make our humble cottage,
  Wider build the doors and windows,
  Fashion thou the ceilings higher,
  Decorate the walls in beauty,
  Now that thou a bride hast taken
  From a tribe of higher station,
  Purest maiden of creation,
  From the meadow-lands of Sahri,
  From the upper shores of Northland."



  Lemminkainen, artful husband,
  Reckless hero, Kaukomieli,
  Constantly beside his young wife.,
  Passed his life in sweet contentment,
  And the years rolled swiftly onward;
  Ahti thought not of the battles,
  Nor Kyllikki of the dances.
  Once upon a time it happened
  That the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Went upon the lake a-fishing,
  Was not home at early evening,
  As the cruel night descended;
  To the village went Kyllikki,
  To the dance of merry maidens.
  Who will tell the evil story,
  Who will bear the information
  To the husband, Lemminkainen?
  Ahti's sister tells the story,
  And the sister's name, Ainikki.
  Soon she spreads the cruel tidings,
  Straightway gives the information,
  Of Kyllikki's perjured honor,
  These the words Ainikki utters:
  "Ahti, my beloved brother,
  To the village went Kyllikki,
  To the hall of many strangers,
  To the plays and village dances,
  With the young men and the maidens,
  With the maids of braided tresses,
  To the halls of joy and pleasure."
  Lemminkainen, much dejected,
  Broken-hearted, flushed with anger,
  Spake these words in measured accents:
  "Mother dear, my gray-haired mother,
  Wilt thou straightway wash my linen
  In the blood of poison-serpents,
  In the black blood of the adder?
  I must hasten to the combat,
  To the camp-fires of the Northland,
  To the battle-fields of Lapland;
  To the village went Kyllikki,
  To the play of merry maidens,
  To the games and village dances,
  With the maids of braided tresses."
  Straightway speaks the wife, Kyllikki:
  "My beloved husband, Ahti,
  Do not go to war, I pray thee.
  In the evening I lay sleeping,
  Slumbering I saw in dream-land
  Fire upshooting from the chimney,
  Flames arising, mounting skyward,
  From the windows of this dwelling,
  From the summits of these rafters,
  Piercing through our upper chambers,
  Roaring like the fall of waters,
  Leaping from the floor and ceiling,
  Darting from the halls and doorways."
  But the doubting Lemminkainen
  Makes this answer to Kyllikki:
  "I discredit dreams or women,
  Have no faith in vows of maidens!
  Faithful mother of my being,
  Hither bring my mail of copper;
  Strong desire is stirring in me
  For the cup of deadly combat,
  For the mead of martial conquest."
  This the pleading mother's answer:
  "Lemminkainen, son beloved,
  Do not go to war I pray thee;
  We have foaming beer abundant,
  In our vessels beer of barley,
  Held in casks by oaken spigots;
  Drink this beer of peace and pleasure,
  Let us drink of it together."
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
  "I shall taste no more the viands,
  In the home of false Kyllikki;
  Rather would I drink the water
  From the painted tips of birch-oars;
  Sweeter far to me the water,
  Than the beverage of dishonor,
  At my mother's home and fireside!
  "Hither bring my martial doublet,
  Bring me now the sword of battle,
  Bring my father's sword of honor;
  I must go to upper Northland,
  To the battle-fields of Lapland,
  There to win me gold and silver."
  This the anxious mother's answer:
  "My beloved Kaukomieli,
  We have gold in great abundance,
  Gold and silver in the store-room;
  Recently upon the uplands,
  In the early hours of morning,
  Toiled the workmen in the corn-fields,
  Plowed the meadows filled with serpents,
  When the plowshare raised the cover
  From a chest of gold and silver,
  Countless was the gold uncovered,
  Hid beneath the grassy meadow;
  This the treasure I have brought thee,
  Take the countless gold in welcome."
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
  "Do not wish thy household silver,
  From the wars I'll earn my silver;
  Gold and silver from the combat
  Are to me of greater value
  Than the wealth thou hast discovered.
  Bring me now my heavy armor,
  Bring me too my spear and broadsword;
  To the Northland I must hasten,
  To the bloody wars of Lapland,
  Thither does my pride impel me,
  Thitherward my heart is turning.
  "I have heard a tale of Lapland,
  Some believe the wondrous story,
  That a maid in Pimentola
  Lives that does not care for suitors,
  Does not care for bearded heroes."
  This the aged mother's answer:
  "Warlike Athi, son beloved,
  In thy home thou hast Kyllikki,
  Fairest wife of all the islands;
  Strange to see two wives abiding
  In the home of but one husband."
  Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
  "To the village runs Kyllikki;
  Let her run to village dances,
  Let her sleep in other dwellings,
  With the village youth find pleasure,
  With the maids of braided tresses."
  Seeks the mother to detain him,
  Thus the anxious mother answers:
  "Do not go, my son beloved,
  Ignorant of Pohya-witchcraft,
  To the distant homes of Northland
  Till thou hast the art of magic,
  Till thou hast some little wisdom
  Do not go to fields of battle,
  To the fires of Northland's children,
  To the slaughter-fields of Lapland,
  Till of magic thou art master.
  There the Lapland maids will charm thee,
  Turyalanders will bewitch thee,
  Sing thy visage into charcoal,
  Head and shoulders to the furnace,
  Into ashes sing thy fore-arm,
  Into fire direct thy footsteps."
  Spake the warlike Lemminkainen:
  Wizards often have bewitched me,
  And the fascinating serpents;
  Lapland wizards, three in number,
  On an eve in time of summer,
  Sitting on a rock at twilight,
  Not a garment to protect them,
  Once bewitched me with their magic;
  This much they have taken from me,
  This the sum of all my losses:
  What the hatchet gains from flint-stone,
  What the auger bores from granite,
  What the heel chips from the iceberg,
  And what death purloins from tomb-stones.
  "Horribly the wizards threatened,
  Tried to sink me with their magic,
  In the water of the marshes,
  In the mud and treacherous quicksand,
  To my chin in mire and water;
  But I too was born a hero,
  Born a hero and magician,
  Was not troubled by their magic.
  "Straightway I began my singing,
  Sang the archers with their arrows,
  Sang the spearmen with their weapons,
  Sang the swordsmen with their poniards,
  Sang the singers with their singing,
  The enchanters with their magic,
  To the rapids of the rivers,
  To the highest fall of waters,
  To the all-devouring whirlpool,
  To the deepest depths of ocean,
  Where the wizards still are sleeping,
  Sleeping till the grass shoots upward
  Through the beards and wrinkled faces,
  Through the locks of the enchanters,
  As they sleep beneath the billows."
  Still entreats the anxious mother,
  Still beseeches Lemminkainen,
  Trying to restrain the hero,
  While Kyllikki begs forgiveness;
  This the language of the mother:
  "Do not go, my son beloved,
  To the villages of Northland,
  Nor to Lapland's frigid borders;
  Dire misfortune will befall thee,
  Star of evil settle o'er thee,
  Lemminkainen's end, destruction.
  "Couldst thou speak in tongues a hundred,
  I could not believe thee able,
  Through the magic of thy singing,
  To enchant the sons of Lapland
  To the bottom of the ocean,
  Dost not know the Tury-language,
  Canst but speak the tongue of Suomi,
  Canst not win by witless magic."
  Lemminkainen, reckless hero,
  Also known as Kaukomieli,
  Stood beside his mother, combing
  Out his sable locks and musing,
  Brushing down his beard, debating,
  Steadfast still in his decision,
  Quickly hurls his brush in anger,
  Hurls it to the wall opposing,
  Gives his mother final answer,
  These the words that Ahti uses:
  "Dire misfortune will befall me,
  Some sad fate will overtake me,
  Evil come to Lemminkainen,
  When the blood flows from that hair-brush,
  When blood oozes from those bristles."
  Thus the warlike Lemminkainen
  Goes to never-pleasant Lapland,
  Heeding not his mother's warning,
  Heeding not her prohibition.
  Thus the hero, Kaukomieli,
  Quick equips himself for warfare,
  On his head a copper helmet,
  On his shoulders caps of copper,
  On his body iron armor,
  Steel, the belt around his body;
  As he girds himself for battle,
  Ahti thus soliloquizing:
  "Strong the hero in his armor,
  Strong indeed in copper helmet,
  Powerful in mail of iron,
  Stronger far than any hero
  On the dismal shores of Lapland,
  Need not fear their wise enchanters,
  Need not fear their strongest foemen,
  Need not fear a war with wizards."
  Grasped he then the sword of battle,
  Firmly grasped the heavy broadsword
  That Tuoni had been grinding,
  That the gods had brightly burnished,
  Thrust it in the leathern scabbard,
  Tied the scabbard to his armor.
  How do heroes guard from danger,
  Where protect themselves from evil?
  Heroes guard their homes and firesides,
  Guard their doors, and roofs, and windows,
  Guard the posts that bold the torch-lights,
  Guard the highways to the court-yard,
  Guard the ends of all the gate-ways.
  Heroes guard themselves from women,
  Carefully from merry maidens;
  If in this their strength be wanting,
  Easy fall the heroes, victims
  To the snares of the enchanters.
  Furthermore are heroes watchful
  Of the tribes of warlike giants,
  Where the highway doubly branches,
  On the borders of the blue-rock,
  On the marshes filled with evil,
  Near the mighty fall of waters,
  Near the circling of the whirlpool,
  Near the fiery springs and rapids.
  Spake the stout-heart, Lemminkainen:
  "Rise ye heroes of the broadsword,
  Ye, the earth's eternal heroes,
  From the deeps, ye sickle-bearers,
  From the brooks, ye crossbow-shooters,
  Come, thou forest, with thine archers,
  Come, ye thickets, with your armies,
  Mountain spirits, with your powers,
  Come, fell Hisi, with thy horrors,
  Water-mother, with thy dangers,
  Come, Wellamo, with thy mermaids,
  Come, ye maidens from the valleys,
  Come, ye nymphs from winding rivers,
  Be protection to this hero,
  Be his day-and-night companions,
  Body-guard to Lemminkainen,
  Thus to blunt the spears of wizards,
  Thus to dull their pointed arrows,
  That the spears of the enchanters,
  That the arrows of the archers,
  That the weapons of the foemen,
  May not harm this bearded hero.
  "Should this force be insufficient,
  I can call on other powers,
  I can call the gods above me,
  Call the great god of the heavens,
  Him who gives the clouds their courses,
  Him who rules through boundless ether,
  Who directs the march of storm-winds.
  "Ukko, thou O God above me,
  Thou the father of creation,
  Thou that speakest through the thunder,
  Thou whose weapon is the lightning,
  Thou whose voice is borne by ether,
  Grant me now thy mighty fire-sword,
  Give me here thy burning arrows,
  Lightning arrows for my quiver,
  Thus protect me from all danger,
  Guard me from the wiles of witches,
  Guide my feet from every evil,
  Help me conquer the enchanters,
  Help me drive them from the Northland;
  Those that stand in front of battle,
  Those that fill the ranks behind me,
  Those around me, those above me,
  Those beneath me, help me banish,.
  With their knives, and swords, and cross-bows,
  With their spears of keenest temper,
  With their tongues of evil magic;
  Help me drive these Lapland wizards
  To the deepest depths of ocean,
  There to wrestle with Wellamo."
  Then the reckless Lemminkainen
  Whistled loudly for his stallion,
  Called the racer from the hurdles,
  Called his brown steed from the pasture,
  Threw the harness on the courser,
  Hitched the fleet-foot to the snow-sledge,
  Leaped upon the highest cross-bench,
  Cracked his whip above the racer,
  And the steed flies onward swiftly,
  Bounds the sleigh upon its journey,
  And the golden plain re-echoes;
  Travels one day, then a second,
  Travels all the next day northward,
  Till the third day evening brings him
  To a sorry Northland village,
  On the dismal shores of Lapland.
  Here the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Drove along the lowest highway,
  Through the streets along the border,
  To a court-yard in the hamlet,
  Asked one standing in the doorway:
  "Is there one within this dwelling,
  That can loose my stallion's breastplate,
  That can lift his heavy collar,
  That these shafts can rightly lower?"
  On the floor a babe was playing,
  And the young child gave this answer:
  "There is no one in this dwelling
  That can loose thy stallion's breastplate,
  That can lift his heavy collar,
  That the shafts can rightly lower."
  Lemminkainen, not discouraged,
  Whips his racer to a gallop,
  Rushes forward through the village,
  On the middle of the highways,
  To the court-yard in the centre,
  Asks one standing in the threshold,
  Leaning on the penthouse door-posts:
  "Is there any one here dwelling
  That can slip my stallion's bridle,
  That can loose his leathern breast-straps,
  That can tend my royal racer?"
  From the fire-place spake a wizard,
  From her bench the witch made answer:
  "Thou canst find one in this dwelling,
  That can slip thy courser's bridle,
  That can loose his heavy breastplate,
  That can tend thy royal racer.
  There are here a thousand heroes
  That can make thee hasten homeward,
  That can give thee fleet-foot stallions,
  That can chase thee to thy country,
  Reckless rascal and magician,
  To thy home and fellow minstrels,
  To the uplands of thy father,
  To the cabins of thy mother,
  To the work-bench of thy brother,
  To the dairy or thy sister,
  Ere the evening star has risen,
  Ere the sun retires to slumber."
  Lemminkainen, little fearing,
  Gives this answer to the wizard:
  "I should slay thee for thy pertness,
  That thy clatter might be silenced."
  Then he whipped his fiery charger,
  And the steed flew onward swiftly,
  On the upper of the highways,
  To the court-yard on the summit.
  When the reckless Lemminkainen
  Had approached the upper court-yard,
  Uttered he the words that follow:
  "O thou Hisi, stuff this watch-dog,
  Lempo, stuff his throat and nostrils,
  Close the mouth of this wild barker,
  Bridle well the vicious canine,
  That the watcher may be silent
  While the hero passes by him."
  Then he stepped within the court-room,
  With his whip he struck the flooring,
  From the floor arose a vapor,
  In the fog appeared a pigmy,
  Who unhitched the royal racer,
  From his back removed the harness,
  Gave the weary steed attention.
  Then the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Carefully advanced and listened.
  No one saw the strange magician,
  No one heard his cautious footsteps;
  Heard he songs within the dwelling,
  Through the moss-stuffed chinks heard voices.
  Through the walls he beard them singing,
  Through the doors the peals of laughter.
  Then he spied within the court-rooms,
  Lurking slyly in the hall-ways,
  Found the court-rooms filled with singers,
  By the walls were players seated,
  Near the doors the wise men hovered,
  Skilful ones upon the benches,
  Near the fires the wicked wizards;
  All were singing songs of Lapland,
  Singing songs of evil Hisi.
  Now the minstrel, Lemminkainen,
  Changes both his form and stature,
  Passes through the inner door-ways,
  Enters he the spacious court-hall,
  And these words the hero utters:
  "Fine the singing quickly ending,
  Good the song that quickly ceases;
  Better far to keep thy wisdom
  Than to sing it on the house-tops."
  Comes the hostess of Pohyola,
  Fleetly rushing through the door-way,
  To the centre of the court-room,
  And addresses thus the stranger:
  Formerly a dog lay watching,
  Was a cur of iron-color,
  Fond of flesh, a bone-devourer,
  Loved to lick the blood of strangers.
  Who then art thou of the heroes,
  Who of all the host of heroes,
  That thou art within my court-rooms,
  That thou comest to my dwelling,
  Was not seen without my portals,
  Was not scented by my watch-dogs?
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Do not think that I come hither
  Having neither wit nor wisdom,
  Having neither art nor power,
  Wanting in ancestral knowledge,
  Lacking prudence of the fathers,
  That thy watch-dogs may devour me.
  "My devoted mother washed me,
  When a frail and tender baby,
  Three times in the nights of summer,
  Nine times in the nights of autumn,
  That upon my journeys northward
  I might sing the ancient wisdom,
  Thus protect myself from danger;
  When at home I sing as wisely
  As the minstrels of thy hamlet."
  Then the singer, Lemminkainen,
  Ancient hero, Kaukomieli,
  Quick began his incantations,
  Straightway sang the songs of witchcraft,
  From his fur-robe darts the lightning,
  Flames outshooting from his eye-balls,
  From the magic of his singing
  From his wonderful enchantment.
  Sang the very best of singers
  To the very worst of minstrels,
  Filled their mouths with dust and ashes,
  Piled the rocks upon their shoulders,
  Stilled the best of Lapland witches,
  Stilled the sorcerers and wizards.
  Then he banished all their heroes,
  Banished all their proudest minstrels,
  This one hither, that one thither,
  To the lowlands poor in verdure,
  To the unproductive uplands,
  To the oceans wanting whiting,
  To the waterfalls of Rutya,
  To the whirlpool hot and flaming,
  To the waters decked with sea-foam,
  Into fires and boiling waters,
  Into everlasting torment.
  Then the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Sang the foemen with their broadswords?
  Sang the heroes with their weapons,
  Sang the eldest, sang the youngest,
  Sang the middle-aged, enchanted;
  Only one he left his senses,
  He a poor, defenseless shepherd,
  Old and sightless, halt and wretched,
  And the old man's name was Nasshut.
  Spake the miserable shepherd:
  "Thou hast old and young enchanted,
  Thou hast banished all our heroes,
  Why hast spared this wretched shepherd?"
  This is Lemminkainen's answer:
  "Therefore have I not bewitched thee:
  Thou art old, and blind, and wretched
  Feeble-minded thou, and harmless,
  Loathsome now without my magic.
  Thou didst, in thy better life-time,
  When a shepherd filled with malice,
  Ruin all thy mother's berries,
  Make thy sister, too unworthy,
  Ruin all thy brother's cattle,
  Drive to death thy father's stallions,
  Through the marshes, o'er the meadows,
  Through the lowlands, o'er the mountains,
  Heeding not thy mother's counsel."
  Thereupon the wretched Nasshut,
  Angry grew and swore for vengeance,
  Straightway limping through the door-way,
  Hobbled on beyond the court-yard,
  O'er the meadow-lands and pastures,
  To the river of the death-land,
  To the holy stream and whirlpool,
  To the kingdom of Tuoni,
  To the islands of Manala;
  Waited there for Kaukomieli,
  Listened long for Lemminkainen,
  Thinking he must pass this river
  On his journey to his country,
  On. the highway to the islands,
  From the upper shores of Pohya,
  From the dreary Sariola.



  Spake the ancient Lemminkainen
  To the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Give to me thy lovely daughter,
  Bring me now thy winsome maiden,
  Bring the best of Lapland virgins,
  Fairest virgin of the Northland."
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Answered thus the wild magician:
  "I shall never give my daughter,
  Never give my fairest maiden,
  Not the best one, nor the worst one,
  Not the largest, nor the smallest;
  Thou hast now one wife-companion,
  Thou has taken hence one hostess,
  Carried off the fair Kyllikki."
  This is Lemminkainen's answer:
  To my home I took Kyllikki,
  To my cottage on the island,
  To my entry-gates and kindred;
  Now I wish a better hostess,
  Straightway bring thy fairest daughter,
  Worthiest of all thy virgins,
  Fairest maid with sable tresses."
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Never will I give my daughter
  To a hero false and worthless,
  To a minstrel vain and evil;
  Therefore, pray thou for my maiden,
  Therefore, woo the sweet-faced flower,
  When thou bringest me the wild-moose
  From the Hisi fields and forests."
  Then the artful Lemminkainen
  Deftly whittled out his javelins,
  Quickly made his leathern bow-string,
  And prepared his bow and arrows,
  And soliloquized as follows:
  "Now my javelins are made ready,
  All my arrows too are ready,
  And my oaken cross-bow bended,
  But my snow-shoes are not builded,
  Who will make me worthy snow-shoes?"
  Lemminkainen, grave and thoughtful,
  Long reflected, well considered,
  Where the snow-shoes could be fashioned,
  Who the artist that could make them;
  Hastened to the Kauppi-smithy,
  To the smithy of Lylikki,
  Thus addressed the snow-shoe artist:
  "O thou skilful Woyalander,
  Kauppi, ablest smith of Lapland,
  Make me quick two worthy snow-shoes,
  Smooth them well and make them hardy,
  That in Tapio the wild-moose,
  Roaming through the Hisi-forests,
  I may catch and bring to Louhi,
  As a dowry for her daughter."
  Then Lylikki thus made answer,
  Kauppi gave this prompt decision:
  "Lemminkainen, reckless minstrel,
  Thou wilt hunt in vain the wild-moose,
  Thou wilt catch but pain and torture,
  In the Hisi fens and forests."
  Little heeding, Lemminkainen
  Spake these measures to Lylikki
  "Make for me the worthy snow-shoes,
  Quickly work and make them ready;
  Go I will and catch the blue-moose
  Where in Tapio it browses,
  In the Hisi woods and snow-fields."
  Then Lylikki, snow-shoe-maker,
  Ancient Kauppi, master artist,
  Whittled in the fall his show-shoes,
  Smoothed them in the winter evenings,
  One day working on the runners,
  All the next day making stick-rings,
  Till at last the shoes were finished,
  And the workmanship was perfect.
  Then he fastened well the shoe-straps,
  Smooth as adder's skin the woodwork,
  Soft as fox-fur were the stick-rings;
  Oiled he well his wondrous snow-shoes
  With the tallow of the reindeer;
  When he thus soliloquizes,
  These the accents of Lylikki:
  "Is there any youth in Lapland,
  Any in this generation,
  That can travel in these snow-shoes,
  That can move the lower sections?"
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Full of hope, and life, and vigor:
  Surely there is one in Lapland.
  In this rising generation,
  That can travel in these snow-shoes,
  That the right and left can manage."
  To his back he tied the quiver,
  Placed the bow upon his shoulder,
  With both hands he grasped his snow-cane,
  Speaking meanwhile words as follow:
  "There is nothing in the woodlands,
  Nothing in the world of Ukko,
  Nothing underneath the heavens,
  In the uplands, in the lowlands,
  Nothing in the snow-fields running,
  Not a fleet deer of the forest,
  That could not be overtaken
  With the snow-shoes of Lylikki,
  With the strides of Lemminkainen."
  Wicked Hisi heard these measures,
  Juntas listened to their echoes;
  Straightway Hisi called the wild-moose,
  Juutas fashioned soon a reindeer,
  And the head was made of punk-wood,
  Horns of naked willow branches,
  Feet were furnished by the rushes,
  And the legs, by reeds aquatic,
  Veins were made of withered grasses,
  Eyes, from daisies of the meadows,
  Ears were formed of water-flowers,
  And the skin of tawny fir-bark,
  Out of sappy wood, the muscles,
  Fair and fleet, the magic reindeer.
  Juutas thus instructs the wild-moose,
  These the words of wicked Hisi:
  Flee away, thou moose of Juutas,
  Flee away, thou Hisi-reindeer,
  Like the winds, thou rapid courser,
  To the snow-homes of the ranger,
  To the ridges of the mountains,
  To the snow-capped hills of Lapland,
  That thy hunter may be worn out,
  Thy pursuer be tormented,
  Lemminkainen be exhausted."
  Thereupon the Hisi-reindeer,
  Juutas-moose with branching antlers,
  Fleetly ran through fen and forest,
  Over Lapland's hills and valleys,
  Through the open fields and court-yards,
  Through the penthouse doors and gate-ways,
  Turning over tubs of water,
  Threw the kettles from the fire-pole,
  And upset the dishes cooking.
  Then arose a fearful uproar,
  In the court-yards of Pohyola,
  Lapland-dogs began their barking,
  Lapland-children cried in terror,
  Lapland-women roared with laughter,
  And the Lapland-heroes shouted.
  Fleetly followed Lemminkainen,
  Followed fast, and followed faster,
  Hastened on behind the wild-moose,
  Over swamps and through the woodlands,
  Over snow-fields vast and pathless,
  Over high uprising mountains,
  Fire out-shooting from his runners,
  Smoke arising from his snow-cane:
  Could not hear the wild-moose bounding,
  Could not sight the flying fleet-foot;
  Glided on through field and forest,
  Glided over lakes and rivers,
  Over lands beyond the smooth-sea,
  Through the desert plains of Hisi,
  Glided o'er the plains of Kalma,
  Through the kingdom of Tuoni,
  To the end of Kalma's empire,
  Where the jaws of Death stand open,
  Where the head of Kalma lowers,
  Ready to devour the stranger,
  To devour wild Lemminkainen;
  But Tuoni cannot reach him,
  Kalma cannot overtake him.
  Distant woods are yet untraveled,
  Far away a woodland corner
  Stands unsearched by Kaukomieli,
  In the North's extensive, borders,
  In the realm of dreary Lapland.
  Now the hero, on his snow-shoes,
  Hastens to the distant woodlands,
  There to hunt the moose of Piru.
  As he nears the woodland corner,
  There he bears a frightful uproar,
  From the Northland's distant borders,
  From the dreary fields of Lapland,
  Hears the dogs as they are barking,
  Hears the children loudly screaming,
  Hears the laughter or the women,
  Hears the shouting of the heroes.
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
  Hastens forward on his snow-shoes,
  To the place where dogs are barking,
  To the distant woods of Lapland.
  When the reckless Kaukomieli
  Had approached this Hisi corner,
  Straightway he began to question:
  "Why this laughter or the women,
  Why the screaming of the children,
  Why the shouting of the heroes,
  Why this barking of the watch-dogs?
  This reply was promptly given:
  "This the reason for this uproar,
  Women laughing, children screaming,
  Heroes shouting, watch-dogs barking
  Hisi's moose came running hither,
  Hither came the Piru-Reindeer,
  Hither came with hoofs of silver,
  Through the open fields and court-yards,
  Through the penthouse doors and gate-ways,
  Turning over tubs or water,
  Threw the kettles from the fire-pole,
  And upset the dishes cooking."
  Then the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Straightway summoned all his courage,
  Pushed ahead his mighty snow-shoes,
  Swift as adders in the stubble,
  Levelled bushes in the marshes,
  Like the swift and fiery serpents,
  Spake these words of magic import,
  Keeping balance with his snow-staff:
  Come thou might of Lapland heroes,
  Bring to me the moose of Juutas;
  Come thou strength of Lapland-women,
  And prepare the boiling caldron;
  Come, thou might of Lapland children,
  Bring together fire and fuel;
  Come, thou strength of Lapland-kettles,
  Help to boil the Hisi wild-moose."
  Then with mighty force and courage,
  Lemminkainen hastened onward,
  Striking backward, shooting forward;
  With a long sweep of his snow-shoe,
  Disappeared from view the hero;
  With the second, shooting further,
  Was the hunter out of hearing,
  With the third the hero glided
  On the shoulders of the wild-moose;
  Took a pole of stoutest oak-wood,
  Took some bark-strings from the willow,
  Wherewithal to bind the moose-deer,
  Bind him to his oaken hurdle.
  To the moose he spake as follows:
  "Here remain, thou moose of Juutas
  Skip about, my bounding courser,
  In my hurdle jump and frolic,
  Captive from the fields of Piru,
  From the Hisi glens and mountains."
  Then he stroked the captured wild-moose,
  Patted him upon his forehead,
  Spake again in measured accents:
  "I would like awhile to linger,
  I would love to rest a moment
  In the cottage of my maiden,
  With my virgin, young and lovely."
  Then the Hisi-moose grew angry,
  Stamped his feet and shook his antlers,
  Spake these words to Lemminkainen:
  "Surely Lempo soon will got thee,
  Shouldst thou sit beside the maiden,
  Shouldst thou linger by the virgin."
  Now the wild-moose stamps and rushes,
  Tears in two the bands of willow,
  Breaks the oak-wood pole in pieces,
  And upturns the hunter's hurdle,
  Quickly leaping from his captor,
  Bounds away with strength of freedom,
  Over hills and over lowlands,
  Over swamps and over snow-fields,
  Over mountains clothed in heather,
  That the eye may not behold him,
  Nor the hero's ear detect him.
  Thereupon the mighty hunter
  Angry grows, and much disheartened,
  Starts again the moose to capture,
  Gliding off behind the courser.
  With his might he plunges forward;
  At the instep breaks his snow-shoe,
  Breaks the runners into fragments,
  On the mountings breaks his javelins,
  In the centre breaks his snow-staff,
  And the moose bounds on before him,
  Through the Hisi-woods and snow-fields,
  Out of reach of Lemminkainen.
  Then the reckless Kaukomieli
  Looked with bended head, ill-humored,
  One by one upon the fragments,
  Speaking words of ancient wisdom:
  "Northland hunters, never, never,
  Go defiant to thy forests,
  In the Hisi vales and mountains,
  There to hunt the moose of Juutas,
  Like this senseless, reckless hero;
  I have wrecked my magic snow-shoes,
  Ruined too my useful snow-staff,
  And my javelins I have broken,
  While the wild-moose runs in safety
  Through the Hisi fields and forests."



  Lemminkainen, much disheartened,
  Deeply thought and long considered,
  What to do, what course to follow,
  Whether best to leave the wild-moose
  In the fastnesses of Hisi,
  And return to Kalevala,
  Or a third time hunt the ranger,
  Hoping thus to bring him captive,
  Thus return at last a victor
  To the forest home of Louhi,
  To the joy of all her daughters,
  To the wood-nymph's happy fireside.
  Taking courage Lemminkainen
  Spake these words in supplication:
  "Ukko, thou O God above me,
  Thou Creator of the heavens,
  Put my snow-shoes well in order,
  And endow them both with swiftness,
  That I rapidly may journey
  Over marshes, over snow-fields,
  Over lowlands, over highlands,
  Through the realms of wicked Hisi,
  Through the distant plains of Lapland,
  Through the paths of Lempo's wild-moose,
  To the forest hills of Juutas.
  To the snow-fields shall I journey,
  Leave the heroes to the woodlands,
  On the way to Tapiola,
  Into Tapio's wild dwellings.
  "Greeting bring I to the mountains,
  Greeting to the vales and uplands,
  Greet ye, heights with forests covered,
  Greet ye, ever-verdant fir-trees,
  Greet ye, groves of whitened aspen,
  Greetings bring to those that greet you,
  Fields, and streams, and woods of Lapland.
  Bring me favor, mountain-woodlands,
  Lapland-deserts, show me kindness,
  Mighty Tapio, be gracious,
  Let me wander through thy forests,
  Let me glide along thy rivers,
  Let this hunter search thy snow-fields,
  Where the wild-moose herds in numbers
  Where the bounding reindeer lingers.
  "O Nyrikki, mountain hero,
  Son of Tapio of forests,
  Hero with the scarlet head-gear,
  Notches make along the pathway,
  Landmarks upward to the mountains,
  That this hunter may not wander,
  May not fall, and falling perish
  In the snow-fields of thy kingdom,
  Hunting for the moose of Hisi,
  Dowry for the pride of Northland.
  "Mistress of the woods, Mielikki,
  Forest-mother, formed in beauty,
  Let thy gold flow out abundant,
  Let thy silver onward wander,
  For the hero that is seeking
  For the wild-moose of thy kingdom;
  Bring me here thy keys of silver,
  From the golden girdle round thee;
  Open Tapio's rich chambers,
  And unlock the forest fortress,
  While I here await the booty,
  While I hunt the moose of Lempo.
  "Should this service be too menial
  Give the order to thy servants,
  Send at once thy servant-maidens,
  And command it to thy people.
  Thou wilt never seem a hostess,
  If thou hast not in thy service,
  Maidens ready by the hundreds,
  Thousands that await thy bidding,
  Who thy herds may watch and nurture,
  Tend the game of thy dominions.
  "Tall and slender forest-virgin,
  Tapio's beloved daughter,
  Blow thou now thy honey flute-notes,
  Play upon thy forest-whistle,
  For the hearing of thy mistress,
  For thy charming woodland-mistress,
  Make her hear thy sweet-toned playing,
  That she may arise from slumber.
  Should thy mistress not awaken
  At the calling of thy flute-notes,
  Play again, and play unceasing,
  Make the golden tongue re-echo."
  Wild and daring Lemminkainen
  Steadfast prays upon his journey,
  Calling on the gods for succor,
  Hastens off through fields and moorlands,
  Passes on through cruel brush-wood,
  To the colliery of Hisi,
  To the burning fields of Lempo;
  Glided one day, then a second,
  Glided all the next day onward,
  Till he came to Big-stone mountain,
  Climbed upon its rocky summit,
  Turned his glances to the north-west,
  Toward the Northland moors and marshes;
  There appeared the Tapio-mansion.
  All the doors were golden-colored,
  Shining in the gleam of sunlight
  Through the thickets on the mountains,
  Through the distant fields of Northland.
  Lemminkainen, much encouraged,
  Hastens onward from his station
  Through the lowlands, o'er the uplands,
  Over snow-fields vast and vacant,
  Under snow-robed firs and aspens,
  Hastens forward, happy-hearted,
  Quickly reaches Tapio's court-yards,
  Halts without at Tapio's windows,
  Slyly looks into her mansion,
  Spies within some kindly women,
  Forest-dames outstretched before him,
  All are clad in scanty raiment,
  Dressed in soiled and ragged linens.
  Spake the stranger Lemminkainen:
  "Wherefore sit ye, forest-mothers,
  In your old and simple garments,
  In your soiled and ragged linen?
  Ye, forsooth! are too untidy,
  Too unsightly your appearance
  In your tattered gowns appareled.
  When I lived within the forest,
  There were then three mountain castles,
  One of horn and one of ivory,
  And the third of wood constructed;
  In their walls were golden windows,
  Six the windows in each castle,
  Through these windows I discovered
  All the host of Tapio's mansion,
  Saw its fair and stately hostess;
  Saw great Tapio's lovely daughter,
  Saw Tellervo in her beauty,
  With her train of charming maidens;
  All were dressed in golden raiment,
  Rustled all in gold and silver.
  Then the forest's queenly hostess,
  Still the hostess of these woodlands,
  On her arms wore golden bracelets,
  Golden rings upon her fingers,
  In her hair were sparkling, jewels,
  On her bead were golden fillets,
  In her ears were golden ear-rings,
  On her neck a pearly necklace,
  And her braidlets, silver-tinselled.
  "Lovely hostess of the forest,
  Metsola's enchanting mistress,
  Fling aside thine ugly straw-shoes,
  Cast away the shoes of birch-bark,
  Doff thy soiled and ragged linen,
  Doff thy gown of shabby fabric,
  Don the bright and festive raiment,
  Don the gown of merry-making,
  While I stay within thy borders,
  While I seek my forest-booty,
  Hunt the moose of evil Hisi.
  Here my visit will be irksome,
  Here thy guest will be ill-humored,
  Waiting in thy fields and woodlands,
  Hunting here the moose of Lempo,
  Finding not the Hisi-ranger,
  Shouldst thou give me no enjoyment,
  Should I find no joy, nor respite.
  Long the eve that gives no pleasure,
  Long the day that brings no guerdon!
  "Sable-bearded god of forests,
  In thy hat and coat of ermine,
  Robe thy trees in finest fibers,
  Deck thy groves in richest fabrics,
  Give the fir-trees shining silver,
  Deck with gold the slender balsams,
  Give the spruces copper belting,
  And the pine-trees silver girdles,
  Give the birches golden flowers,
  Deck their stems with silver fret-work,
  This their garb in former ages,
  When the days and nights were brighter,
  When the fir-trees shone like sunlight,
  And the birches like the moonbeams;
  Honey breathed throughout the forest,
  Settled in the glens and highlands
  Spices in the meadow-borders,
  Oil out-pouring from the lowlands.
  "Forest daughter, lovely virgin,
  Golden maiden, fair Tulikki,
  Second of the Tapio-daughters,
  Drive the game within these borders,
  To these far-extending snow-fields.
  Should the reindeer be too sluggish,
  Should the moose-deer move too slowly
  Cut a birch-rod from the thicket,
  Whip them hither in their beauty,
  Drive the wild-moose to my hurdle,
  Hither drive the long-sought booty
  To the hunter who is watching,
  Waiting in the Hisi-forests.
  "When the game has started hither,
  Keep them in the proper highway,
  Hold thy magic hands before them,
  Guard them well on either road-side,
  That the elk may not escape thee,
  May not dart adown some by-path.
  Should, perchance, the moose-deer wander
  Through some by-way of the forest,
  Take him by the ears and antlers,
  Hither lead the pride of Lempo.
  "If the path be filled with brush-wood
  Cast the brush-wood to the road-side;
  If the branches cross his pathway,
  Break the branches into fragments;
  Should a fence of fir or alder
  Cross the way that leads him hither.
  Make an opening within it,
  Open nine obstructing fences;
  If the way be crossed by streamlets,
  If the path be stopped by rivers,
  Make a bridge of silken fabric,
  Weaving webs of scarlet color,
  Drive the deer-herd gently over,
  Lead them gently o'er the waters,
  O'er the rivers of thy forests,
  O'er the streams of thy dominions.
  "Thou, the host of Tapio's mansion,
  Gracious host of Tapiola,
  Sable-bearded god of woodlands,
  Golden lord of Northland forests,
  Thou, O Tapio's worthy hostess,
  Queen of snowy woods, Mimerkki,
  Ancient dame in sky-blue vesture,
  Fenland-queen in scarlet ribbons,
  Come I to exchange my silver,
  To exchange my gold and silver;
  Gold I have, as old as moonlight,
  Silver of the age of sunshine,
  In the first of years was gathered,
  In the heat and pain of battle;
  It will rust within my pouches,
  Soon will wear away and perish,
  If it be not used in trading."
  Long the hunter, Lemminkainen,
  Glided through the fen and forest,
  Sang his songs throughout the woodlands,
  Through three mountain glens be sang them,
  Sang the forest hostess friendly,
  Sang he, also, Tapio friendly,
  Friendly, all the forest virgins,
  All of Metsola's fair daughters.
  Now they start the herds of Lempo,
  Start the wild-moose from his shelter,
  In the realms of evil Hisi,
  Tapio's highest mountain-region;
  Now they drive the ranger homeward,
  To the open courts of Piru,
  To the hero that is waiting,
  Hunting for the moose of Juutas.
  When the herd had reached the castle,
  Lemminkainen threw his lasso
  O'er the antlers of the blue-moose,
  Settled on the neck and shoulders
  Of the mighty moose of Hisi.
  Then the hunter, Kaukomieli,
  Stroked his captive's neck in safety,
  For the moose was well-imprisoned.
  Thereupon gay Lemminkainen
  Filled with joyance spake as follows:
  "Pride of forests, queen of woodlands,
  Metsola's enchanted hostess,
  Lovely forest dame, Mielikki,
  Mother-donor of the mountains,
  Take the gold that I have promised,
  Come and take away the silver;
  Spread thy kerchief well before me,
  Spread out here thy silken neck-wrap,
  Underneath the golden treasure,
  Underneath the shining silver,
  that to earth it may not settle,
  Scattered on the snows of winter."
  Then the hero went a victor
  To the dwellings of Pohyola,
  And addressed these words to Louhi:
  "I have caught the moose of Hisi,
  In the Metsola-dominions,
  Give, O hostess, give thy daughter,
  Give to me thy fairest virgin,
  Bride of mine to be hereafter."
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Gave this answer to the suitor:
  "I will give to thee my daughter,
  For thy wife my fairest maiden,
  When for me thou'lt put a bridle
  On the flaming horse of Hisi,
  Rapid messenger of Lempo,
  On the Hisi-plains and pastures."
  Nothing daunted, Lemminkainen
  Hastened forward to accomplish
  Louhi's second test of heroes,
  On the cultivated lowlands,
  On the sacred fields and forests.
  Everywhere he sought the racer,
  Sought the fire-expiring stallion,
  Fire out-shooting from his nostrils.
  Lemminkainen, fearless hunter,
  Bearing in his belt his bridle,
  On his shoulders, reins and halter,
  Sought one day, and then a second,
  Finally, upon the third day,
  Went he to the Hisi-mountain,
  Climbed, and struggled to the summit;
  To the east he turned his glances,
  Cast his eyes upon the sunrise,
  There beheld the flaming courser,
  On the heath among the far-trees.
  Lempo's fire-expiring stallion
  Fire and mingled smoke, out-shooting
  From his mouth, and eyes, and nostrils.
  Spake the daring Lemminkainen,
  This the hero's supplication:
  "Ukko, thou O God above me,
  Thou that rulest all the storm-clouds,
  Open thou the vault of heaven,
  Open windows through the ether,
  Let the icy rain come falling,
  Lot the heavy hailstones shower
  On the flaming horse of Hisi,
  On the fire-expiring stallion."
  Ukko, the benign Creator,
  Heard the prayer of Lemminkainen,
  Broke apart the dome of heaven,
  Rent the heights of heaven asunder,
  Sent the iron-hail in showers,
  Smaller than the heads of horses,
  Larger than the heads of heroes,
  On the flaming steed of Lempo,
  On the fire-expiring stallion,
  On the terror of the Northland.
  Lemminkainen, drawing nearer,
  Looked with care upon the courser,
  Then he spake the words that follow:
  "Wonder-steed of mighty Hisi,
  Flaming horse of Lempo's mountain,
  Bring thy mouth of gold, assenting,
  Gently place thy head of silver
  In this bright and golden halter,
  In this silver-mounted bridle.
  I shall never harshly treat thee,
  Never make thee fly too fleetly,
  On the way to Sariola,
  On the tracks of long duration,
  To the hostess of Pohyola,
  To her magic courts and stables,
  Will not lash thee on thy journey;
  I shall lead thee gently forward,
  Drive thee with the reins of kindness,
  Cover thee with silken blankets."
  Then the fire-haired steed of Juutas,
  Flaming horse of mighty Hisi,
  Put his bead of shining silver,
  In the bright and golden bead-stall,
  In the silver-mounted bridle.
  Thus the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Easy bridles Lempo's stallion,
  Flaming horse of evil Piru;
  Lays the bits within his fire-mouth,
  On his silver head, the halter,
  Mounts the fire-expiring courser,
  Brandishes his whip of willow,
  Hastens forward on his journey,
  Bounding o'er the hills and mountains,
  Dashing through the valleys northward,
  O'er the snow-capped hills of Lapland,
  To the courts of Sariola.
  Then the hero, quick dismounting,
  Stepped within the court of Louhi,
  Thus addressed the Northland hostess:
  "I have bridled Lempo's fire-horse,
  I have caught the Hisi-racer,
  Caught the fire-expiring stallion,
  In the Piru plains and pastures,
  Ridden him within thy borders;
  I have caught the moose of Lempo,
  I have done what thou demandest;
  Give, I pray thee, now thy daughter,
  Give to me thy fairest maiden,
  Bride of mine to be forever."
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Made this answer to the suitor:
  "I will only give my daughter,
  Give to thee my fairest virgin,
  Bride of thine to be forever,
  When for me the swan thou killest
  In the river of Tuoni,
  Swimming in the black death-river,
  In the sacred stream and whirlpool;
  Thou canst try one cross-bow only,
  But one arrow from thy quiver."
  Then the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Braved the third test of the hero,
  Started out to hunt the wild-swan,
  Hunt the long-necked, graceful swimmer,
  In Tuoni's coal-black river,
  In Manala's lower regions.
  Quick the daring hunter journeyed,
  Hastened off with fearless footsteps,
  To the river of Tuoni,
  To the sacred stream and whirlpool,
  With his bow upon his shoulder,
  With his quiver and one arrow.
  Nasshut, blind and crippled shepherd,
  Wretched shepherd of Pohyola,
  Stood beside the death-land river,
  Near the sacred stream and whirlpool,
  Guarding Tuonela's waters,
  Waiting there for Lemminkainen,
  Listening there for Kaukomieli,
  Waiting long the hero's coming.
  Finally he hears the footsteps
  Of the hero on his journey,
  Hears the tread of Lemminkainen,
  As he journeys nearer, nearer,
  To the river of Tuoni,
  To the cataract of death-land,
  To the sacred stream and whirlpool.
  Quick the wretched shepherd, Nasshut,
  From the death-stream sends a serpent,
  Like an arrow from a cross-bow,
  To the heart of Lemminkainen,
  Through the vitals of the hero.
  Lemminkainen, little conscious,
  Hardly knew that be was injured,
  Spake these measures as he perished.
  "Ah! unworthy is my conduct,
  Ah! unwisely have I acted,
  That I did not heed my mother,
  Did not take her goodly counsel,
  Did not learn her words of magic.
  Oh I for three words with my mother,
  How to live, and bow to suffer,
  In this time of dire misfortune,
  How to bear the stings of serpents,
  Tortures of the reed of waters,
  From the stream of Tuonela!
  "Ancient mother who hast borne me,
  Who hast trained me from my childhood,
  Learn, I pray thee, where I linger,
  Where alas! thy son is lying,
  Where thy reckless hero suffers.
  Come, I pray thee, faithful mother,
  Come thou quickly, thou art needed,
  Come deliver me from torture,
  From the death-jaws of Tuoni,
  From the sacred stream and whirlpool."
  Northland's old and wretched shepherd,
  Nasshut, the despised protector
  Of the flocks of Sariola,
  Throws the dying Lemminkainen,
  Throws the hero of the islands,
  Into Tuonela's river,
  To the blackest stream of death-land,
  To the worst of fatal whirlpools.
  Lemminkainen, wild and daring,
  Helpless falls upon the waters,
  Floating down the coal-black current,
  Through the cataract and rapids
  To the tombs of Tuonela.
  There the blood-stained son of death-land,
  There Tuoni's son and hero,
  Cuts in pieces Lemminkainen,
  Chops him with his mighty hatchet,
  Till the sharpened axe strikes flint-sparks
  From the rocks within his chamber,
  Chops the hero into fragments,
  Into five unequal portions,
  Throws each portion to Tuoni,
  In Manala's lowest kingdom,
  Speaks these words when he has ended:
  "Swim thou there, wild Lemminkainen,
  Flow thou onward in this river,
  Hunt forever in these waters,
  With thy cross-bow and thine arrow,
  Shoot the swan within this empire,
  Shoot our water-birds in welcome!"
  Thus the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Thus the handsome Kaukomieli,
  The untiring suitor, dieth
  In the river of Tuoni,
  In the death-realm of Manala.



  Lemminkainen's aged mother
  Anxious roams about the islands,
  Anxious wonders in her chambers,
  What the fate of Lemminkainen,
  Why her son so long has tarried;
  Thinks that something ill has happened
  To her hero in Pohyola.
  Sad, indeed, the mother's anguish,
  As in vain she waits his coming,
  As in vain she asks the question,
  Where her daring son is roaming,
  Whether to the fir-tree mountain,
  Whether to the distant heath-land,
  Or upon the broad-sea's ridges,
  On the floods and rolling waters,
  To the war's contending armies,
  To the heat and din of battle,
  Steeped in blood of valiant heroes,
  Evidence of fatal warfare.
  Daily does the wife Kyllikki
  Look about her vacant chamber,
  In the home of Lemminkainen,
  At the court of Kaukomieli;
  Looks at evening, looks at morning,
  Looks, perchance, upon his hair-brush,
  Sees alas! the blood-drops oozing,
  Oozing from the golden bristles,
  And the blood-drops, scarlet-colored.
  Then the beauteous wife, Kyllikki,
  Spake these words in deeps of anguish:
  "Dead or wounded is my husband,
  Or at best is filled with trouble,
  Lost perhaps in Northland forests,
  In some glen unknown to heroes,
  Since alas! the blood is flowing
  From the brush of Lemminkainen,
  Red drops oozing from the bristles."
  Thereupon the anxious mother
  Looks upon the bleeding hair-brush
  And begins this wail of anguish:
  "Woe is me, my life hard-fated,
  Woe is me, all joy departed!
  For alas! my son and hero,
  Valiant hero of the islands,
  Son of trouble and misfortune!
  Some sad fate has overtaken
  My ill-fated Lemminkainen!
  Blood is flowing from his hair-brush,
  Oozing from its golden bristles,
  And the drops are scarlet-colored."
  Quick her garment's hem she clutches,
  On her arm she throws her long-robes,
  Fleetly flies upon her journey;
  With her might she hastens northward,
  Mountains tremble from her footsteps,
  Valleys rise and heights are lowered,
  Highlands soon become as lowlands,
  All the hills and valleys levelled.
  Soon she gains the Northland village,
  Quickly asks about her hero,
  These the words the mother utters:
  "O thou hostess of Pohyola,
  Where hast thou my Lemminkainen?
  Tell me of my son and hero!"
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Gives this answer to the mother:
  "Nothing know I of thy hero,
  Of the hero of the islands;
  Where thy son may be I know not,
  Cannot lend the information;
  Once I gave thy son a courser,
  Hitched the racer to his snow-sledge,
  This the last of Lemminkainen;
  May perchance be drowned in Wuhne,
  Frozen In the icy ocean,
  Fallen prey to wolves in hunger,
  In a bear's den may have perished."
  Lemminkainen's mother answers:
  "Thou art only speaking falsehoods,
  Northland wolves cannot devour us,
  Nor the bears kill Kaukomieli;
  He can slay the wolves of Pohya
  With the fingers of his left hand;
  Bears of Northland he would silence
  With the magic of his singing.
  "Hostess of Pohyola, tell me
  Whither thou hast sent my hero;
  I shall burst thy many garners,
  Shall destroy the magic Sampo,
  If thou dost not tell me truly
  Where to find my Lemminkainen."
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "I have well thy hero treated,
  Well my court has entertained him,
  Gave him of my rarest viands,
  Fed him at my well-filled tables,
  Placed him in a boat of copper,
  Thus to float adown the current,
  This the last of Lemminkainen;
  Cannot tell where he has wandered.
  Whether in the foam of waters,
  Whether in the boiling torrent,
  Whether in the drowning whirlpool."
  Lemminkainen's mother answers:
  Thou again art speaking falsely;
  Tell me now the truth I pray thee,
  Make an end of thy deception,
  Where is now my Lemminkainen,
  Whither hast thou sent my hero,
  Young and daring son of Kalew?
  If a third time thou deceivest,
  I will send thee plagues, unnumbered,
  I will send thee fell destruction,
  Certain death will overtake thee."
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "This the third time that I answer,
  This the truth that I shall tell thee:
  I have sent the Kalew-hero
  To the Hisi-fields and forests,
  There to hunt the moose of Lempo;
  Sent him then to catch the fire-horse,
  Catch the fire-expiring stallion,
  On the distant plains of Juutas,
  In the realm of cruel Hisi.
  Then I sent him to the Death-stream,
  In the kingdom of Tuoni,
  With his bow and but one arrow,
  There to shoot the swan as dowry
  For my best and fairest daughter;
  Have not heard about thy hero
  Since he left for Tuonela;
  May in misery have fallen,
  May have perished in Manala;
  Has not come to ask my daughter,
  Has not come to woo the maiden,
  Since he left to hunt the death-swan."
  Now the mother seeks her lost one,
  For her son she weeps and trembles,
  Like the wolf she bounds through fenlands,
  Like the bear, through forest thickets,
  Like the wild-boar, through the marshes,
  Like the hare, along the sea-coast,
  To the sea-point, like the hedgehog
  Like the wild-duck swims the waters,
  Casts the rubbish from her pathway,
  Tramples down opposing brush-wood,
  Stops at nothing in her journey
  Seeks a long time for her hero,
  Seeks, and seeks, and does not find him.
  Now she asks the trees the question,
  And the forest gives this answer:
  "We have care enough already,
  Cannot think about thy matters;
  Cruel fates have we to battle,
  Pitiful our own misfortunes!
  We are felled and chopped in pieces,
  Cut in blocks for hero-fancy,
  We are burned to death as fuel,
  No one cares how much we suffer."
  Now again the mother wanders,
  Seeks again her long-lost hero,
  Seeks, and seeks, and does not find him.
  Paths arise and come to meet her,
  And she questions thus the pathways:
  "Paths of hope that God has fashioned,
  Have ye seen my Lemminkainen,
  Has my son and golden hero
  Travelled through thy many kingdoms?"
  Sad, the many pathways answer:
  "We ourselves have cares sufficient,
  Cannot watch thy son and hero,
  Wretched are the lives of pathways,
  Deep indeed our own misfortunes;
  We are trodden by, the red-deer,
  By the wolves, and bears, and roebucks,
  Driven o'er by heavy cart-wheels,
  By the feet of dogs are trodden,
  Trodden under foot of heroes,
  Foot-paths for contending armies."
  Seeks again the frantic mother,
  Seeks her long-lost son and hero,
  Seeks, and seeks, and does not find him;
  Finds the Moon within her orbit,
  Asks the Moon in pleading measures:
  "Golden Moon, whom God has stationed
  In the heavens, the Sun's companion,
  Hast thou seen my Kaukomieli,
  Hast thou seen my silver apple,
  Anywhere in thy dominions? "
  Thus the golden Moon makes answer:
  "I have trouble all-sufficient,
  Cannot watch thy daring hero;
  Long the journey I must travel,
  Sad the fate to me befallen,
  Pitiful mine own misfortunes,
  All alone the nights to wander,
  Shine alone without a respite,
  In the winter ever watching,
  In the summer sink and perish."
  Still the mother seeks, and wanders,
  Seeks, and does not find her hero,
  Sees the Sun in the horizon,
  And the mother thus entreats him:
  Silver Sun, whom God has fashioned,
  Thou that giveth warmth and comfort,
  Hast thou lately seen my hero,
  Hast thou seen my Lemminkainen,
  Wandering in thy dominions?"
  Thus the Sun in kindness answers:
  "Surely has thy hero perished,
  To ingratitude a victim;
  Lemminkainen died and vanished
  In Tuoni's fatal river,
  In the waters of Manala,
  In the sacred stream and whirlpool,
  In the cataract and rapids,
  Sank within the drowning current
  To the realm of Tuonela,
  To Manala's lower regions."
  Lemminkainen's mother weeping,
  Wailing in the deeps of anguish,
  Mourns the fate of Kaukomieli,
  Hastens to the Northland smithy,
  To the forge of Ilmarinen,
  These the words the mother utters:
  "Ilmarinen, metal-artist,
  Thou that long ago wert forging,
  Forging earth a concave cover,
  Yesterday wert forging wonders,
  Forge thou now, immortal blacksmith,
  Forge a rake with shaft of copper,
  Forge the teeth of strongest metal,
  Teeth in length a hundred fathoms,
  And five hundred long the handle."
  Ilmarinen does as bidden,
  Makes the rake in full perfection.
  Lemminkainen's anxious mother
  Takes the magic rake and hastens
  To the river of Tuoni,
  Praying to the Sun as follows:
  "Thou, O Sun, by God created,
  Thou that shinest on thy Maker,
  Shine for me in heat of magic,
  Give me warmth, and strength, and courage,
  Shine a third time full of power,
  Lull to sleep the wicked people,
  Still the people of Manala,
  Quiet all Tuoni's empire."
  Thereupon the sun of Ukko,
  Dearest child of the Creator,
  Flying through the groves of Northland,
  Sitting on a curving birch-tree,
  Shines a little while in ardor,
  Shines again in greater fervor,
  Shines a third time full of power,
  Lulls to sleep the wicked people
  In the Manala home and kingdom,
  Still the heroes with their broadswords,
  Makes the lancers halt and totter,
  Stills the stoutest of the spearmen,
  Quiets Tuoni's ghastly empire.
  Now the Sun retires in magic,
  Hovers here and there a moment
  Over Tuoni's hapless sleepers,
  Hastens upward to his station,
  To his Jumala home and kingdom.
  Lemminkainen's faithful mother
  Takes the rake of magic metals,
  Rakes the Tuoni river bottoms,
  Rakes the cataract and whirlpool,
  Rakes the swift and boiling current
  Of the sacred stream of death-land,
  In the Manala home and kingdom.
  Searching for her long-lost hero,
  Rakes a long time, finding nothing;
  Now she wades the river deeper,
  To her belt in mud and water,
  Deeper, deeper, rakes the death-stream,
  Rakes the river's deepest caverns,
  Raking up and down the current,
  Till at last she finds his tunic,
  Heavy-hearted, finds his jacket;
  Rakes again and rakes unceasing,
  Finds the hero's shoes and stockings,
  Sorely troubled, finds these relies;
  Now she wades the river deeper,
  Rakes the Manala shoals and shallows,
  Rakes the deeps at every angle;
  As she draws the rake the third time
  From the Tuoni shores and waters,
  In the rake she finds the body
  Of her long-lost Lemminkainen,
  In the metal teeth entangled,
  In the rake with copper handle.
  Thus the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Thus the son of Kalevala,
  Was recovered from the bottom
  Of the Manala lake and river.
  There were wanting many fragments,
  Half the head, a hand, a fore-arm,
  Many other smaller portions,
  Life, above all else, was missing.
  Then the mother, well reflecting,
  Spake these words in bitter weeping:
  "From these fragments, with my magic,
  I will bring to life my hero."
  Hearing this, the raven answered,
  Spake these measures to the mother:
  "There is not in these a hero,
  Thou canst not revive these fragments;
  Eels have fed upon his body,
  On his eyes have fed the whiting;
  Cast the dead upon the waters,
  On the streams of Tuonela,
  Let him there become a walrus,
  Or a seal, or whale, or porpoise."
  Lemminkainen's mother does not
  Cast the dead upon the waters,
  On the streams of Tuonela,
  She again with hope and courage,
  Rakes the river lengthwise, crosswise,
  Through the Manala pools and caverns,
  Rakes up half the head, a fore-arm,
  Finds a hand and half the back-bone,
  Many other smaller portions;
  Shapes her son from all the fragments,
  Shapes anew her Lemminkainen,
  Flesh to flesh with skill she places,
  Gives the bones their proper stations,
  Binds one member to the other,
  Joins the ends of severed vessels,
  Counts the threads of all the venules,
  Knits the parts in apposition;
  Then this prayer the mother offers:
  "Suonetar, thou slender virgin,
  Goddess of the veins of heroes,
  Skilful spinner of the vessels,
  With thy slender, silver spindle,
  With thy spinning-wheel of copper,
  Set in frame of molten silver,
  Come thou hither, thou art needed;
  Bring the instruments for mending,
  Firmly knit the veins together,
  At the end join well the venules,
  In the wounds that still are open,
  In the members that are injured.
  "Should this aid be inefficient;
  There is living in the ether,
  In a boat enriched with silver,
  In a copper boat, a maiden,
  That can bring to thee assistance.
  Come, O maiden, from the ether,
  Virgin from the belt of heaven,
  Row throughout these veins, O maiden,
  Row through all these lifeless members,
  Through the channels of the long-bones,
  Row through every form of tissue.
  Set the vessels in their places,
  Lay the heart in right position,
  Make the pulses beat together,
  Join the smallest of the veinlets,
  And unite with skill the sinews.
  Take thou now a slender needle,
  Silken thread within its eyelet,
  Ply the silver needle gently,
  Sew with care the wounds together.
  "Should this aid be inefficient,
  Thou, O God, that knowest all things,
  Come and give us thine assistance,
  Harness thou thy fleetest racer
  Call to aid thy strongest courser,
  In thy scarlet sledge come swiftly,
  Drive through all the bones and channels,
  Drive throughout these lifeless tissues,
  Drive thy courser through each vessel,
  Bind the flesh and bones securely,
  In the joints put finest silver,
  Purest gold in all the fissures.
  "Where the skin is broken open,
  Where the veins are torn asunder,
  Mend these injuries with magic;
  Where the blood has left the body,
  There make new blood flow abundant;
  Where the bones are rudely broken,
  Set the parts in full perfection;
  Where the flesh is bruised and loosened,
  Touch the wounds with magic balsam,
  Do not leave a part imperfect;
  Bone, and vein, and nerve, and sinew,
  Heart, and brain, and gland, and vessel,
  Heal as Thou alone canst heal them."
  These the means the mother uses,
  Thus she joins the lifeless members,
  Thus she heals the death-like tissues,
  Thus restores her son and hero
  To his former life and likeness;
  All his veins are knit together,
  All their ends are firmly fastened,
  All the parts in apposition,
  Life returns, but speech is wanting,
  Deaf and dumb, and blind, and senseless.
  Now the mother speaks as follows:
  "Where may I procure the balsam,
  Where the drops of magic honey,
  To anoint my son and hero,
  Thus to heal my Lemminkainen,
  That again his month may open,
  May again begin his singing,
  Speak again in words of wonder,
  Sing again his incantations?
  "Tiny bee, thou honey-birdling,
  Lord of all the forest flowers,
  Fly away and gather honey,
  Bring to me the forest-sweetness,
  Found in Metsola's rich gardens,
  And in Tapio's fragrant meadows,
  From the petals of the flowers,
  From the blooming herbs and grasses,
  Thus to heal my hero's anguish,
  Thus to heal his wounds of evil."
  Thereupon the honey-birdling
  Flies away on wings of swiftness,
  Into Metsola's rich gardens,
  Into Tapio's flowery meadows,
  Gathers sweetness from the meadows,
  With the tongue distills the honey
  From the cups of seven flowers,
  From the bloom of countless grasses;
  Quick from Metsola returning,
  Flying, humming darting onward,
  With his winglets honey-laden,
  With the store of sweetest odors,
  To the mother brings the balsam.
  Lemminkainen's anxious mother
  Takes the balm of magic virtues,
  And anoints the injured hero,
  Heals his wounds and stills his anguish;
  But the balm is inefficient,
  For her son is deaf and speechless.
  Then again out-speaks the mother:
  Lemminkainen's Restoration.
  "Little bee, my honey-birdling,
  Fly away in one direction,
  Fly across the seven oceans,
  In the eighth, a magic island,
  Where the honey is enchanted,
  To the distant Turi-castles,
  To the chambers of Palwoinen;
  There the honey is effective,
  There, the wonder-working balsam,
  This may heal the wounded hero;
  Bring me of this magic ointment,
  That I may anoint his eyelids,
  May restore his injured senses."
  Thereupon the honey-birdling
  Flew away o'er seven oceans,
  To the old enchanted island;
  Flies one day, and then a second,
  On the verdure does not settle,
  Does not rest upon the flowers;
  Flies a third day, fleetly onward,
  Till a third day evening brings him
  To the island in the ocean,
  To the meadows rich in honey,
  To the cataract and fire-flow,
  To the sacred stream and whirlpool.
  There the honey was preparing,
  There the magic balm distilling
  In the tiny earthen vessels,
  In the burnished copper kettles,
  Smaller than a maiden's thimble,
  Smaller than the tips of fingers.
  Faithfully the busy insect
  Gathers the enchanted honey
  From the magic Turi-cuplets
  In the chambers of Palwoinen.
  Time had gone but little distance,
  Ere the bee came loudly humming
  Flying fleetly, honey-laden;
  In his arms were seven vessels,
  Seven, the vessels on each shoulder;
  All were filled with honey-balsam,
  With the balm of magic virtues.
  Lemminkainen's tireless mother
  Quick anoints her speechless hero,
  With the magic Turi-balsam,
  With the balm of seven virtues;
  Nine the times that she anoints him
  With the honey of Palwoinen,
  With the wonder-working balsam;
  But the balm is inefficient,
  For the hero still is speechless.
  Then again out-speaks the mother:
  "Honey-bee, thou ether birdling,
  Fly a third time on thy journey,
  Fly away to high Jumala,
  Fly thou to the seventh heaven,
  Honey there thou'lt find abundant,
  Balsam of the highest virtue,
  Only used by the Creator,
  Only made from the breath of Ukko.
  God anoints his faithful children,
  With the honey of his wisdom,
  When they feel the pangs of sorrow,
  When they meet the powers of evil.
  Dip thy winglets in this honey,
  Steep thy plumage in His sweetness,
  Hither bring the all-sufficient
  Balsam of the great Creator;
  This will still my hero's anguish,
  This will heal his wounded tissues,
  This restore his long-lost vision,
  Make the Northland hills re-echo
  With the magic of his singing,
  With his wonderful enchantment."
  Thus the honey-bee made answer:
  "I can never fly to heaven,
  To the seventh of the heavens,
  To the distant home of Ukko,
  With these wings of little virtue."
  Lemminkainen's mother answered:
  "Thou canst surely fly to heaven,
  To the seventh of the heavens,
  O'er the Moon, beneath the sunshine,
  Through the dim and distant starlight.
  On the first day, flying upward,
  Thou wilt near the Moon in heaven,
  Fan the brow of Kootamoinen;
  On the second thou canst rest thee
  On the shoulders of Otava;
  On the third day, flying higher,
  Rest upon the seven starlets,
  On the heads of Hetewanè;
  Short the journey that is left thee,
  Inconsiderable the distance
  To the home of mighty Ukko,
  To the dwellings of the blessed."
  Thereupon the bee arising,
  From the earth flies swiftly upward,
  Hastens on with graceful motion,
  By his tiny wings borne heavenward,
  In the paths of golden moonbeams,
  Touches on the Moon's bright borders,
  Fans the brow of Kootamoinen,
  Rests upon Otava's shoulders,
  Hastens to the seven starlets.,
  To the heads of Hetewanè,
  Flies to the Creator's castle,
  To the home of generous Ukko,
  Finds the remedy preparing,
  Finds the balm of life distilling,
  In the silver-tinted caldrons,
  In the purest golden kettles;
  On one side, heart-easing honey,
  On a second, balm of joyance,
  On the third, life-giving balsam.
  Here the magic bee, selecting,
  Culls the sweet, life-giving balsam,
  Gathers too, heart-easing honey,
  Heavy-laden hastens homeward.
  Time had traveled little distance,
  Ere the busy bee came humming
  To the anxious mother waiting,
  In his arms a hundred cuplets,
  And a thousand other vessels,
  Filled with honey, filled with balsam,
  Filled with the balm of the Creator.
  Lemminkainen's mother quickly
  Takes them on her, tongue and tests them,
  Finds a balsam all-sufficient.
  Then the mother spake as follows:
  "I have found the long-sought balsam,
  Found the remedy of Ukko,
  Where-with God anoints his people,
  Gives them life, and faith, and wisdom,
  Heals their wounds and stills their anguish,
  Makes them strong against temptation,
  Guards them from the evil-doers."
  Now the mother well anointing,
  Heals her son, the magic singer,
  Eyes, and ears, and tongue, and temples,
  Breaks, and cuts, and seams, anointing,
  Touching well the life-blood centres,
  Speaks these words of magic import
  To the sleeping Lemminkainen:
  "Wake, arise from out thy slumber,
  From the worst of low conditions,
  From thy state of dire misfortune!"
  Slowly wakes the son and hero,
  Rises from the depths of slumber,
  Speaks again in magic accents,
  These the first words of the singer:
  "Long, indeed, have I been sleeping,
  Long unconscious of existence,
  But my sleep was full of sweetness,
  Sweet the sleep in Tuonela,
  Knowing neither joy nor sorrow!"
  This the answer of his mother:
  "Longer still thou wouldst have slumbered,
  Were it not for me, thy, mother;
  Tell me now, my son beloved,
  Tell me that I well may hear thee,
  Who enticed thee to Manala,
  To the river of Tuoni,
  To the fatal stream and whirlpool?"
  Then the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Gave this answer to his mother:
  "Nasshut, the decrepit shepherd
  Of the flocks of Sariola,
  Blind, and halt, and poor, and wretched,
  And to whom I did a favor;
  From the slumber-land of envy
  Nasshut sent me to Manala,
  To the river of Tuoni;
  Sent a serpent from the waters,
  Sent an adder from the death-stream,
  Through the heart of Lemminkainen;
  Did not recognize the serpent,
  Could not speak the serpent-language,
  Did not know the sting of adders."
  Spake again the ancient mother:
  "O thou son of little insight,
  Senseless hero, fool-magician,
  Thou didst boast betimes thy magic
  To enchant the wise enchanters,
  On the dismal shores of Lapland,
  Thou didst think to banish heroes,
  From the borders of Pohyola;
  Didst not know the sting of serpents,
  Didst not know the reed of waters,
  Nor the magic word-protector!
  Learn the origin of serpents,
  Whence the poison of the adder.
  "In the floods was born the serpent,
  From the marrow of the gray-duck,
  From the brain of ocean-swallows;
  Suoyatar had made saliva,
  Cast it on the waves of ocean,
  Currents drove it outward, onward,
  Softly shone the sun upon it,
  By the winds 'twas gently cradled,
  Gently nursed by winds and waters,
  By the waves was driven shoreward,
  Landed by the surging billows.
  Thus the serpent, thing of evil,
  Filling all the world with trouble,
  Was created in the waters
  Born from Suoyatar, its maker."
  Then the mother of the hero
  Rocked her son to rest and comfort,
  Rocked him to his former being,
  To his former life and spirit,
  Into greater magic powers;
  Wiser, handsomer than ever
  Grew the hero of the islands;
  But his heart was full of trouble,
  And his mother, ever watchful,
  Asked the cause of his dejection.
  This is Lemminkainen's answer:
  "This the cause of all my sorrow;
  Far away my heart is roaming,
  All my thoughts forever wander
  To the Northland's blooming virgins,
  To the maids of braided tresses.
  Northland's ugly hostess, Louhi,
  Will not give to me her daughter,
  Fairest maiden of Pohyola,
  Till I kill the swan of Mana,
  With my bow and but one arrow,
  In the river of Tuoni.
  Lemminkainen's mother answers,
  In the sacred stream and whirlpool.
  "Let the swan swim on in safety,
  Give the water-bird his freedom,
  In the river of Manala,
  In the whirlpool of Tuoni;
  Leave the maiden in the Northland.,
  With her charms and fading beauty;
  With thy fond and faithful mother,
  Go at once to Kalevala,
  To thy native fields and fallows.
  Praise thy fortune, all sufficient,
  Praise, above all else, thy Maker.
  Ukko gave thee aid when needed,
  Thou wert saved by thy Creator,
  From thy long and hopeless slumber,
  In the waters of Tuoni,
  In the chambers of Manala.
  I unaided could not save thee,
  Could not give the least assistance;
  God alone, omniscient Ukko,
  First and last of the creators,
  Can revive the dead and dying,
  Can protect his worthy people
  From the waters of Manala, .
  From the fatal stream and whirlpool,
  In the kingdom of Tuoni."
  Lemminkainen, filled with wisdom,
  With his fond and faithful mother,
  Hastened straightway on his journey
  To his distant home and kindred,
  To the Wainola fields and meadows,
  To the plains of Kalevala.
  * * * * *
  Here I leave my Kaukomieli,
  Leave my hero Lemminkainen,
  Long I leave him from my singing,
  Turn my song to other heroes,
  Send it forth on other pathways,
  Sing some other golden legend.



  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  The eternal wisdom-singer,
  For his boat was working lumber,
  Working long upon his vessel,
  On a fog-point jutting seaward,
  On an island, forest-covered;
  But the lumber failed the master,
  Beams were wanting for his vessel,
  Beams and scantling, ribs and flooring.
  Who will find for him the lumber,
  Who procure the timber needed
  For the boat of Wainamoinen,
  For the bottom of his vessel?
  Pellerwoinen of the prairies,
  Sampsa, slender-grown and ancient,
  He will seek the needful timber,
  He procure the beams of oak-wood
  For the boat of Wainamoinen,
  For the bottom of his vessel.
  Soon he starts upon his journey
  To the eastern fields and forests,
  Hunts throughout the Northland mountain
  To a second mountain wanders,
  To a third he hastens, searching,
  Golden axe upon his shoulder,
  In his hand a copper hatchet.
  Comes an aspen-tree to meet him
  Of the height of seven fathoms.
  Sampsa takes his axe of copper,
  Starts to fell the stately aspen,
  But the aspen quickly halting,
  Speaks these words to Pellerwoinen:
  "Tell me, hero, what thou wishest,
  What the service thou art needing?"
  Sampsa Pellerwoinen answers:
  "This indeed, the needed service
  That I ask of thee, O aspen:
  Need thy lumber for a vessel,
  For the boat of Wainamoinen,
  Wisest of the wisdom-singers."
  Quick and wisely speaks the aspen,
  Thus its hundred branches answer:
  "All the boats that have been fashioned
  From my wood have proved but failures;
  Such a vessel floats a distance,
  Then it sinks upon the bottom
  Of the waters it should travel.
  All my trunk is filled with hollows,
  Three times in the summer seasons
  Worms devour my stem and branches,
  Feed upon my heart and tissues."
  Pellerwoinen leaves the aspen,
  Hunts again through all the forest,
  Wanders through the woods of Northland,
  Where a pine-tree comes to meet him,
  Of the height of fourteen fathoms.
  With his axe he chops the pine-tree,
  Strikes it with his axe of copper,
  As he asks the pine this question:
  "Will thy trunk give worthy timber
  For the boat of Wainamoinen,
  Wisest of the wisdom-singers?"
  Loudly does the pine-tree answer:
  "All the ships that have been fashioned
  From my body are unworthy;
  I am full of imperfections,
  Cannot give thee needed timber
  Wherewithal to build thy vessel;
  Ravens live within ray branches,
  Build their nests and hatch their younglings
  Three times in my trunk in summer."
  Sampsa leaves the lofty pine-tree,
  Wanders onward, onward, onward,
  To the woods of gladsome summer,
  Where an oak-tree comes to meet him,
  In circumference, three fathoms,
  And the oak he thus addresses:
  "Ancient oak-tree, will thy body
  Furnish wood to build a vessel,
  Build a boat for Wainamoinen,
  Master-boat for the magician,
  Wisest of the wisdom-singers?"
  Thus the oak replies to Sampsa:
  "I for thee will gladly furnish
  Wood to build the hero's vessel;
  I am tall, and sound, and hardy,
  Have no flaws within my body;
  Three times in the months of summer,
  In the warmest of the seasons,
  Does the sun dwell in my tree-top,
  On my trunk the moonlight glimmers,
  In my branches sings the cuckoo,
  In my top her nestlings slumber."
  Now the ancient Pellerwoinen
  Takes the hatchet from his shoulder,
  Takes his axe with copper handle,
  Chops the body of the oak-tree;
  Well he knows the art of chopping.
  Soon he fells the tree majestic,
  Fells the mighty forest-monarch,
  With his magic axe and power.
  From the stems he lops the branches,
  Splits the trunk in many pieces,
  Fashions lumber for the bottom,
  Countless boards, and ribs, and braces,
  For the singer's magic vessel,
  For the boat of the magician.
  Wainamoinen, old and skilful,
  The eternal wonder-worker,
  Builds his vessel with enchantment,
  Builds his boat by art of magic,
  From the timber of the oak-tree,
  From its posts, and planks, and flooring.
  Sings a song, and joins the frame-work;
  Sings a second, sets the siding;
  Sings a third time, sets the row-locks;
  Fashions oars, and ribs, and rudder,
  Joins the sides and ribs together.
  When the ribs were firmly fastened,
  When the sides were tightly jointed,
  Then alas! three words were wanting,
  Lost the words of master-magic,
  How to fasten in the ledges,
  How the stern should be completed,
  How complete the boat's forecastle.
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Wise and wonderful enchanter,
  Heavy-hearted spake as follows:
  "Woe is me, my life hard-fated!
  Never will this magic vessel
  Pass in safety o'er the water,
  Never ride the rough sea-billows."
  Then he thought and long considered,
  Where to find these words of magic,
  Find the lost-words of the Master:
  "From the brains of countless swallows,
  From the heads of swans in dying,
  From the plumage of the gray-duck?"
  For these words the hero searches,
  Kills of swans a goodly number,
  Kills a flock of fattened gray-duck,
  Kills of swallows countless numbers,
  Cannot find the words of magic,
  Not the lost-words of the Master.
  Wainamoinen, wisdom-singer,
  Still reflected and debated:
  "I perchance may find the lost-words
  On the tongue of summer-reindeer,
  In the mouth of the white squirrel."
  Now again he hunts the lost-words,
  Hastes to find the magic sayings,
  Kills a countless host of reindeer,
  Kills a rafterful of squirrels,
  Finds of words a goodly number,
  But they are of little value,
  Cannot find the magic lost-word.
  Long he thought and well considered:
  "I can find of words a hundred
  In the dwellings of Tuoni,
  In the Manala fields and castles."
  Wainamoinen quickly journeys
  To the kingdom of Tuoni,
  There to find the ancient wisdom,
  There to learn the secret doctrine;
  Hastens on through fen and forest,
  Over meads and over marshes,
  Through the ever-rising woodlands,
  Journeys one week through the brambles,
  And a second through the hazels,
  Through the junipers the third week,
  When appear Tuoni's islands,
  And the Manala fields and castles.
  Wainamoinen, brave and ancient,
  Calls aloud in tones of thunder,
  To the Tuonela deeps and dungeons,
  And to Manala's magic castle:
  "Bring a boat, Tuoni's daughter,
  Bring a ferry-boat, O maiden,
  That may bear me o'er this channel,
  O'er this black and fatal river."
  Quick the daughter of Tuoni,
  Magic maid of little stature,
  Tiny virgin of Manala,
  Tiny washer of the linen,
  Tiny cleaner of the dresses,
  At the river of Tuoni,
  In Manala's ancient castles,
  Speaks these words to Wainamoinen,
  Gives this answer to his calling:
  "Straightway will I bring the row-boat,
  When the reasons thou hast given
  Why thou comest to Manala
  In a hale and active body."
  Wainamoinen, old and artful.,
  Gives this answer to the maiden:
  "I was brought here by Tuoni,
  Mana raised me from the coffin."
  Speaks the maiden of Manala:
  "This a tale of wretched liars;
  Had Tuoni brought thee hither,
  Mana raised thee from the coffin,
  Then Tuoni would be with thee,
  Manalainen too would lead thee,
  With Tuoni's hat upon thee,
  On thy hands, the gloves of Mana;
  Tell the truth now, Wainamoinen,
  What has brought thee to Manala?"
  Wainamoinen, artful hero,
  Gives this answer, still finessing:
  "Iron brought me to Manala,
  To the kingdom of Tuoni."
  Speaks the virgin of the death-land,
  Mana's wise and tiny daughter:
  "Well I know that this is falsehood,
  Had the iron brought thee hither,
  Brought thee to Tuoni's kingdom,
  Blood would trickle from thy vesture,
  And the blood-drops, scarlet-colored.
  Speak the truth now, Wainamoinen,
  This the third time that I ask thee."
  Wainamoinen, little heeding,
  Still finesses to the daughter:
  "Water brought me to Manala,
  To the kingdom of Tuoui."
  This the tiny maiden's answer:
  "Well I know thou speakest falsely;
  If the waters of Manala,
  If the cataract and whirlpool,
  Or the waves had brought thee hither,
  From thy robes the drops would trickle,
  Water drip from all thy raiment.
  Tell the truth and I will serve thee,
  What has brought thee to Manala?"
  Then the wilful Wainamoinen
  Told this falsehood to the maiden:
  "Fire has brought me to Manala,
  To the kingdom of Tuoni."
  Spake again Tuoni's daughter:
  "Well I know the voice of falsehood.
  If the fire had brought thee hither,
  Brought thee to Tuoni's empire,
  Singed would be thy locks and eyebrows,
  And thy beard be crisped and tangled.
  O, thou foolish Wainamoinen,
  If I row thee o'er the ferry,
  Thou must speak the truth in answer,
  This the last time I will ask thee;
  Make an end of thy deception.
  What has brought thee to Manala,
  Still unharmed by pain or sickness,
  Still untouched by Death's dark angel
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "At the first I spake, not truly,
  Now I give thee rightful answer:
  I a boat with ancient wisdom,
  Fashioned with my powers of magic,
  Sang one day and then a second,
  Sang the third day until evening,
  When I broke the magic main-spring,
  Broke my magic sledge in pieces,
  Of my song the fleetest runners;
  Then I come to Mana's kingdom,
  Came to borrow here a hatchet,
  Thus to mend my sledge of magic,
  Thus to join the parts together.
  Send the boat now quickly over,
  Send me, quick, Tuoni's row-boat,
  Help me cross this fatal river,
  Cross the channel of Manala."
  Spake the daughter of Tuoni,
  Mana's maiden thus replying:
  "Thou art sure a stupid fellow,
  Foresight wanting, judgment lacking,
  Having neither wit nor wisdom,
  Coming here without a reason,
  Coming to Tuoni's empire;
  Better far if thou shouldst journey
  To thy distant home and kindred;
  Man they that visit Mana,
  Few return from Maria's kingdom."
  Spake the good old Wainamoinen:
  "Women old retreat from danger,
  Not a man of any courage,
  Not the weakest of the heroes.
  Bring thy boat, Tuoni's daughter,
  Tiny maiden of Manala,
  Come and row me o'er the ferry."
  Mana's daughter does as bidden,
  Brings her boat to Wainamoinen,
  Quickly rows him through the channel,
  O'er the black and fatal river,
  To the kingdom of Manala,
  Speaks these words to the magician:
  "Woe to thee! O Wainamoinen!
  Wonderful indeed, thy magic,
  Since thou comest to Manala,
  Comest neither dead nor dying."
  Tuonetar, the death-land hostess,
  Ancient hostess of Tuoni,
  Brings him pitchers filled with strong-beer,
  Fills her massive golden goblets,
  Speaks these measures to the stranger:
  "Drink, thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Drink the beer of king Tuoni!"
  Wainamoinen, wise and cautious,
  Carefully inspects the liquor,
  Looks a long time in the pitchers,
  Sees the spawning of the black-frogs,
  Sees the young of poison-serpents,
  Lizards, worms, and writhing adders,
  Thus addresses Tuonetar:
  "Have not come with this intention,
  Have not come to drink thy poisons,
  Drink the beer of Tuonela;
  Those that drink Tuoni's liquors,
  Those that sip the cups of Mana,
  Court the Devil and destruction,
  End their lives in want and ruin."
  Tuonetar makes this answer:
  "Ancient minstrel, Wainamoinen,
  Tell me what has brought thee hither,
  Brought thee to the, realm of Mana,
  To the courts of Tuonela,
  Ere Tuoni sent his angels
  To thy home in Kalevala,
  There to cut thy magic life-thread."
  Spake the singer, Wainamoinen:
  "I was building me a vessel,
  At my craft was working, singing,
  Needed three words of the Master,
  How to fasten in the ledges,
  How the stern should be completed,
  How complete the boat's forecastle.
  This the reason of my coming
  To the empire of Tuoni,
  To the castles of Manala:
  Came to learn these magic sayings,
  Learn the lost-words of the Master."
  Spake the hostess, Tuonetar:
  "Mana never gives these sayings,
  Canst not learn them from Tuoni,
  Not the lost-words of the Master;
  Thou shalt never leave this kingdom,
  Never in thy magic life-time,
  Never go to Kalevala,
  To Wainola's peaceful meadows.
  To thy distant home and country."
  Quick the hostess, Tuonetar,
  Waves her magic wand of slumber
  O'er the head of Wainamoinen,
  Puts to rest the wisdom-hero,
  Lays him on the couch of Mana,
  In the robes of living heroes,
  Deep the sleep that settles o'er him.
  In Manala lived a woman,
  In the kingdom of Tuoni,
  Evil witch and toothless wizard,
  Spinner of the threads of iron,
  Moulder of the bands of copper,
  Weaver of a hundred fish-nets,
  Of a thousand nets of copper,
  Spinning in the days of summer,
  Weaving in the winter evenings,
  Seated on a rock in water.
  In the kingdom of Tuoni
  Lived a man, a wicked wizard,
  Three the fingers of the hero,
  Spinner he of iron meshes,
  Maker too of nets of copper,
  Countless were his nets of metal,
  Moulded on a rock in water,
  Through the many days of summer.
  Mana's son with crooked fingers,
  Iron-pointed, copper fingers,
  Pulls of nets, at least a thousand,
  Through the river of Tuoni,
  Sets them lengthwise, sets them crosswise,
  In the fatal, darksome river,
  That the sleeping Wainamomen,
  Friend and brother of the waters,
  May not leave the isle of Mana,
  Never in the course of ages,
  Never leave the death-land castles,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers
  On the empire of Tuoni.
  Wainamoinen, wise and wary,
  Rising from his couch of slumber,
  Speaks these words as he is waking:
  "Is there not some mischief brewing,
  Am I not at last in danger,
  In the chambers of Tuoni,
  In the Manala home and household?"
  Quick he changes his complexion,
  Changes too his form and feature,
  Slips into another body;
  Like a serpent in a circle,
  Rolls black-dyed upon the waters;
  Like a snake among the willows,
  Crawls he like a worm of magic,
  Like an adder through the grasses,
  Through the coal-black stream of death-land,
  Through a thousand nets of copper
  Interlaced with threads of iron,
  From the kingdom of Tuoni,
  From the castles of Manala.
  Mana's son, the wicked wizard,
  With his iron-pointed fingers,
  In the early morning hastens
  To his thousand nets of copper,
  Set within the Tuoni river,
  Finds therein a countless number
  Of the death-stream fish and serpents;
  Does not find old Wainamoinen,
  Wainamoinen, wise and wary,
  Friend and fellow of the waters.
  When the wonder-working hero
  Had escaped from Tuonela,
  Spake he thus in supplication:
  "Gratitude to thee, O Ukko,
  Do I bring for thy protection!
  Never suffer other heroes,
  Of thy heroes not the wisest,
  To transgress the laws of nature;
  Never let another singer,
  While he lives within the body,
  Cross the river of Tuoni,
  As thou lovest thy creations.
  Many heroes cross the channel,
  Cross the fatal stream of Mana,
  Few return to tell the story,
  Few return from Tuonela,
  From Manala's courts and castles."
  Wainamoinen calls his people,
  On the plains of Kalevala,
  Speaks these words of ancient wisdom,
  To the young men, to the maidens,
  To the rising generation:
  "Every child of Northland, listen:
  If thou wishest joy eternal,
  Never disobey thy parents,
  Never evil treat the guiltless,
  Never wrong the feeble-minded,
  Never harm thy weakest fellow,
  Never stain thy lips with falsehood,
  Never cheat thy trusting neighbor,
  Never injure thy companion,
  Lest thou surely payest penance
  In the kingdom of Tuoni,
  In the prison of Manala;
  There, the home of all the wicked,
  There the couch of the unworthy,
  There the chambers of the guilty.
  Underneath Manala's fire-rock
  Are their ever-flaming couches,
  For their pillows hissing serpents,
  Vipers green their writhing covers,
  For their drink the blood of adders,
  For their food the pangs of hunger,
  Pain and agony their solace;
  If thou wishest joy eternal,
  Shun the kingdom of Tuoui!"



  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Did not learn the words of magic
  In Tuoni's gloomy regions,
  In the kingdom of Manala.
  Thereupon he long debated,
  Well considered, long reflected,
  Where to find the magic sayings;
  When a shepherd came to meet him,
  Speaking thus to Wainamoinen:
  "Thou canst find of words a hundred,
  Find a thousand wisdom-sayings,
  In the mouth of wise Wipunen,
  In the body of the hero;
  To the spot I know the foot-path,
  To his tomb the magic highway,
  Trodden by a host of heroes;
  Long the distance thou must travel,
  On the sharpened points of needles;
  Then a long way thou must journey
  On the edges of the broadswords;
  Thirdly thou must travel farther
  On the edges of the hatchets."
  Wainamoinen, old and trustful,
  Well considered all these journeys,
  Travelled to the forge and smithy,
  Thus addressed the metal-worker:
  "Ilmarinen, worthy blacksmith,
  Make a shoe for me of iron,
  Forge me gloves of burnished copper,
  Mold a staff of strongest metal,
  Lay the steel upon the inside,
  Forge within the might of magic;
  I am going on a journey
  To procure the magic sayings,
  Find the lost-words of the Master,
  From the mouth of the magician,
  From the tongue of wise Wipunen."
  Spake the artist, Ilmarinen:
  "Long ago died wise Wipunen,
  Disappeared these many ages,
  Lays no more his snares of copper,
  Sets no longer traps of iron,
  Cannot learn from him the wisdom,
  Cannot find in him the lost-words."
  Wainamoinen, old and hopeful,
  Little heeding, not discouraged,
  In his metal shoes and armor,
  Hastens forward on his journey,
  Runs the first day fleetly onward,
  On the sharpened points of needles;
  'Wearily he strides the second,
  On the edges of the broadswords
  Swings himself the third day forward,
  On the edges of the hatchets.
  Wise Wipunen, wisdom-singer,
  Ancient bard, and great magician,
  With his magic songs lay yonder,
  Stretched beside him, lay his sayings,
  On his shoulder grew the aspen,
  On each temple grew the birch-tree,
  On his mighty chin the alder,
  From his beard grew willow-bushes,
  From his mouth the dark green fir-tree,
  And the oak-tree from his forehead.
  Wainamoinen, coming closer,
  Draws his sword, lays bare his hatchet
  From his magic leathern scabbard,
  Fells the aspen from his shoulder,
  Fells the birch-tree from his temples,
  From his chin he fells the alder,
  From his beard, the branching willows,
  From his mouth the dark-green fir-tree,
  Fells the oak-tree from his forehead.
  Now he thrusts his staff of iron
  Through the mouth of wise Wipunen,
  Pries his mighty jaws asunder,
  Speaks these words of master-magic:
  "Rise, thou master of magicians,
  From the sleep of Tuonela,
  From thine everlasting slumber!"
  Wise Wipunen, ancient singer,
  Quickly wakens from his sleeping,
  Keenly feels the pangs of torture,
  From the cruel staff of iron;
  Bites with mighty force the metal,
  Bites in twain the softer iron,
  Cannot bite the steel asunder,
  Opens wide his mouth in anguish.
  Wainamoinen of Wainola,
  In his iron-shoes and armor,
  Careless walking, headlong stumbles
  In the spacious mouth and fauces
  Of the magic bard, Wipunen.
  Wise Wipunen, full of song-charms,
  Opens wide his mouth and swallows
  Wainamoinen and his magic,
  Shoes, and staff, and iron armor.
  Then outspeaks the wise Wipunen:
  "Many things before I've eaten,
  Dined on goat, and sheep, and reindeer,
  Bear, and ox, and wolf, and wild-boar,
  Never in my recollection,
  Have I tasted sweeter morsels!"
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Now I see the evil symbols,
  See misfortune hanging o'er me,
  In the darksome Hisi-hurdles,
  In the catacombs of Kalma."
  Wainamoinen long considered
  How to live and how to prosper,
  How to conquer this condition.
  In his belt he wore a poniard,
  With a handle hewn from birch-wood,
  From the handle builds a vessel,
  Builds a boat through magic science;
  In this vessel rows he swiftly
  Through the entrails of the hero,
  Rows through every gland and vessel
  Of the wisest of magicians.
  Old Wipunen, master-singer,
  Barely feels the hero's presence,
  Gives no heed to Wainamoinen.
  Then the artist of Wainola
  Straightway sets himself to forging,
  Sets at work to hammer metals;
  Makes a smithy from his armor,
  Of his sleeves he makes the bellows,
  Makes the air-valve from his fur-coat,
  From his stockings, makes the muzzle,
  Uses knees instead of anvil,
  Makes a hammer of his fore-arm;
  Like the storm-wind roars the bellows,
  Like the thunder rings the anvil;
  Forges one day, then a second,
  Forges till the third day closes,
  In the body of Wipunen,
  In the sorcerer's abdomen.
  Old Wipunen, full of magic,
  Speaks these words in wonder, guessing:
  "Who art thou of ancient heroes,
  Who of all the host of heroes?
  Many heroes I have eaten,
  And of men a countless number,
  Have not eaten such as thou art;
  Smoke arises from my nostrils,
  From my mouth the fire is streaming,
  In my throat are iron-clinkers.
  "Go, thou monster, hence to wander,
  Flee this place, thou plague of Northland,
  Ere I go to seek thy mother,
  Tell the ancient dame thy mischief;
  She shall bear thine evil conduct,
  Great the burden she shall carry;
  Great a mother's pain and anguish,
  When her child runs wild and lawless;
  Cannot comprehend the meaning,
  Nor this mystery unravel,
  Why thou camest here, O monster,
  Camest here to give me torture.
  Art thou Hisi sent from heaven,
  Some calamity from Ukko?
  Art, perchance, some new creation,
  Ordered here to do me evil?
  If thou art some evil genius,
  Some calamity from Ukko,
  Sent to me by my Creator,
  Then am I resigned to suffer
  God does not forsake the worthy,
  Does not ruin those that trust him,
  Never are the good forsaken.
  If by man thou wert created,
  If some hero sent thee hither,
  I shall learn thy race of evil,
  Shall destroy thy wicked tribe-folk.
  "Thence arose the violation,
  Thence arose the first destruction,
  Thence came all the evil-doings:
  From the neighborhood of wizards,
  From the homes of the magicians,
  From the eaves of vicious spirits,
  From the haunts of fortune-tellers,
  From the cabins of the witches,
  From the castles of Tuoni,
  From the bottom of Manala,
  From the ground with envy swollen,
  From Ingratitude's dominions,
  From the rocky shoals and quicksands,
  From the marshes filled with danger,
  From the cataract's commotion,
  From the bear-caves in the mountains,
  From the wolves within the thickets,
  From the roarings of the pine-tree,
  From the burrows of the fox-dog,
  From the woodlands of the reindeer,
  From the eaves and Hisi-hurdles,
  From the battles of the giants,
  From uncultivated pastures,
  From the billows of the oceans,
  From the streams of boiling waters,
  From the waterfalls of Rutya,
  From the limits of the storm-clouds,
  From the pathways of the thunders,
  From the flashings of the lightnings,
  From the distant plains of Pohya,
  From the fatal stream and whirlpool,
  From the birthplace of Tuoni.
  "Art thou coming from these places?
  Hast thou, evil, hastened hither,
  To the heart of sinless hero,
  To devour my guiltless body,
  To destroy this wisdom-singer?
  Get thee hence, thou dog of Lempo,
  Leave, thou monster from Manala,
  Flee from mine immortal body,
  Leave my liver, thing of evil,
  In my body cease thy forging,
  Cease this torture of my vitals,
  Let me rest in peace and slumber.
  "Should I want in means efficient,
  Should I lack the magic power
  To outroot thine evil genius,
  I shall call a better hero,
  Call upon a higher power,
  To remove this dire misfortune,
  To annihilate this monster.
  I shall call the will of woman,
  From the fields, the old-time heroes?
  Mounted heroes from the sand-hills,
  Thus to rescue me from danger,
  From these pains and ceaseless tortures.
  "If this force prove inefficient,
  Should not drive thee from my body,
  Come, thou forest, with thy heroes,
  Come, ye junipers and pine-trees,
  With your messengers of power,
  Come, ye mountains, with your wood-nymphs,
  Come, ye lakes, with all your mermaids,
  Come, ye hundred ocean-spearmen,
  Come, torment this son of Hisi,
  Come and kill this evil monster.
  "If this call is inefficient,
  Does not drive thee from my vitals,
  Rise, thou ancient water-mother,
  With thy blue-cap from the ocean,
  From the seas, the lakes, the rivers,
  Bring protection to thy hero,
  Comfort bring and full assistance,
  That I guiltless may not suffer,
  May not perish prematurely.
  "Shouldst thou brave this invocation,
  Kapè, daughter of Creation,
  Come, thou beauteous, golden maiden,
  Oldest of the race of women,
  Come and witness my misfortunes,
  Come and turn away this evil,
  Come, remove this biting torment,
  Take away this plague of Piru.
  "If this call be disregarded,
  If thou wilt not leave me guiltless,
  Ukko, on the arch of heaven,
  In the thunder-cloud dominions,
  Come thou quickly, thou art needed,
  Come, protect thy tortured hero,
  Drive away this magic demon,
  Banish ever his enchantment,
  With his sword and flaming furnace,
  With his fire-enkindling bellows.
  "Go, thou demon, hence to wander,
  Flee, thou plague of Northland heroes;
  Never come again for shelter,
  Nevermore build thou thy dwelling
  In the body of Wipunen;
  Take at once thy habitation
  To the regions of thy kindred,
  To thy distant fields and firesides;
  When thy journey thou hast ended,
  Gained the borders of thy country,
  Gained the meads of thy Creator,
  Give a signal of thy coming,
  Rumble like the peals of thunder,
  Glisten like the gleam of lightning,
  Knock upon the outer portals,
  Enter through the open windows,
  Glide about the many chambers,
  Seize the host and seize the hostess,
  Knock their evil beads together,
  Wring their necks and hurl their bodies
  To the black-dogs of the forest.
  "Should this prove of little value,
  Hover like the bird of battle,
  O'er the dwellings of the master,
  Scare the horses from the mangers,
  From the troughs affright the cattle,
  Twist their tails, and horns, and forelocks,
  Hurl their carcasses to Lempo.
  "If some scourge the winds have sent me,
  Sent me on the air of spring-tide,
  Brought me by the frosts of winter,
  Quickly journey whence thou camest,
  On the air-path of the heavens,
  Perching not upon some aspen,
  Resting not upon the birch-tree;
  Fly away to copper mountains,
  That the copper-winds may nurse thee,
  Waves of ether, thy protection.
  "Didst those come from high Jumala,
  From the hems of ragged snow-clouds,
  Quick ascend beyond the cloud-space,
  Quickly journey whence thou camest,
  To the snow-clouds, crystal-sprinkled,
  To the twinkling stars of heaven
  There thy fire may burn forever,
  There may flash thy forked lightnings,
  In the Sun's undying furnace.
  "Wert thou sent here by the spring-floods,
  Driven here by river-torrents?
  Quickly journey whence thou camest,
  Quickly hasten to the waters,
  To the borders of the rivers,
  To the ancient water-mountain,
  That the floods again may rock thee,
  And thy water-mother nurse thee.
  "Didst thou come from Kalma's kingdom,
  From the castles of the death-land?
  Haste thou back to thine own country,
  To the Kalma-halls and castles,
  To the fields with envy swollen,
  Where contending armies perish.
  "Art thou from the Hisi-woodlands,
  From ravines in Lempo's forest,
  From the thickets of the pine-wood,
  From the dwellings of the fir-glen?
  Quick retrace thine evil footsteps
  To the dwellings of thy master,
  To the thickets of thy kindred;
  There thou mayest dwell at pleasure,
  Till thy house decays about thee,
  Till thy walls shall mould and crumble.
  Evil genius, thee I banish,
  Got thee hence, thou horrid monster,
  To the caverns of the white-bear,
  To the deep abysm of serpents,
  To the vales, and swamps, and fenlands,
  To the ever-silent waters,
  To the hot-springs of the mountains,
  To the dead-seas of the Northland,
  To the lifeless lakes and rivers,
  To the sacred stream and whirlpool.
  "Shouldst thou find no place of resting,
  I will banish thee still farther,
  To the Northland's distant borders,
  To the broad expanse of Lapland,
  To the ever-lifeless deserts,
  To the unproductive prairies,
  Sunless, moonless, starless, lifeless,
  In the dark abyss of Northland;
  This for thee, a place befitting,
  Pitch thy tents and feast forever
  On the dead plains of Pohyola.
  "Shouldst thou find no means of living,
  I will banish thee still farther,
  To the cataract of Rutya,
  To the fire-emitting whirlpool,
  Where the firs are ever falling,
  To the windfalls of the forest;
  Swim hereafter in the waters
  Of the fire-emitting whirlpool,
  Whirl thou ever in the current
  Of the cataract's commotion,
  In its foam and boiling waters.
  Should this place be unbefitting,
  I will drive thee farther onward,
  To Tuoni's coal-black river,
  To the endless stream of Mana,
  Where thou shalt forever linger;
  Thou canst never leave Manala,
  Should I not thy head deliver,
  Should I never pay thy ransom;
  Thou canst never safely journey
  Through nine brother-rams abutting,
  Through nine brother-bulls opposing
  Through nine brother-stallions thwarting,
  Thou canst not re-cross Death-river
  Thickly set with iron netting,
  Interlaced with threads of copper.
  "Shouldst thou ask for steeds for saddle,
  Shouldst thou need a fleet-foot courser,
  I will give thee worthy racers,
  I will give thee saddle-horses;
  Evil Hisi has a charger,
  Crimson mane, and tail, and foretop,
  Fire emitting from his nostrils,
  As he prances through his pastures;
  Hoofs are made of strongest iron,
  Legs are made of steel and copper,
  Quickly scales the highest mountains,
  Darts like lightning through the valleys,
  When a skilful master rides him.
  "Should this steed be insufficient,
  I will give thee Lempo's snow-shoes,
  Give thee Hisi's shoes of elm-wood,
  Give to thee the staff of Piru,
  That with these thou mayest journey
  Into Hisi's courts and castles,
  To the woods and fields of Juutas;
  If the rocks should rise before thee,
  Dash the flinty rocks in pieces,
  Hurl the fragments to the heavens;
  If the branches cross thy pathway,
  Make them turn aside in greeting;
  If some mighty hero hail thee,
  Hurl him headlong to the woodlands.
  "Hasten hence, thou thing of evil,
  Heinous monster, leave my body,
  Ere the breaking of the morning
  Ere the Sun awakes from slumber,
  Ere the sinning of the cuckoo;
  Haste away, thou plague of Northland,
  Haste along the track of' moonbeams,
  Wander hence, forever wander,
  To the darksome fields or Pohya.
  "If at once thou dost not leave me,
  I will send the eagle's talons,
  Send to thee the beaks of vultures,
  To devour thine evil body,
  Hurl thy skeleton to Hisi.
  Much more quickly cruel Lempo
  Left my vitals when commanded,
  When I called the aid of Ukko,
  Called the help of my Creator.
  Flee, thou motherless offendant,
  Flee, thou fiend of Sariola,
  Flee, thou hound without a master,
  Ere the morning sun arises,
  Ere the Moon withdraws to slumber!"
  Wainamoinen, ancient hero,
  Speaks at last to old Wipunen:
  "Satisfied am I to linger
  In these old and spacious caverns,
  Pleasant here my home and dwelling;
  For my meat I have thy tissues,
  Have thy heart, and spleen, and liver,
  For my drink the blood of ages,
  Goodly home for Wainamoinen.
  "I shall set my forge and bellows
  Deeper, deeper in thy vitals;
  I shall swing my heavy hammer,
  Swing it with a greater power
  On thy heart, and lungs, and liver;
  I shall never, never leave thee
  Till I learn thine incantations,
  Learn thy many wisdom-sayings,
  Learn the lost-words of the Master;
  Never must these words be bidden,
  Earth must never lose this wisdom,
  Though the wisdom-singers perish."
  Old Wipunen, wise magician,
  Ancient prophet, filled with power,
  Opens fall his store of knowledge,
  Lifts the covers from his cases,
  Filled with old-time incantations,
  Filled with songs of times primeval,
  Filled with ancient wit and wisdom;
  Sings the very oldest folk-songs,
  Sings the origin of witchcraft,
  Sings of Earth and its beginning
  Sings the first of all creations,
  Sings the source of good and evil
  Sung alas! by youth no longer,
  Only sung in part by heroes
  In these days of sin and sorrow.
  Evil days our land befallen.
  Sings the orders of enchantment.
  How, upon the will of Ukko,
  By command of the Creator,
  How the air was first divided,
  How the water came from ether,
  How the earth arose from water,
  How from earth came vegetation,
  Fish, and fowl, and man, and hero.
  Sings again the wise Wipunen,
  How the Moon was first created,
  How the Sun was set in heaven,
  Whence the colors of the rainbow,
  Whence the ether's crystal pillars,
  How the skies with stars were sprinkled.
  Then again sings wise Wipunen,
  Sings in miracles of concord,
  Sings in magic tones of wisdom,
  Never was there heard such singing;
  Songs he sings in countless numbers,
  Swift his notes as tongues of serpents,
  All the distant hills re-echo;
  Sings one day, and then a second,
  Sings a third from dawn till evening,
  Sings from evening till the morning;
  Listen all the stars of heaven,
  And the Moon stands still and listens
  Fall the waves upon the deep-sea,
  In the bay the tides cease rising,
  Stop the rivers in their courses,
  Stops the waterfall of Rutya,
  Even Jordan ceases flowing,
  And the Wuoksen stops and listens.
  When the ancient Wainamoinen
  Well had learned the magic sayings,
  Learned the ancient songs and legends,
  Learned the words of ancient wisdom,
  Learned the lost-words of the Master,
  Well had learned the secret doctrine,
  He prepared to leave the body
  Of the wisdom-bard, Wipunen,
  Leave the bosom of the master,
  Leave the wonderful enchanter.
  Spake the hero, Wainamoinen:
  "O, thou Antero Wipunen,
  Open wide thy mouth and fauces,
  I have found the magic lost-words,
  I will leave thee now forever,
  Leave thee and thy wondrous singing,
  Will return to Kalevala,
  To Wainola's fields and firesides."
  Thus Wipunen spake in answer:
  "Many are the things I've eaten,
  Eaten bear, and elk, and reindeer,
  Eaten ox, and wolf, and wild-boar,
  Eaten man, and eaten hero,
  Never, never have I eaten
  Such a thing as Wainamoinen;
  Thou hast found what thou desirest,
  Found the three words of the Master;
  Go in peace, and ne'er returning,
  Take my blessing on thy going."
  Thereupon the bard Wipunen
  Opens wide his mouth, and wider;
  And the good, old Wainamoinen
  Straightway leaves the wise enchanter,
  Leaves Wipunen's great abdomen;
  From the mouth he glides and journeys
  O'er the hills and vales of Northland,
  Swift as red-deer or the forest,
  Swift as yellow-breasted marten,
  To the firesides of Wainola,
  To the plains of Kalevala.
  Straightway hastes he to the smithy
  Of his brother, Ilmarinen,
  Thus the iron-artist greets him:
  Hast thou found the long-lost wisdom,
  Hast thou heard the secret doctrine,
  Hast thou learned the master magic,
  How to fasten in the ledges,
  How the stern should be completed,
  How complete the ship's forecastle?
  Wainamoinen thus made answer:
  "I have learned of words a hundred,
  Learned a thousand incantations,
  Hidden deep for many ages,
  Learned the words of ancient wisdom,
  Found the keys of secret doctrine,
  Found the lost-words of the Master."
  Wainamoinen, magic-builder,
  Straightway journeys to his vessel,
  To the spot of magic labor,
  Quickly fastens in the ledges,
  Firmly binds the stern together
  And completes the boat's forecastle.
  Thus the ancient Wainamoinen
  Built the boat with magic only,
  And with magic launched his vessel,
  Using not the hand to touch it,
  Using not the foot to move it,
  Using not the knee to turn it,
  Using nothing to propel it.
  Thus the third task was completed,
  For the hostess of Pohyola,
  Dowry for the Maid of Beauty
  Sitting on the arch of heaven,
  On the bow of many colors.



  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Long considered, long debated,
  How to woo and win the daughter
  Of the hostess of Pohyola,
  How to lead the Bride of Beauty,
  Fairy maiden of the rainbow,
  To the meadows of Wainola,
  From the dismal Sariola.
  Now he decks his magic vessel,
  Paints the boat in blue and scarlet,
  Trims in gold the ship's forecastle,
  Decks the prow in molten silver;
  Sings his magic ship down gliding,
  On the cylinders of fir-tree:
  Now erects the masts of pine-wood,
  On each mast the sails of linen,
  Sails of blue, and white, and scarlet,
  Woven into finest fabric.
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  Steps aboard his wondrous vessel,
  Steers the bark across the waters,
  On the blue back of the broad-sea,
  Speaks these words in sailing northward,
  Sailing to the dark Pohyola:
  "Come aboard my ship, O Ukko,
  Come with me, thou God of mercy,
  To protect thine ancient hero,
  To support thy trusting servant,
  On the breasts of raging billows,
  On the far out-stretching waters.
  "Rock, O winds, this wondrous vessel,
  Causing not a single ripple;
  Rolling waves, bear ye me northward,
  That the oar may not be needed
  In my journey to Pohyola,
  O'er this mighty waste of waters."
  Ilmarinen's beauteous sister,
  Fair and goodly maid, Annikki,
  Of the Night and Dawn, the daughter,
  Who awakes each morning early,
  Rises long before the daylight,
  Stood one morning on the sea-shore,
  Washing in the foam her dresses,
  Rinsing out her silken ribbons,
  On the bridge of scarlet color,
  On the border of the highway,
  On a headland jutting seaward,
  On the forest-covered island.
  Here Annikki, looking round her,
  Looking through the fog and ether,
  Looking through the clouds of heaven,
  Gazing far out on the blue-sea,
  Sees the morning sun arising,
  Glimmering along the billows,
  Looks with eyes of distant vision
  Toward the sunrise on the waters,
  Toward the winding streams of Suomi,
  Where the Wina-waves were flowing.
  There she sees, on the horizon,
  Something darkle in the sunlight,
  Something blue upon the billows,
  Speaks these words in wonder guessing:
  What is this upon the surges,
  What this blue upon the waters,
  What this darkling in the sunlight?
  'Tis perhaps a flock of wild-geese,
  Or perchance the blue-duck flying;
  Then upon thy wings arising,
  Fly away to highest heaven.
  "Art thou then a shoal of sea-trout,
  Or perchance a school of salmon?
  Dive then to the deep sea-bottom,
  In the waters swim and frolic.
  "Art thou then a cliff of granite,
  Or perchance a mighty oak-tree,
  Floating on the rough sea-billows?
  May the floods then wash and beat thee
  Break thee to a thousand fragments."
  Wainamoinen, sailing northward,
  Steers his wondrous ship of magic
  Toward the headland jutting seaward,
  Toward the island forest-covered.
  Now Annikki, goodly maiden,
  Sees it is the magic vessel
  Of a wonderful enchanter,
  Of a mighty bard and hero,
  And she asks this simple question:
  "Art thou then my father's vessel,
  Or my brother's ship of magic?
  Haste away then to thy harbor,
  To thy refuge in Wainola.
  Hast thou come a goodly distance?
  Sail then farther on thy journey,
  Point thy prow to other waters."
  It was not her father's vessel,
  Not a sail-boat from the distance,
  'Twas the ship of Wainamoinen,
  Bark of the eternal singer;
  Sails within a hailing distance,
  Swims still nearer o'er the waters,
  Brings one word and takes another,
  Brings a third of magic import.
  Speaks the goodly maid, Annikki,
  Of the Night and Dawn, the daughter,
  To the sailor of the vessel:
  "Whither sailest, Wainamoinen,
  Whither bound, thou friend of waters,
  Pride and joy of Kalevala?"
  From the vessel Wainamomen
  Gives this answer to the maiden:
  "I have come to catch some sea-trout,
  Catch the young and toothsome whiting,
  Hiding in tbese-reeds and rushes."
  This the answer of Annikki:
  "Do not speak to me in falsehood,
  Know I well the times of fishing;
  Long ago my honored father
  Was a fisherman in Northland,
  Came to catch the trout and whiting,
  Fished within these seas and rivers.
  Very well do I remember
  How the fisherman disposes,
  How he rigs his fishing vessel,
  Lines, and gaffs, and poles, and fish-nets;
  Hast not come a-fishing hither.
  Whither goest, Wainamoinen,
  Whither sailest, friend of waters?
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "I have come to catch some wild-geese,
  Catch the hissing birds of Suomi,
  In these far-extending borders,
  In the Sachsensund dominions."
  Good Annikki gives this answer:
  "Know I well a truthful speaker,
  Easily detect a falsehood;
  Formerly my aged father
  Often came a-hunting hither,
  Came to hunt the hissing wild-geese,
  Hunt the red-bill of these waters.
  Very well do I remember
  How the hunter rigs his vessel,
  Bows, and arrows, knives, and quiver,
  Dogs enchained within the vessel,
  Pointers hunting on the sea-shore,
  Setters seeking in the marshes,
  Tell the truth now Wainamoinen,
  Whither is thy vessel sailing?"
  Spake the hero of the Northland:
  "To the wars my ship is sailing,
  To the bloody fields of battle,
  Where the streams run scarlet-colored,
  Where the paths are paved with bodies!'
  These the words of fair Annikki:
  "Know I well the paths to battle.
  Formerly my aged father
  Often sounded war's alarum,
  Often led the hosts to conquest;
  In each ship a hundred rowers,
  And in arms a thousand heroes,
  Oil the prow a thousand cross-bows,
  Swords, and spears, and battle-axes;
  Know I well the ship of battle.
  Speak Do longer fruitless falsehoods,
  Whither sailest, Wainamoinen,
  Whither steerest, friend of waters?
  These the words of Wainamoinen:
  "Come, O maiden, to my vessel,
  In my magic ship be seated,
  Then I'll give thee truthful answer."
  Thus Annikki, silver-tinselled,
  Answers ancient Wainamoinen:
  "With the winds I'll fill thy vessel,
  To thy bark I'll send the storm-winds
  And capsize thy ship of magic,
  Break in pieces its forecastle,
  If the truth thou dost not tell me,
  If thou dost not cease thy falsehoods,
  If thou dost not tell me truly
  Whither sails thy magic vessel."
  These the words of Wainamoinen:
  "Now I make thee truthful answer,
  Though at first I spake deception:
  I am sailing to the Northland
  To the dismal Sariola,
  Where the ogres live and flourish,
  Where they drown the worthy heroes,
  There to woo the Maid of Beauty
  Sitting on the bow of heaven,
  Woo and win the fairy virgin,
  Bring her to my home and kindred,
  To the firesides of Walnola."
  Then Aunikki, graceful maiden,
  Of the Night and Dawn, the daughter,
  As she heard the rightful answer,
  Knew the truth was fully spoken,
  Straightway left her coats unbeaten,
  Left unwashed her linen garments,
  Left unrinsed her silks and ribbons
  On the highway by the sea-shore,
  On the bridge of scarlet color
  On her arm she threw her long-robes,
  Hastened off with speed of roebuck
  To the shops of Ilmarinen,
  To the iron-forger's furnace,
  To the blacksmith's home and smithy,
  Here she found the hero-artist,
  Forging out a bench of iron,
  And adorning it with silver.
  Soot lay thick upon his forehead,
  Soot and coal upon his shoulders.
  On the threshold speaks Annikki,
  These the words his sister uses:
  "Ilmarinen, dearest brother,
  Thou eternal artist-forger,
  Forge me now a loom of silver,
  Golden rings to grace my fingers,
  Forge me gold and silver ear-rings,
  Six or seven golden girdles,
  Golden crosslets for my bosom,
  For my head forge golden trinkets,
  And I'll tell a tale surprising,
  Tell a story that concerns thee
  Truthfully I'll tell the story."
  Then the blacksmith Ilmarinen
  Spake and these the words he uttered:
  "If thou'lt tell the tale sincerely,
  I will forge the loom of silver,
  Golden rings to grace thy fingers,
  Forge thee gold and silver ear-rings,
  Six or seven golden girdles,
  Golden crosslets for thy bosom,
  For thy head forge golden trinkets;
  But if thou shouldst tell me falsely,
  I shall break thy beauteous jewels,
  Break thine ornaments in pieces,
  Hurl them to the fire and furnace,
  Never forge thee other trinkets."
  This the answer of Annikki:
  "Ancient blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Dost thou ever think to marry
  Her already thine affianced,
  Beauteous Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Fairest virgin of the Northland,
  Chosen bride of Sariola?
  Shouldst thou wish the Maid of Beauty,
  Thou must forge, and forge unceasing,
  Hammering the days and nights through;
  Forge the summer hoofs for horses,
  Forge them iron hoofs for winter,
  In the long nights forge the snow-sledge,
  Gaily trim it in the daytime,
  Haste thou then upon thy journey
  To thy wooing in the Northland,
  To the dismal Sariola;
  Thither journeys one more clever,
  Sails another now before thee,
  There to woo thy bride affianced,
  Thence to lead thy chosen virgin,
  Woo and win the Maid of Beauty;
  Three long years thou hast been wooing.
  Wainamoinen now is sailing
  On the blue back of the waters,
  Sitting at his helm of copper;
  On the prow are golden carvings,
  Beautiful his boat of magic,
  Sailing fleetly o'er the billows,
  To the never-pleasant Northland,
  To the dismal Sariola."
  Ilmarinen stood in wonder,
  Stood a statue at the story;
  Silent grief had settled o'er him,
  Settled o'er the iron-artist;
  From one hand the tongs descended,
  From the other fell the hammer,
  As the blacksmith made this answer:
  "Good Annikki, worthy sister,
  I shall forge the loom of silver,
  Golden rings to grace thy fingers,
  Forge thee gold and silver ear-rings,
  Six or seven golden girdles,
  Golden crosslets for thy bosom;
  Go and heat for me the bath-room,
  Fill with heat the honey-chambers,
  Lay the faggots on the fire-place,
  Lay the smaller woods around them,
  Pour some water through the ashes,
  Make a soap of magic virtue,
  Thus to cleanse my blackened visage,
  Thus to cleanse the blacksmith's body,
  Thus remove the soot and ashes."
  Then Annikki, kindly sister,
  Quickly warmed her brother's bath-room,
  Warmed it with the knots of fir-trees,
  That the thunder-winds had broken;
  Gathered pebbles from the fire-stream,
  Threw them in the heating waters;
  Broke the tassels from the birch-trees,
  Steeped the foliage in honey,
  Made a lye from milk and ashes,
  Made of these a strong decoction,
  Mixed it with the fat and marrow
  Of the reindeer of the mountains,
  Made a soap of magic virtue,
  Thus to cleanse the iron-artist,
  Thus to beautify the suitor,
  Thus to make the hero worthy.
  Ilmarinen, ancient blacksmith,
  The eternal metal-worker,
  Forged the wishes of his sister,
  Ornaments for fair Annikki,
  Rings, and bracelets, pins and ear-drops,
  Forged for her six golden girdles,
  Forged a weaving loom of silver,
  While the maid prepared the bath-room,
  Set his toilet-room in order.
  To the maid he gave the trinkets,
  Gave the loom of molten silver,
  And the sister thus made answer:
  "I have heated well thy bath-room,
  Have thy toilet-things in order,
  Everything as thou desirest;
  Go prepare thyself for wooing,
  Lave thy bead to flaxen whiteness,
  Make thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy,
  Lave thyself in Love's aroma,
  That thy wooing prove successful."
  Ilmarinen, magic artist,
  Quick repairing to his bath-room,
  Bathed his head to flaxen whiteness,
  Made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy,
  Laved his eyes until they sparkled
  Like the moonlight on the waters;
  Wondrous were his form and features,
  And his cheeks like ruddy berries.
  These the words of Ilmarinen:
  "Fair Annikki, lovely sister,
  Bring me now my silken raiment,
  Bring my best and richest vesture,
  Bring me now my softest linen,
  That my wooing prove successful."
  Straightway did the helpful sister
  Bring the finest of his raiment,
  Bring the softest of his linen,
  Raiment fashioned by his mother;
  Brought to him his silken stockings,
  Brought him shoes of marten-leather,
  Brought a vest of sky-blue color,
  Brought him scarlet-colored trousers,
  Brought a coat with scarlet trimming,
  Brought a red shawl trimmed in ermine
  Fourfold wrapped about his body;
  Brought a fur-coat made of seal-skin,
  Fastened with a thousand bottons,
  And adorned with countless jewels;
  Brought for him his magic girdle,
  Fastened well with golden buckles,
  That his artist-mother fashioned;
  Brought him gloves with golden wristlets,
  That the Laplanders had woven
  For a head of many ringlets;
  Brought the finest cap in Northland,
  That his ancient father purchased
  When he first began his wooing.
  Ilmarinen, blacksmith-artist,
  Clad himself to look his finest,
  When he thus addressed a servant:
  "Hitch for me a fleet-foot racer,
  Hitch him to my willing snow-sledge,
  For I start upon a journey
  To the distant shores of Pohya,
  To the dismal Sariola."
  Spake the servant thus in answer:
  "Thou hast seven fleet-foot racers,
  Munching grain within their mangers,
  Which of these shall I make ready?"
  Spake the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:
  "Take the fleetest of my coursers,
  Put the gray steed in the harness,
  Hitch him to my sledge of magic;
  Place six cuckoos on the break-board,
  Seven bluebirds on the cross-bars,
  Thus to charm the Northland maidens,
  Thus to make them look and listen,
  As the cuckoos call and echo.
  Bring me too my largest bear-skin,
  Fold it warm about the cross-bench;
  Bring me then my marten fur-robes,
  As a cover and protection."
  Straightway then the trusty servant
  Of the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Put the gray steed in the harness,
  Hitched the racer to the snow-sledge,
  Placed six cuckoos on the break-board,
  Seven bluebirds on the cross-bars,
  On the front to sing and twitter;
  Then he brought the largest bear-skin,
  Folded it upon the cross-bench;
  Brought the finest robes of marten,
  Warm protection for the master.
  Ilmarinen, forger-artist,
  The eternal metal-worker,
  Earnestly entreated Ukko:
  "Send thy snow-flakes, Ukko, father,
  Let them gently fall from heaven,
  Let them cover all the heather,
  Let them hide the berry-bushes,
  That my sledge may glide in freedom
  O'er the hills to Sariola!"
  Ukko sent the snow from heaven,
  Gently dropped the crystal snow-flakes,
  Lending thus his kind assistance
  To the hero, Ilmarinen,
  On his journey to the Northland.
  Reins in hand, the ancient artist
  Seats him in his metal snow-sledge,
  And beseeches thus his Master:
  "Good luck to my reins and traces,
  Good luck to my shafts and runners!
  God protect my magic snow-sledge,
  Be my safeguard on my journey
  To the dismal Sariola!"
  Now the ancient Ilmarinen
  Draws the reins upon the racer,
  Snaps his whip above the courser,
  To the gray steed gives this order,
  And the charger plunges northward:
  "Haste away, my flaxen stallion,
  Haste thee onward, noble white-face,
  To the never-pleasant Pohya,
  To the dreary Sariola!"
  Fast and faster flies the fleet-foot,
  On the curving snow-capped sea-coast,
  On the borders of the lowlands,
  O'er the alder-hills and mountains.
  Merrily the steed flies onward,
  Bluebirds singing, cuckoos calling,
  On the sea-shore looking northward,
  Through the sand and falling snow-flakes
  Blinding winds, and snow, and sea-foam,
  Cloud the hero, Ilmarinen,
  As he glides upon his journey,
  Looking seaward for the vessel
  Of the ancient Wainamoinen;
  Travels one day, then a second,
  Travels all the next day northward,
  Till the third day Ilmarinen
  Overtakes old Wainamoinen,
  Rails him in his magic vessel,
  And addresses thus the minstrel:
  "O thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Let us woo in peace the maiden,
  Fairest daughter or the Northland,
  Sitting on the bow of heaven,
  Let each labor long to win her,
  Let her wed the one she chooses,
  Him selecting, let her follow."
  Wainamoinen thus makes answer:
  "I agree to thy proposal,
  Let us woo in peace the maiden,
  Not by force, nor faithless measures,
  Shall we woo the Maid of Beauty,
  Let her follow him she chooses;
  Let the unsuccessful suitor
  Harbor neither wrath nor envy
  For the hero that she follows."
  Thus agreeing, on they journey,
  Each according to his pleasure;
  Fleetly does the steed fly onward,
  Quickly flies the magic vessel,
  Sailing on the broad-sea northward;
  Ilmarinen's fleet-foot racer
  Makes the hills of Northland tremble,
  As he gallops on his journey
  To the dismal Sariola.
  Wainamoinen calls the South-winds,
  And they fly to his assistance;
  Swiftly sails his ship of beauty,
  Swiftly plows the rough sea-billows
  In her pathway to Pohyola.
  Time had gone but little distance,
  Scarce a moment had passed over,
  Ere the dogs began their barking,
  In the mansions of the Northland,
  In the courts of Sariola,
  Watch-dogs of the court of Louhi;
  Never had they growled so fiercely,
  Never had they barked so loudly,
  Never with their tails had beaten
  Northland into such an uproar.
  Spake the master of Pohyola:
  "Go and learn, my worthy daughter,
  Why the watch-dogs have been barking,
  Why the black-dog signals danger."
  Quickly does the daughter answer:
  "I am occupied, dear father,
  I have work of more importance,
  I must tend my flock of lambkins,
  I must turn the nether millstone,
  Grind to flour the grains of barley,
  Run the grindings through the sifter,
  Only have I time for grinding."
  Lowly growls the faithful watch-dog,
  Seldom does he growl so strangely.
  Spake the master of Pohyola:
  "Go and learn, my trusted consort,
  Why the Northland dogs are barking,
  Why the black-dog signals danger."
  Thus his aged wife makes answer;
  "Have no time, nor inclination,
  I must feed my hungry household,
  Must prepare a worthy dinner,
  I must bake the toothsome biscuit,
  Knead the dough till it is ready,
  Only have I strength for kneading."
  Spake the master of Pohyola:
  "Dames are always in a hurry,
  Maidens too are ever busy,
  Whether warming at the oven,
  Or asleep upon their couches;
  Go my son, and learn the danger,
  Why the black-dog growls displeasure,"
  Quickly does the son give answer:
  "Have no time, nor inclination,
  Am in haste to grind my hatchet;
  I must chop this log to cordwood,
  For the fire must cut the faggots,
  I must split the wood in fragments,
  Large the pile and small the fire-wood,
  Only have I strength for chopping."
  Still the watch-dog growls in anger,
  Growl the whelps within the mansion,
  Growl the dogs chained in the kennel,
  Growls the black-dog on the hill-top,
  Setting Northland in an uproar.
  Spake the master of Pohyola:
  "Never, never does my black-dog
  Growl like this without a reason;
  Never does he bark for nothing,
  Does not growl at angry billows,
  Nor the sighing of the pine-trees."
  Then the master of Pohyola
  Went himself to learn the reason
  For the barking of the watch-dogs;
  Strode he through the spacious court-yard,
  Through the open fields beyond it,
  To the summit of the uplands.
  Looking toward his black-dog barking,
  He beholds the muzzle pointed
  To a distant, stormy hill-top,
  To a mound with alders covered;
  There he learned the rightful reason,
  Why his dogs had barked so loudly,
  Why had growled the wool-tail bearer,
  Why his whelps had signalled danger.
  At full sail, he saw a vessel,
  And the ship was scarlet-colored,
  Entering the bay of Lempo;
  Saw a sledge of magic colors,
  Gliding up the curving sea-shore,
  O'er the snow-fields of Pohyola.
  Then the master of the Northland
  Hastened straightway to his dwelling,
  Hastened forward to his court-room,
  These the accents of the master:
  "Often strangers journey hither,
  On the blue back of the ocean,
  Sailing in a scarlet vessel,
  Rocking in the bay of Lempo;
  Often strangers come in sledges
  To the honey-lands of Louhi."
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  How shall we obtain a token
  Why these strangers journey hither?
  My beloved, faithful daughter,
  Lay a branch upon the fire-place,
  Let it burn with fire of magic
  If it trickle drops of scarlet,
  War and bloodshed do they bring us;
  If it trickle drops of water,
  Peace and plenty bring the strangers."
  Northland's fair and slender maiden,
  Beautiful and modest daughter,
  Lays a sorb-branch on the fire-place,
  Lights it with the fire of magic;
  Does not trickle drops of scarlet,
  Trickles neither blood, nor water,
  From the wand come drops of honey.
  From the corner spake Suowakko,
  This the language of the wizard:
  "If the wand is dripping honey,
  Then the strangers that are coming
  Are but worthy friends and suitors."
  Then the hostess of the Northland,
  With the daughter of the hostess,
  Straightway left their work, and hastened
  From their dwelling to the court-yard;
  Looked about in all directions,
  Turned their eyes upon the waters,
  Saw a magic-colored vessel
  Rocking slowly in the harbor,
  Having sailed the bay of Lempo,
  Triple sails, and masts, and rigging,
  Sable was the nether portion,
  And the upper, scarlet-colored,
  At the helm an ancient hero
  Leaning on his oars of copper;
  Saw a fleet-foot racer running,
  Saw a red sledge lightly follow,
  Saw the magic sledge emblazoned,
  Guided toward the courts of Louhi;
  Saw and heard six golden cuckoos
  Sitting on the break-board, calling,
  Seven bluebirds richly colored
  Singing from the yoke and cross-bar;
  In the sledge a magic hero,
  Young, and strong, and proud, and handsome,
  Holding reins upon the courser.
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Dearest daughter, winsome maiden,
  Dost thou wish a noble suitor?
  Should these heroes come to woo thee,
  Wouldst thou leave thy home and country,
  Be the bride of him that pleases,
  Be his faithful life-companion?
  "He that comes upon the waters,
  Sailing in a magic vessel,
  Having sailed the bay of Lempo,
  Is the good, old Wainamoinen;
  In his ship are countless treasures,
  Richest presents from Wainola.
  "He that rides here in his snow-sledge
  In his sledge of magic beauty,
  With the cuckoos and the bluebirds,
  Is the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Cometh hither empty-handed,
  Only brings some wisdom-sayings.
  When they come within the dwelling,
  Bring a bowl of honeyed viands,
  Bring a pitcher with two handles,
  Give to him that thou wouldst follow
  Give it to old Wainamoinen,
  Him that brings thee countless treasures,
  Costly presents in his vessel,
  Priceless gems from Kalevala."
  Spake the Northland's lovely daughter,
  This the language of the maiden
  "Good, indeed, advice maternal,
  But I will not wed for riches,
  Wed no man for countless treasures;
  For his worth I'll choose a husband,
  For his youth and fine appearance,
  For his noble form and features;
  In the olden times the maidens
  Were not sold by anxious mothers
  To the suitors that they loved not.
  I shall choose without his treasures
  Ilmarinen for his wisdom,
  For his worth and good behavior,
  Him that forged the wondrous Sampo,
  Hammered thee the lid in colors."
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Senseless daughter, child of folly,
  Thus to choose the ancient blacksmith,
  From whose brow drips perspiration,
  Evermore to rinse his linen,
  Lave his hands, and eyes, and forehead,
  Keep his ancient house in order;
  Little use his wit and wisdom
  When compared with gold and silver."
  This the answer of the daughter:
  "I will never, never, never,
  Wed the ancient Wainamoinen
  With his gold and priceless jewels;
  Never will I be a helpmate
  To a hero in his dotage,
  Little thanks my compensation."
  Wainamoinen, safely landing
  In advance of Ilmarinen,
  Pulls his gaily-covered vessel
  From the waves upon the sea-beach,
  On the cylinders of birch-wood,
  On the rollers copper-banded,
  Straightway hastens to the guest-room
  Of the hostess of Pohyola,
  Of the master of the Northland,
  Speaks these words upon the threshold
  To the famous Maid of Beauty:
  "Come with me, thou lovely virgin,
  Be my bride and life-companion,
  Share with me my joys and sorrows,
  Be my honored wife hereafter!"
  This the answer of the maiden:
  "Hast thou built for me the vessel,
  Built for me the ship of magic
  From the fragments of the distaff,
  From the splinters of the spindle?"
  Wainamoinen thus replying:
  "I have built the promised vessel,
  Built the wondrous ship for sailing,
  Firmly joined the parts by magic;
  It will weather roughest billows,
  Will outlive the winds and waters,
  Swiftly glide upon the blue-back
  Of the deep and boundless ocean
  It will ride the waves in beauty,
  Like an airy bubble rising,
  Like a cork on lake and river,
  Through the angry seas of Northland,
  Through Pohyola's peaceful waters."
  Northland's fair and slender daughter
  Gives this answer to her suitor:
  "Will not wed a sea-born hero,
  Do not care to rock the billows,
  Cannot live with such a husband
  Storms would bring us pain and trouble,
  Winds would rack our hearts and temples;
  Therefore thee I cannot follow,
  Cannot keep thy home in order,
  Cannot be thy life-companion,
  Cannot wed old Wainamoinen."



  Ilmarinen, hero-blacksmith,
  The eternal metal-worker,
  Hastens forward to the court-room
  Of the hostess of Pohyola,
  Of the master of the Northland,
  Hastens through the open portals
  Into Louhi's home and presence.
  Servants come with silver pitchers,
  Filled with Northland's richest brewing;
  Honey-drink is brought and offered
  To the blacksmith of Wainola,
  Ilmarinen thus replying:
  "I shall not in all my life-time
  Taste the drink that thou hast brought me,
  Till I see the Maid of Beauty,
  Fairy Maiden of the Rainbow;
  I will drink with her in gladness,
  For whose hand I journey hither."
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Trouble does the one selected
  Give to him that wooes and watches;
  Not yet are her feet in sandals,
  Thine affianced is not ready.
  Only canst thou woo my daughter,
  Only canst thou win the maiden,
  When thou hast by aid of magic
  Plowed the serpent-field of Hisi,
  Plowed the field of hissing vipers,
  Touching neither beam nor handles.
  Once this field was plowed by Piru,
  Lempo furrowed it with horses,
  With a plowshare made of copper,
  With a beam of flaming iron;
  Never since has any hero
  Brought this field to cultivation."
  Ilmarinen of Wainola
  Straightway hastens to the chamber
  Of the Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Speaks these words in hesitation:
  "Thou of Night and Dawn the daughter,
  Tell me, dost thou not remember
  When for thee I forged the Sampo,
  Hammered thee the lid in colors?
  Thou didst swear by oath the strougest,
  By the forge and by the anvil,
  By the tongs and by the hammer,
  In the ears of the Almighty,
  And before omniscient Ukko,
  Thou wouldst follow me hereafter,
  Be my bride, my life-companion,
  Be my honored wife forever.
  Now thy mother is exacting,
  Will not give to me her daughter,
  Till by means of magic only,
  I have plowed the field of serpents,
  Plowed the hissing soil of Hisi."
  The affianced Bride of Beauty
  Gives this answer to the suitor:
  "O, thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  The eternal wonder-forger,
  Forge thyself a golden plowshare,
  Forge the beam of shining silver,
  And of copper forge the handles;
  Then with ease, by aid of magic,
  Thou canst plow the field of serpents,
  Plow the hissing soil of Hisi."
  Ilmarinen, welcome suitor,
  Straightway builds a forge and smithy,
  Places gold within the furnace,
  In the forge he lays the silver,
  Forges then a golden plowshare,
  Forges, too, a beam of silver,
  Forges handles out of copper,
  Forges boots and gloves of iron,
  Forges him a mail of metal,
  For his limbs a safe protection,
  Safe protection for his body.
  Then a horse of fire selecting,
  Harnesses the flaming stallion,
  Goes to plow the field of serpents,
  Plow the viper-lands of Hisi.
  In the field were countless vipers,
  Serpents there of every species,
  Crawling, writhing, hissing, stinging,
  Harmless all against the hero,
  Thus he stills the snakes of Lempo:
  "Vipers, ye by God created,
  Neither best nor worst of creatures,
  Ye whose wisdom comes from Ukko,
  And whose venom comes from Hisi,
  Ukko is your greater Master,
  By His will your heads are lifted;
  Get ye hence before my plowing,
  Writ-he ye through the grass and stubble,
  Crawl ye to the nearest thicket,
  Keep your heads beneath the heather,
  Hunt our holes to Mana's kingdom
  If your poison-heads be lifted,
  Then will mighty Ukko smite them
  'With his iron-pointed arrows,
  With the lightning of his anger."
  Thus the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Safely plows the field of serpents,
  Lifts the vipers in his plowing,
  Buries them beneath the furrow,
  Harmless all against his magic.
  When the task had been completed,
  Ilmarinen, quick returning,
  Thus addressed Pohyola's hostess:
  "I have plowed the field of Hisi,
  Plowed the field of hissing serpents,
  Stilled and banished all the vipers;
  Give me, ancient dame, thy daughter,
  Fairest maiden of the Northland.
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Shall not grant to thee my daughter,
  Shall not give my lovely virgin,
  Till Tuoni's bear is muzzled,
  Till Manala's wolf is conquered,
  In the forests of the Death-land,
  In the boundaries of Mana.
  Hundreds have been sent to hunt him,
  So one yet has been successful,
  All have perished in Manala."
  Thereupon young Ilmarinen
  To the maiden's chamber hastens,
  Thus addresses his affianced:
  "Still another test demanded,
  I must go to Tuonela,
  Bridle there the bear of Mana,
  Bring him from the Death-land forests,
  From Tuoni's grove and empire!
  This advice the maiden gives him:
  "O thou artist, Ilmarinen,
  The eternal metal-worker,
  Forge of steel a magic bridle,
  On a rock beneath the water,
  In the foaming triple currents;
  Make the straps of steel and copper,
  Bridle then the bear of Mana,
  Lead him from Tuoni's forests."
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Forged of steel a magic bridle,
  On a rock beneath the water,
  In the foam of triple currents;
  Made the straps of steel and copper,
  Straightway went the bear to muzzle,
  In the forests of the Death-land,
  Spake these words in supplication:
  "Terhenetar, ether-maiden,
  Daughter of the fog and snow-flake,
  Sift the fog and let it settle
  O'er the bills and lowland thickets,
  Where the wild-bear feeds and lingers,
  That he may not see my coming,
  May not hear my stealthy footsteps!"
  Terhenetar hears his praying,
  Makes the fog and snow-flake settle
  On the coverts of the wild-beasts;
  Thus the bear he safely bridles,
  Fetters him in chains of magic,
  In the forests of Tuoni,
  In the blue groves of Manala.
  When this task had been completed,
  Ilmarinen, quick returning,
  Thus addressed the ancient Louhi:
  "Give me, worthy dame, thy daughter,
  Give me now my bride affianced,
  I have brought the bear of Mana
  From Tuoni's fields and forests."
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola
  To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:
  "I will only give my daughter,
  Give to thee the Maid of Beauty,
  When the monster-pike thou catchest
  In the river of Tuoni,
  In Manala's fatal waters,
  Using neither hooks, nor fish-nets,
  Neither boat, nor fishing-tackle;
  Hundreds have been sent to catch him,
  No one yet has been successful,
  All have perished in Manala."
  Much disheartened, Ilmarinen
  Hastened to the maiden's chamber,
  Thus addressed the rainbow-maiden:
  "Now a third test is demanded,
  Much more difficult than ever;
  I must catch the pike of Mana,
  In the river of Tuoni,
  And without my fishing-tackle,
  Hard the third test of the hero!
  This advice the maiden gives him:
  "O thou hero, Ilmarinen,
  Never, never be discouraged:
  In thy furnace, forge an eagle,
  From the fire of ancient magic;
  He will catch the pike of Mana,
  Catch the monster-fish in safety,
  From the death-stream of Tuoni,
  From Manala's fatal waters."
  Then the suitor, Ilmarinen,
  The eternal artist-forgeman,
  In the furnace forged an eagle
  From the fire of ancient wisdom;
  For this giant bird of magic
  Forged he talons out of iron,
  And his beak of steel and copper;
  Seats himself upon the eagle,
  On his back between the wing-bones,
  Thus addresses he his creature,
  Gives the bird of fire, this order:
  "Mighty eagle, bird of beauty,
  Fly thou whither I direct thee,
  To Tuoni's coal-black river,
  To the blue deeps of the Death-stream,
  Seize the mighty fish of Mana,
  Catch for me this water-monster."
  Swiftly flies the magic eagle,
  Giant-bird of worth and wonder,
  To the river of Tuoni,
  There to catch the pike of Mana;
  One wing brushes on the waters,
  While the other sweeps the heavens;
  In the ocean dips his talons,
  Whets his beak on mountain-ledges.
  Safely landing, Ilmarinen,
  The immortal artist-forger,
  Hunts the monster of the Death-stream,
  While the eagle hunts and fishes
  In the waters of Manala.
  From the river rose a monster,
  Grasped the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Tried to drag him to his sea-cave;
  Quick the eagle pounced upon him,
  With his metal-beak he seized him,
  Wrenched his head, and rent his body,
  Hurled him back upon the bottom
  Of the deep and fatal river,
  Freed his master, Ilmarinen.
  Then arose the pike of Mana,
  Came the water-dog in silence,
  Of the pikes was not the largest,
  Nor belonged he to the smallest;
  Tongue the length of double hatchets,
  Teeth as long as fen-rake handles,
  Mouth as broad as triple streamlets,
  Back as wide as seven sea-boats,
  Tried to snap the magic blacksmith,
  Tried to swallow Ilmarinen.
  Swiftly swoops the mighty eagle,
  Of the birds was not the largest,
  Nor belonged he to the smallest;
  Mouth as wide as seven streamlets,
  Tongue as long as seven javelins,
  Like five crooked scythes his talons;
  Swoops upon the pike of Mana.
  Quick the giant fish endangered,
  Darts and flounders in the river,
  Dragging down the mighty eagle,
  Lashing up the very bottom
  To the surface of the river;
  When the mighty bird uprising
  Leaves the wounded pike in water,
  Soars aloft on worsted pinions
  To his home in upper ether;
  Soars awhile, and sails, and circles,
  Circles o'er the reddened waters,
  Swoops again on lightning-pinions,
  Strikes with mighty force his talons
  Into the shoulder of his victim;
  Strikes the second of his talons
  On the flinty mountain-ledges,
  On the rocks with iron hardened;
  From the cliffs rebound his talons,
  Slip the flinty rocks o'erhanging,
  And the monster-pike resisting
  Dives again beneath the surface
  To the bottom of the river,
  From the talons of the eagle;
  Deep, the wounds upon the body
  Of the monster of Tuoni.
  Still a third time soars the eagle,
  Soars, and sails, and quickly circles,
  Swoops again upon the monster,
  Fire out-shooting from his pinoins,
  Both his eyeballs flashing lightning;
  With his beak of steel and copper
  Grasps again the pike of Mana
  Firmly planted are his talons
  In the rocks and in his victim,
  Drags the monster from the river,
  Lifts the pike above the waters,
  From Tuoni's coal-black river,
  From the blue-back of Manala.
  Thus the third time does the eagle
  Bring success from former failures;
  Thus at last the eagle catches
  Mana's pike, the worst of fishes,
  Swiftest swimmer of the waters,
  From the river of Tuoni;
  None could see Manala's river,
  For the myriad of fish-scales;
  Hardly could one see through ether,
  For the feathers of the eagle,
  Relicts of the mighty contest.
  Then the bird of copper talons
  Took the pike, with scales of silver,
  To the pine-tree's topmost branches,
  To the fir-tree plumed with needles,
  Tore the monster-fish in pieces,
  Ate the body of his victim,
  Left the head for Ilmarinen.
  Spake the blacksmith to the eagle:
  "O thou bird of evil nature,
  What thy thought and what thy motive?
  Thou hast eaten what I needed,
  Evidence of my successes;
  Thoughtless eagle, witless instinct,
  Thus to mar the spoils of conquest!"
  But the bird of metal talons
  Hastened onward, soaring upward,
  Rising higher into ether,
  Rising, flying, soaring, sailing,
  To the borders of the long-clouds,
  Made the vault of ether tremble,
  Split apart the dome of heaven,
  Broke the colored bow of Ukko,
  Tore the Moon-horns from their sockets,
  Disappeared beyond the Sun-land,
  To the home of the triumphant.
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Took the pike-head to the hostess
  Of the ever-dismal Northland,
  Thus addressed the ancient Louhi:
  "Let this head forever serve thee
  As a guest-bench for thy dwelling,
  Evidence of hero-triumphs;
  I have caught the pike of Mana,
  I have done as thou demandest,
  Three my victories in Death-land,
  Three the tests of magic heroes;
  Wilt thou give me now thy daughter,
  Give to me the Maid of Beauty?"
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Badly is the test accomplished,
  Thou has torn the pike in pieces,
  From his neck the head is severed,
  Of his body thou hast eaten,
  Brought to me this worthless relic!
  These the words of Ilmarinen:
  "When the victory is greatest,
  Do we suffer greatest losses!
  From the river of Tuoni,
  From the kingdom of Manala,
  I have brought to thee this trophy,
  Thus the third task is completed.
  Tell me is the maiden ready,
  Wilt thou give the bride affianced?
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "I will give to thee my daughter,
  Will prepare my snow-white virgin,
  For the suitor, Ilmarinen;
  Thou hast won the Maid of Beauty,
  Bride is she of thine hereafter,
  Fit companion of thy fireside,
  Help and joy of all thy lifetime."
  On the floor a child was sitting,
  And the babe this tale related.
  "There appeared within this dwelling,
  Came a bird within the castle,
  From the East came flying hither,
  From the East, a monstrous eagle,
  One wing touched the vault of heaven,
  While the other swept the ocean;
  With his tail upon the waters,
  Reached his beak beyond the cloudlets,
  Looked about, and eager watching,
  Flew around, and sailing, soaring,
  Flew away to hero-castle,
  Knocked three times with beak of copper
  On the castle-roof of iron;
  But the eagle could not enter.
  "Then the eagle, looking round him,
  Flew again, and sailed, and circled,
  Flew then to the mothers' castle,
  Loudly rapped with heavy knocking
  On the mothers' roof of copper;
  But the eagle could not enter.
  "Then the eagle, looking round him,
  Flew a third time, sailing, soaring,
  Flew then to the virgins' castle,
  Knocked again with beak of copper,
  On the virgins' roof of linen,
  Easy for him there to enter;
  Flew upon the castle-chimney,
  Quick descending to the chamber,
  Pulled the clapboards from the studding,
  Tore the linen from the rafters,
  Perched upon the chamber-window,
  Near the walls of many colors,
  On the cross-bars gaily-feathered,
  Looked upon the curly-beaded,
  Looked upon their golden ringlets,
  Looked upon the snow-white virgins,
  On the purest of the maidens,
  On the fairest of the daughters,
  On the maid with pearly necklace,
  On the maiden wreathed in flowers;
  Perched awhile, and looked, admiring,
  Swooped upon the Maid of Beauty,
  On the purest of the virgins,
  On the whitest, on the fairest,
  On the stateliest and grandest,
  Swooped upon the rainbow-daughter
  Of the dismal Sariola;
  Grasped her in his mighty talons,
  Bore away the Maid of Beauty,
  Maid of fairest form and feature,
  Maid adorned with pearly necklace,
  Decked in feathers iridescent,
  Fragrant flowers upon her bosom,
  Scarlet band around her forehead,
  Golden rings upon her fingers,
  Fairest maiden of the Northland."
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola,
  When the babe his tale had ended:
  "Tell me bow, my child beloved,
  Thou hast learned about the maiden,
  Hast obtained the information,
  How her flaxen ringlets nestled,
  How the maiden's silver glistened,
  How the virgin's gold was lauded.
  Shone the silver Sun upon thee,
  Did the moonbeams bring this knowledge?"
  From the floor the child made answer:
  "Thus I gained the information,
  Moles of good-luck led me hither,
  To the home, of the distinguished,
  To the guest-room of the maiden,
  Good-name bore her worthy father,
  He that sailed the magic vessel;
  Better-name enjoyed the mother,
  She that baked the bread of barley,
  She that kneaded wheaten biscuits,
  Fed her many guests in Northland.
  "Thus the information reached me,
  Thus the distant stranger heard it,
  Heard the virgin had arisen:
  Once I walked within the court-yard,
  Stepping near the virgin's chamber,
  At an early hour of morning,
  Ere the Sun had broken slumber
  Whirling rose the soot in cloudlets,
  Blackened wreaths of smoke came rising
  From the chamber of the maiden,
  From thy daughter's lofty chimney;
  There the maid was busy grinding,
  Moved the handles of the millstone
  Making voices like the cuckoo,
  Like the ducks the side-holes sounded,
  And the sifter like the goldfinch,
  Like the sea-pearls sang the grindstones.
  "Then a second time I wandered
  To the border of the meadow
  In the forest was the maiden
  Rocking on a fragrant hillock,
  Dyeing red in iron vessels,
  And in copper kettles, yellow.
  "Then a third time did I wander
  To the lovely maiden's window;
  There I saw thy daughter weaving,
  Heard the flying of her shuttle,
  Heard the beating of her loom-lathe,
  Heard the rattling of her treddles,
  Heard the whirring of her yarn-reel."
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Now alas! beloved daughter,
  I have often taught this lesson:
  'Do not sing among the pine-trees,
  Do not call adown the valleys,
  Do not hang thy head in walking,
  Do not bare thine arms, nor shoulders,
  Keep the secrets of thy bosom,
  Hide thy beauty and thy power.'
  "This I told thee in the autumn,
  Taught thee in the summer season,
  Sang thee in the budding spring-time,
  Sang thee when the snows were falling:
  'Let us build a place for hiding,
  Let us build the smallest windows,
  Where may weave my fairest daughter,
  Where my maid may ply her shuttle,
  Where my joy may work unnoticed
  By the heroes of the Northland,
  By the suitors of Wainola.'"
  From the floor the child made answer,
  Fourteen days the young child numbered;
  "Easy 'tis to hide a war-horse
  In the Northland fields and stables;
  Hard indeed to hide a maiden,
  Having lovely form and features!
  Build of stone a distant castle
  In the middle of the ocean,
  Keep within thy lovely maiden,
  Train thou there thy winsome daughter,
  Not long hidden canst thou keep her.
  Maidens will not grow and flourish,
  Kept apart from men and heroes,
  Will not live without their suitors,
  Will not thrive without their wooers;
  Thou canst never hide a maiden,
  Neither on the land nor water."
  Now the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Head down-bent and heavy-hearted,
  Wanders to his native country,
  To Wainola's peaceful meadows,
  To the plains of Kalevala,
  Chanting as he journeys homeward:
  "I have passed the age for wooing,
  Woe is me, rejected suitor,
  Woe is me, a witless minstrel,
  That I did not woo and marry,
  When my face was young and winsome,
  When my hand was warm and welcome!
  Youth dethrones my age and station,
  Wealth is nothing, wisdom worthless,
  When a hero goes a-wooing
  With a poor but younger brother.
  Fatal error that a hero
  Does not wed in early manhood,
  In his youth does not be master
  Of a worthy wife and household."
  Thus the ancient Wainamoinen
  Sends the edict to his people:
  "Old men must not go a-wooing,
  Must not swim the sea of anger,
  Must not row upon a wager,
  Must not run a race for glory,
  With the younger sons of Northland."



  Now we sing the wondrous legends,
  Songs of wedding-feasts and dances,
  Sing the melodies of wedlock,
  Sing the songs of old tradition;
  Sing of Ilmarinen's marriage
  To the Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Fairest daughter of the Northland,
  Sing the drinking-songs of Pohya.
  Long prepared they for the wedding
  In Pohyola's halls and chambers,
  In the courts of Sariola;
  Many things that Louhi ordered,
  Great indeed the preparations
  For the marriage of the daughter,
  For the feasting of the heroes,
  For the drinking of the strangers,
  For the feeding of the poor-folk,
  For the people's entertainment.
  Grew an ox in far Karjala,
  Not the largest, nor the smallest,
  Was the ox that grew in Suomi;
  But his size was all-sufficient,
  For his tail was sweeping Jamen,
  And his head was over Kemi,
  Horns in length a hundred fathoms,
  Longer than the horns his mouth was;
  Seven days it took a weasel
  To encircle neck and shoulders;
  One whole day a swallow journeyed
  From one horn-tip to the other,
  Did not stop between for resting.
  Thirty days the squirrel travelled
  From the tail to reach the shoulders,
  But he could not gain the horn-tip
  Till the Moon had long passed over.
  This young ox of huge dimensions,
  This great calf of distant Suomi,
  Was conducted from Karjala
  To the meadows of Pohyola;
  At each horn a hundred heroes,
  At his head and neck a thousand.
  When the mighty ox was lassoed,
  Led away to Northland pastures,
  Peacefully the monster journeyed
  By the bays of Sariola,
  Ate the pasture on the borders;
  To the clouds arose his shoulders,
  And his horns to highest heaven.
  Not in all of Sariola
  Could a butcher be discovered
  That could kill the ox for Louhi,
  None of all the sons of Northland,
  In her hosts of giant people,
  In her rising generation,
  In the hosts of those grown older.
  Came a hero from a distance,
  Wirokannas from Karelen,
  And these words the gray-beard uttered:
  "Wait, O wait, thou ox of Suomi,
  Till I bring my ancient war-club;
  Then I'll smite thee on thy forehead,
  Break thy skull, thou willing victim!
  Nevermore wilt thou in summer
  Browse the woods of Sariola,
  Bare our pastures, fields, and forests;
  Thou, O ox, wilt feed no longer
  Through the length and breadth of Northland,
  On the borders of this ocean!"
  When the ancient Wirokannas
  Started out the ox to slaughter,
  When Palwoinen swung his war-club,
  Quick the victim turned his forehead,
  Flashed his flaming eyes upon him;
  To the fir-tree leaped the hero,
  In the thicket hid Palwoinen,
  Hid the gray-haired Wirokannas.
  Everywhere they seek a butcher,
  One to kill the ox of Suomi,
  In the country of Karelen,
  And among the Suomi-giants,
  In the quiet fields of Ehstland,
  On the battle-fields of Sweden,
  Mid the mountaineers of Lapland,
  In the magic fens of Turya;
  Seek him in Tuoni's empire,
  In the death-courts of Manala.
  Long the search, and unsuccessful,
  On the blue back of the ocean,
  On the far-outstretching pastures.
  There arose from out the sea-waves,
  Rose a hero from the waters,
  On the white-capped, roaring breakers,
  From the water's broad expanses;
  Nor belonged he to the largest,
  Nor belonged he to the smallest;
  Made his bed within a sea-shell,
  Stood erect beneath a flour-sieve,
  Hero old, with hands of iron,
  And his face was copper-colored;
  Quick the hero full unfolded,
  Like the full corn from the kernel.
  On his head a hat of flint-stone,
  On his feet were sandstone-sandals,
  In his hand a golden cleaver,
  And the blade was copper-handled.
  Thus at last they found a butcher,
  Found the magic ox a slayer.
  Nothing has been found so mighty
  That it has not found a master.
  As the sea-god saw his booty,
  Quickly rushed he on his victim,
  Hurled him to his knees before him,
  Quickly felled the calf of Suomi,
  Felled the young ox of Karelen.
  Bountifully meat was furnished;
  Filled at least a thousand hogsheads
  Of his blood were seven boatfuls,
  And a thousand weight of suet,
  For the banquet of Pohyola,
  For the marriage-feast of Northland.
  In Pohyola was a guest-room,
  Ample was the hall of Louhi,
  Was in length a hundred furlongs,
  And in breadth was nearly fifty;
  When upon the roof a rooster
  Crowed at break of early morning,
  No one on the earth could hear him;
  When the dog barked at one entrance,
  None could hear him at the other.
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Hastens to the hall and court-room,
  In the centre speaks as follows:
  "Whence indeed will come the liquor,
  Who will brew me beer from barley,
  Who will make the mead abundant,
  For the people of the Northland,
  Coming to my daughter's marriage,
  To her drinking-feast and nuptials?
  Cannot comprehend the malting,
  Never have I learned the secret,
  Nor the origin of brewing."
  Spake an old man from his corner:
  "Beer arises from the barley,
  Comes from barley, hops, and water,
  And the fire gives no assistance.
  Hop-vine was the son of Remu,
  Small the seed in earth was planted,
  Cultivated in the loose soil,
  Scattered like the evil serpents
  On the brink of Kalew-waters,
  On the Osmo-fields and borders.
  There the young plant grew and flourished,
  There arose the climbing hop-vine,
  Clinging to the rocks and alders.
  "Man of good-luck sowed the barley
  On the Osmo hills and lowlands,
  And the barley grew and flourished,
  Grew and spread in rich abundance,
  Fed upon the air and water,
  On the Osmo plains and highlands,
  On the fields of Kalew-heroes.
  "Time had travelled little distance,
  Ere the hops in trees were humming,
  Barley in the fields was singing,
  And from Kalew's well the water,
  This the language of the trio:
  'Let us join our triple forces,
  Join to each the other's powers;
  Sad alone to live and struggle,
  Little use in working singly,
  Better we should toil together.'
  "Osmotar, the beer-preparer,
  Brewer of the drink refreshing,
  Takes the golden grains of barley,
  Taking six of barley-kernels,
  Taking seven tips of hop-fruit,
  Filling seven cups with water,
  On the fire she sets the caldron,
  Boils the barley, hops, and water,
  Lets them steep, and seethe, and bubble
  Brewing thus the beer delicious,
  In the hottest days of summer,
  On the foggy promontory,
  On the island forest-covered;
  Poured it into birch-wood barrels,
  Into hogsheads made of oak-wood.
  "Thus did Osmotar of Kalew
  Brew together hops and barley,
  Could not generate the ferment.
  Thinking long and long debating,
  Thus she spake in troubled accents:
  'What will bring the effervescence,
  Who will add the needed factor,
  That the beer may foam and sparkle,
  May ferment and be delightful?'
  Kalevatar, magic maiden,
  Grace and beauty in her fingers,
  Swiftly moving, lightly stepping,
  In her trimly-buckled sandals,
  Steps upon the birch-wood bottom,
  Turns one way, and then another,
  In the centre of the caldron;
  Finds within a splinter lying
  From the bottom lifts the fragment,
  Turns it in her fingers, musing:
  'What may come of this I know not,
  In the hands of magic maidens,
  In the virgin hands of Kapo,
  Snowy virgin of the Northland!'
  "Kalevatar took the splinter
  To the magic virgin, Kapo,
  Who by unknown force and insight.
  Rubbed her hands and knees together,
  And produced a snow-white squirrel;
  Thus instructed she her creature,
  Gave the squirrel these directions:
  'Snow-white squirrel, mountain-jewel,
  Flower of the field and forest,
  Haste thee whither I would send thee,
  Into Metsola's wide limits,
  Into Tapio's seat of wisdom;
  Hasten through the heavy tree-tops,
  Wisely through the thickest branches,
  That the eagle may not seize thee,
  Thus escape the bird of heaven.
  Bring me ripe cones from the fir-tree,
  From the pine-tree bring me seedlings,
  Bring them to the hands of Kapo,
  For the beer of Osmo's daughter.'
  Quickly hastened forth the squirrel,
  Quickly sped the nimble broad-tail,
  Swiftly hopping on its journey
  From one thicket to another,
  From the birch-tree to the aspen,
  From the pine-tree to the willow,
  From the sorb-tree to the alder,
  Jumping here and there with method,
  Crossed the eagle-woods in safety,
  Into Metsola's wide limits,
  Into Tapio's seat of wisdom;
  There perceived three magic pine-trees,
  There perceived three smaller fir-trees,
  Quickly climbed the dark-green branches,
  Was not captured by the eagle,
  Was not mangled in his talons;
  Broke the young cones from the fir-tree,
  Cut the shoots of pine-tree branches,
  Hid the cones within his pouches,
  Wrapped them in his fur-grown mittens
  Brought them to the hands of Kapo,
  To the magic virgin's fingers.
  Kapo took the cones selected,
  Laid them in the beer for ferment,
  But it brought no effervescence,
  And the beer was cold and lifeless.
  "Osmotar, the beer-preparer,
  Kapo, brewer of the liquor,
  Deeply thought and long considered:
  'What will bring the effervescence,
  Who will lend me aid efficient,
  That the beer may foam and sparkle,
  May ferment and be refreshing?'
  "Kalevatar, sparkling maiden,
  Grace and beauty in her fingers,
  Softly moving, lightly stepping,
  In her trimly-buckled sandals,
  Steps again upon the bottom,
  Turns one way and then another,
  In the centre of the caldron,
  Sees a chip upon the bottom,
  Takes it from its place of resting,
  Looks upon the chip and muses
  'What may come of this I know not,
  In the hands of mystic maidens,
  In the hands of magic Kapo,
  In the virgin's snow-white fingers.'
  "Kalevatar took the birch-chip
  To the magic maiden, Kapo,
  Gave it to the white-faced maiden.
  Kapo, by the aid of magic,
  Rubbed her hands and knees together,
  And produced a magic marten,
  And the marten, golden-breasted;
  Thus instructed she her creature,
  Gave the marten these directions.
  'Thou, my golden-breasted marten,
  Thou my son of golden color,
  Haste thou whither I may send thee,
  To the bear-dens of the mountain,
  To the grottoes of the growler,
  Gather yeast upon thy fingers,
  Gather foam from lips of anger,
  From the lips of bears in battle,
  Bring it to the hands of Kapo,
  To the hands of Osmo's daughter.'
  "Then the marten golden-breasted,
  Full consenting, hastened onward,
  Quickly bounding on his journey,
  Lightly leaping through the distance
  Leaping o'er the widest rivers,
  Leaping over rocky fissures,
  To the bear-dens of the mountain,
  To the grottoes of the growler,
  Where the wild-bears fight each other,
  Where they pass a dread existence,
  Iron rocks, their softest pillows,
  In the fastnesses of mountains;
  From their lips the foam was dripping,
  From their tongues the froth of anger;
  This the marten deftly gathered,
  Brought it to the maiden, Kapo,
  Laid it in her dainty fingers.
  "Osmotar, the beer-preparer,
  Brewer of the beer of barley,
  Used the beer-foam as a ferment;
  But it brought no effervescence,
  Did not make the liquor sparkle.
  "Osmotar, the beer-preparer,
  Thought again, and long debated:
  'Who or what will bring the ferment,
  Th at my beer may not be lifeless?'
  "Kalevatar, magic maiden,
  Grace and beauty in her fingers,
  Softly moving, lightly stepping,
  In her trimly-buckled sandals,
  Steps again upon the bottom,
  Turns one way and then another,
  In the centre of the caldron,
  Sees a pod upon the bottom,
  Lifts it in her snow-white fingers,
  Turns it o'er and o'er, and muses:
  'What may come of this I know not,
  In the hands of magic maidens,
  In the hands of mystic Kapo,
  In the snowy virgin's fingers?'
  "Kalevatar, sparkling maiden,
  Gave the pod to magic Kapo;
  Kapo, by the aid of magic,
  Rubbed the pod upon her knee-cap,
  And a honey-bee came flying
  From the pod within her fingers,
  Kapo thus addressed her birdling:
  'Little bee with honeyed winglets,
  King of all the fragrant flowers,
  Fly thou whither I direct thee,
  To the islands in the ocean,
  To the water-cliffs and grottoes,
  Where asleep a maid has fallen,
  Girdled with a belt of copper
  By her side are honey-grasses,
  By her lips are fragrant flowers,
  Herbs and flowers honey-laden;
  Gather there the sweetened juices,
  Gather honey on thy winglets,
  From the calyces of flowers,
  From the tips of seven petals,
  Bring it to the hands of Kapo,
  To the hands of Osmo's daughter.'
  "Then the bee, the swift-winged birdling,
  Flew away with lightning-swiftness
  On his journey to the islands,
  O'er the high waves of the ocean;
  Journeyed one day, then a second,
  Journeyed all the next day onward,
  Till the third day evening brought him
  To the islands in the ocean,
  To the water-cliffs and grottoes;
  Found the maiden sweetly sleeping,
  In her silver-tinselled raiment,
  Girdled with a belt of copper,
  In a nameless meadow, sleeping,
  In the honey-fields of magic;
  By her side were honeyed grasses,
  By her lips were fragrant flowers,
  Silver stalks with golden petals;
  Dipped its winglets in the honey,
  Dipped its fingers in the juices
  Of the sweetest of the flowers,
  Brought the honey back to Kapo,
  To the mystic maiden's fingers.
  "Osmotar, the beer-preparer,
  Placed the honey in the liquor;
  Kapo mixed the beer and honey,
  And the wedding-beer fermented;
  Rose the live beer upward, upward,
  From the bottom of the vessels,
  Upward in the tubs of birch-wood,
  Foaming higher, higher, higher,
  Till it touched the oaken handles,
  Overflowing all the caldrons;
  To the ground it foamed and sparkled,
  Sank away in sand and gravel.
  "Time had gone but little distance,
  Scarce a moment had passed over,
  Ere the heroes came in numbers
  To the foaming beer of Northland,
  Rushed to drink the sparkling liquor.
  Ere all others Lemminkainen
  Drank, and grew intoxicated
  On the beer of Osmo's daughter,
  On the honey-drink of Kalew.
  "Osmotar, the beer-preparer,
  Kapo, brewer of the barley,
  Spake these words in saddened accents:
  'Woe is me, my life hard-fated,
  Badly have I brewed the liquor,
  Have not brewed the beer in wisdom,
  Will not live within its vessels,
  Overflows and fills Pohyola!'
  "From a tree-top sings the redbreast,
  From the aspen calls the robin:
  'Do not grieve, thy beer is worthy,
  Put it into oaken vessels,
  Into strong and willing barrels
  Firmly bound with hoops of copper.'
  "Thus was brewed the beer or Northland,
  At the hands of Osmo's daughter;
  This the origin of brewing
  Beer from Kalew-hops and barley;
  Great indeed the reputation
  Of the ancient beer of Kalew,
  Said to make the feeble hardy,
  Famed to dry the tears of women,
  Famed to cheer the broken-hearted,
  Make the aged young and supple,
  Make the timid brave and mighty,
  Make the brave men ever braver,
  Fill the heart with joy and gladness,
  Fill the mind with wisdom-sayings,
  Fill the tongue with ancient legends,
  Only makes the fool more foolish."
  When the hostess of Pohyola
  Heard how beer was first fermented,
  Heard the origin of brewing,
  Straightway did she fill with water
  Many oaken tubs and barrels;
  Filled but half the largest vessels,
  Mixed the barley with the water,
  Added also hops abundant;
  Well she mixed the triple forces
  In her tubs of oak and birch-wood,
  Heated stones for months succeeding,
  Thus to boil the magic mixture,
  Steeped it through the days of summer,
  Burned the wood of many forests,
  Emptied all the, springs of Pohya;
  Daily did the, forests lesson,
  And the wells gave up their waters,
  Thus to aid the hostess, Louhi,
  In the brewing of the liquors,
  From the water, hops, and barley,
  And from honey of the islands,
  For the wedding-feast of Northland,
  For Pohyola's great carousal
  And rejoicings at the marriage
  Of the Malden of the Rainbow
  To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Metal-worker of Wainola.
  Smoke is seen upon the island,
  Fire, upon the promontory,
  Black smoke rising to the heavens
  From the fire upon the island;
  Fills with clouds the half of Pohya,
  Fills Karelen's many hamlets;
  All the people look and wonder,
  This the chorus of the women:
  "Whence are rising all these smoke-clouds,
  Why this dreadful fire in Northland?
  Is not like the smoke of camp-fires,
  Is too large for fires of shepherds!"
  Lemminkainen's ancient mother
  Journeyed in the early morning
  For some water to the fountain,
  Saw the smoke arise to heaven,
  In the region of Pohyola,
  These the words the mother uttered:
  "'Tis the smoke of battle-heroes,
  From the beat of warring armies!"
  Even Ahti, island-hero,
  Ancient wizard, Lemminkainen,
  Also known as Kaukomieli,
  Looked upon the scene in wonder,
  Thought awhile and spake as follows:
  "I would like to see this nearer,
  Learn the cause of all this trouble,
  Whence this smoke and great confusion,
  Whether smoke from heat of battle,
  Or the bonfires of the shepherds."
  Kaukomieli gazed and pondered,
  Studied long the rising smoke-clouds;
  Came not from the heat of battle,
  Came not from the shepherd bonfires;
  Heard they were the fires of Louhi
  Brewing beer in Sariola,
  On Pohyola's promontory;
  Long and oft looked Lemminkainen,
  Strained in eagerness his vision,
  Stared, and peered, and thought, and wondered,
  Looked abashed and envy-swollen,
  "O beloved, second mother,
  Northland's well-intentioned hostess,
  Brew thy beer of honey-flavor,
  Make thy liquors foam and sparkle,
  For thy many friends invited,
  Brew it well for Lemminkainen,
  For his marriage in Pohyola
  With the Maiden of the Rainbow."
  Finally the beer was ready,
  Beverage of noble heroes,
  Stored away in casks and barrels,
  There to rest awhile in silence,
  In the cellars of the Northland,
  In the copper-banded vessels,
  In the magic oaken hogsheads,
  Plugs and faucets made of copper.
  Then the hostess of Pohyola
  Skilfully prepared the dishes,
  Laid them all with careful fingers
  In the boiling-pans and kettles,
  Ordered countless loaves of barley,
  Ordered many liquid dishes,
  All the delicacies of Northland,
  For the feasting of her people,
  For their richest entertainment,
  For the nuptial songs and dances,
  At the marriage of her daughter
  With the blacksmith, Ilmarinen.
  When the loaves were baked and ready.
  When the dishes all were seasoned,
  Time had gone but little distance,
  Scarce a moment had passed over,
  Ere the beer, in casks imprisoned,
  Loudly rapped, and sang, and murmured:
  "Come, ye heroes, come and take me,
  Come and let me cheer your spirits,
  Make you sing the songs of wisdom,
  That with honor ye may praise me,
  Sing the songs of beer immortal!"
  Straightway Louhi sought a minstrel,
  Magic bard and artist-singer,
  That the beer might well be lauded,
  Might be praised in song and honor.
  First as bard they brought a salmon,
  Also brought a pike from ocean,
  But the salmon had no talent,
  And the pike had little wisdom;
  Teeth of pike and gills of salmon
  Were not made for singing legends.
  Then again they sought a singer,
  Magic minstrel, beer-enchanter,
  Thus to praise the drink of heroes,
  Sing the songs of joy and gladness;
  And a boy was brought for singing;
  But the boy had little knowledge,
  Could not praise the beer in honor;
  Children's tongues are filled with questions,
  Children cannot speak in wisdom,
  Cannot sing the ancient legends.
  Stronger grew the beer imprisoned
  In the copper-banded vessels,
  Locked behind the copper faucets,
  Boiled, and foamed, and sang, and murmured:
  "If ye do not bring a singer,
  That will sing my worth immortal,
  That will sing my praise deserving,
  I will burst these bands of copper,
  Burst the heads of all these barrels;
  Will not serve the best of heroes
  Till he sings my many virtues."
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Called a trusted maiden-servant,
  Sent her to invite the people
  To the marriage of her daughter,
  These the words that Louhi uttered:
  "O my trusted, truthful maiden,
  Servant-maid to me belonging,
  Call together all my people,
  Call the heroes to my banquet,
  Ask the rich, and ask the needy,
  Ask the blind and deaf, and crippled,
  Ask the young, and ask the aged;
  Go thou to the hills, and hedges,
  To the highways, and the by-ways,
  Urge them to my daughter's wedding;
  Bring the blind, and sorely troubled,
  In my boats upon the waters,
  In my sledges bring the halting,
  With the old, and sick, and needy;
  Ask the whole of Sariola,
  Ask the people of Karelen,
  Ask the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Famous bard and wisdom-singer;
  But I give command explicit
  Not to ask wild Lemminkainen,
  Not the island-dweller, Ahti!"
  This the question of the servant:
  "Why not ask wild Lemminkainen,
  Ancient islander and minstrel?"
  Louhi gave this simple answer:
  "Good the reasons that I give thee
  Why the wizard, Lemminkainen,
  Must not have an invitation
  To my daughter's feast and marriage
  Ahti courts the heat of battle,
  Lemminkainen fosters trouble,
  Skilful fighter of the virtues;
  Evil thinking, acting evil,
  He would bring but pain and sorrow,
  He would jest and jeer at maidens
  In their trimly buckled raiment,
  Cannot ask the evil-minded!"
  Thus again the servant questions:
  "Tell me how to know this Ahti,
  Also known as Lemminkainen,
  That I may not ask him hither;
  Do not know the isle of Ahti,
  Nor the home of Kaukomieli
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Easy 'tis to know the wizard,
  Easy find the Ahti-dwelling:
  Ahti lives on yonder island,
  On that point dwells Lemminkainen,
  In his mansion near the water,
  Far at sea his home and dwelling."
  Thereupon the trusted maiden
  Spread the wedding-invitations
  To the people of Pohyola,
  To the tribes of Kalevala;
  Asked the friendless, asked the homeless
  Asked the laborers and shepherds,
  Asked the fishermen and hunters,
  Asked the deaf, the dumb, the crippled,
  Asked the young, and asked the aged,
  Asked the rich, and asked the needy;
  Did not give an invitation
  To the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Island-dweller of the ocean.



  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Ancient dame of Sariola,
  While at work within her dwelling,
  Heard the whips crack on the fenlands,
  Heard the rattle of the sledges;
  To the northward turned her glances,
  Turned her vision to the sunlight,
  And her thoughts ran on as follow:
  "Who are these in bright apparel,
  On the banks of Pohya-waters,
  Are they friends or hostile armies?"
  Then the hostess of the Northland
  Looked again and well considered,
  Drew much nearer to examine,
  Found they were not hostile armies,
  Found that they were friends and suitors.
  In the midst was Ilmarinen,
  Son-in-law to ancient Louhi.
  When the hostess of Pohyola
  Saw the son-in-law approaching
  She addressed the words that follow:
  "I had thought the winds were raging,
  That the piles of wood were falling,
  Thought the pebbles in commotion,
  Or perchance the ocean roaring;
  Then I hastened nearer, nearer,
  Drew still nearer and examined,
  Found the winds were not in battle,
  Found the piles of wood unshaken,
  Found the ocean was not roaring,
  Nor the pebbles in commotion,
  Found my son-in-law was coming
  With his heroes and attendants,
  Heroes counted by the hundreds.
  "Should you ask of me the question,
  How I recognized the bridegroom
  Mid the hosts of men and heroes,
  I should answer, I should tell you:
  'As the hazel-bush in copses,
  As the oak-tree in the forest,
  As the Moon among the planets;
  Drives the groom a coal-black courser,
  Running like the famished black-dog,
  Flying like the hungry raven,
  Graceful as the lark at morning,
  Golden cuckoos, six in number,
  Twitter on the birchen cross-bow;
  There are seven bluebirds singing
  On the racer's hame and collar."
  Noises hear they in the court-yard,
  On the highway hear the sledges,
  To the court comes Ilmarinen,
  With his body-guard of heroes;
  In the midst the chosen suitor,
  Not too far in front of others,
  Not too far behind his fellows.
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Hie ye hither, men and heroes,
  Haste, ye watchers, to the stables,
  There unhitch the suitor's stallion,
  Lower well the racer's breast-plate,
  There undo the straps and buckles,
  Loosen well the shafts and traces,
  And conduct the suitor hither,
  Give my son-in-law good welcome!"
  Ilmarinen turned his racer
  Into Louhi's yard and stables,
  And descended from his snow-sledge.
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Come, thou servant of my bidding,
  Best of all my trusted servants,
  Take at once the bridegroom's courser
  From the shafts adorned with silver,
  From the curving arch of willow,
  Lift the harness trimmed in copper,
  Tie the white-face to the manger,
  Treat the suitor's steed with kindness,
  Lead him carefully to shelter
  By his soft and shining bridle,
  By his halter tipped with silver;
  Let him roll among the sand-hills,
  On the bottoms soft and even,
  On the borders of the snow-banks,
  In the fields of milky color.
  "Lead the hero's steed to water,
  Lead him to the Pohya-fountains,
  Where the living streams are flowing,
  Sweet as milk of human kindness,
  From the roots of silvery birches,
  Underneath the shade of aspens.
  "Feed the courser of the suitor,
  On the sweetest corn and barley,
  On the summer-wheat and clover,
  In the caldron steeped in sweetness;
  Feed him at the golden manger,
  In the boxes lined with copper,
  At my manger richly furnished,
  In the warmest of the stables;
  Tie him with a silk-like halter,
  To the golden rings and staples,
  To the hooks of purest silver,
  Set in beams of birch and oak-wood;
  Feed him on the hay the sweetest,
  Feed him on the corn nutritious,
  Give the best my barns can furnish.
  "Curry well the suitor's courser
  With the curry-comb of fish-bone,
  Brush his hair with silken brushes,
  Put his mane and tail in order,
  Cover well with flannel blankets,
  Blankets wrought in gold and silver,
  Buckles forged from shining copper.
  "Come, ye small lads of the village,
  Lead the suitor to my chambers,
  With your auburn locks uncovered,
  From your hands remove your mittens,
  See if ye can lead the hero
  Through the door without his stooping,
  Lifting not the upper cross-bar,
  Lowering not the oaken threshold,
  Moving not the birchen casings,
  Great the hero who must enter.
  "Ilmarinen is too stately,
  Cannot enter through the portals,
  Not the son-in-law and bridegroom,
  Till the portals have been heightened;
  Taller by a head the suitor
  Than the door-ways of the mansion."
  Quick the servants of Pohyola
  Tore away the upper cross-bar,
  That his cap might not be lifted;
  Made the oaken threshold lower
  That the hero might not stumble;
  Made the birch-wood portals wider,
  Opened full the door of welcome,
  Easy entrance for the suitor.
  Speaks the hostess of the Northland
  As the bridegroom freely passes
  Through the doorway of her dwelling:
  "Thanks are due to thee, O Ukko,
  That my son-in-law has entered!
  Let me now my halls examine;
  Make the bridal chambers ready,
  Finest linen on my tables,
  Softest furs upon my benches,
  Birchen flooring scrubbed to whiteness,
  All my rooms in perfect order."
  Then the hostess of Pohyola
  Visited her spacious dwelling,
  Did not recognize her chambers;
  Every room had been remodeled,
  Changed by force of mighty magic;
  All the halls were newly burnished,
  Hedge-hog bones were used for ceilings,
  Bones of reindeer for foundations,
  Bones of wolverine for door-sills,
  For the cross-bars bones of roebuck,
  Apple-wood were all the rafters,
  Alder-wood, the window-casings,
  Scales of trout adorned the windows,
  And the fires were set in flowers.
  All the seats were made of silver,
  All the floors of copper-tiling,
  Gold-adorned were all the tables,
  On the floor were silken mattings,
  Every fire-place set in copper,
  Every hearth-stone cut from marble,
  On each shelf were colored sea-shells,
  Kalew's tree was their protection.
  To the court-room came the hero,
  Chosen suitor from Wainola,
  These the words of Ilmarinen:
  "Send, O Ukko, health and pleasure
  To this ancient home and dwelling,
  To this mansion richly fashioned!"
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Let thy coming be auspicious
  To these halls of thee unworthy,
  To the home of thine affianced,
  To this dwelling lowly fashioned,
  Mid the lindens and the aspens.
  "Come, ye maidens that should serve me,
  Come, ye fellows from the village,
  Bring me fire upon the birch-bark,
  Light the fagots of the fir-tree,
  That I may behold the bridegroom,
  Chosen suitor of my daughter,
  Fairy Maiden of the Rainbow,
  See the color of his eyeballs,
  Whether they are blue or sable,
  See if they are warm and faithful."
  Quick the young lads from the village
  Brought the fire upon the birch-bark,
  Brought it on the tips of pine-wood;
  And the fire and smoke commingled
  Roll and roar about the hero,
  Blackening the suitor's visage,
  And the hostess speaks as follows;
  "Bring the fire upon a taper,
  On the waxen tapers bring it!"
  Then the maidens did as bidden,
  Quickly brought the lighted tapers,
  Made the suitor's eyeballs glisten,
  Made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy;
  Made his eyes of sable color
  Sparkle like the foam of waters,
  Like the reed-grass on the margin,
  Colored as the ocean jewels,
  Iridescent as the rainbow.
  "Come, ye fellows of the hamlet,
  Lead my son-in-law and hero
  To the highest seat at table,
  To the seat of greatest honor,
  With his back upon the blue-wall,
  Looking on my bounteous tables,
  Facing all the guests of Northland."
  Then the hostess of Pohyola
  Served her guests in great abundance,
  Richest drinks and rarest viands,
  First of all she, served the bridegroom
  On his platters, honeyed biscuit,
  And the sweetest river salmon,
  Seasoned butter, roasted bacon,
  All the dainties of Pohyola.
  Then the helpers served the others,
  Filled the plates of all invited
  With the varied food of Northland.
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
  "Come, ye maidens from the village,
  Hither bring the beer in pitchers,
  In the urns with double handles,
  To the many guests in-gathered,
  Ere all others, serve the bridegroom."
  Thereupon the merry maidens
  Brought the beer in silver pitchers
  From the copper-banded vessels,
  For the wedding-guests assembled;
  And the beer, fermenting, sparkled
  On the beard of Ilmarinen,
  On the beards of many heroes.
  When the guests had all partaken
  Of the wondrous beer of barley,
  Spake the beer in merry accents
  Through the tongues of the magicians,
  Through the tongue of many a hero,
  Through the tongue of Wainamoinen,
  Famed to be the sweetest singer
  Of the Northland bards and minstrels,
  These the words of the enchanter:
  "O thou beer of honeyed flavor,
  Let us not imbibe in silence,
  Let some hero sing thy praises,
  Sing thy worth in golden measures;
  Let the hostess start the singing,
  Let the bridegroom sound thy virtues!
  Have our songs thus quickly vanished,
  Have our joyful tongues grown silent?
  Evil then has been the brewing,
  Then the beer must be unworthy,
  That it does not cheer the singer,
  Does not move the merry minstrel,
  That the golden guests are joyless,
  And the cuckoo is not singing.
  Never will these benches echo
  Till the bench-guests chant thy virtues;
  Nor the floor resound thy praises
  Till the floor-guests sing in concord;
  Nor the windows join the chorus
  Till the window-guests have spoken;
  All the tables will keep silence
  Till the heroes toast thy virtues;
  Little singing from the chimney
  Till the chimney-guests have chanted."
  On the floor a child was sitting,
  Thus the little boy made answer:
  "I am small and young in singing,
  Have perchance but little wisdom;
  Be that as it may, my seniors,
  Since the elder minstrels sing not,
  Nor the heroes chant their legends,
  Nor the hostess lead the singing,
  I will sing my simple stories,
  Sing my little store of knowledge,
  To the pleasure of the evening,
  To the joy of the invited."
  Near the fire reclined an old man,
  And the gray-beard thus made answer:
  "Not the time for children's singing,
  Children's wisdom is too ready,
  Children's songs are filled with trifles,
  Filled with shrewd and vain deceptions,
  Maiden-songs are full of follies;
  Leave the songs and incantations
  To the ancient wizard-singers;
  Leave the tales of times primeval
  To the minstrel of Wainola,
  To the hero of the Northland,
  To the, ancient Wainamoinen."
  Thereupon Osmoinen answered:
  "Are there not some sweeter singers
  In this honored congregation,
  That will clasp their hands together,
  Sing the ancient songs unbroken,
  Thus begin the incantations,
  Make these ancient halls re-echo
  For the pleasure of the evening,
  For the joy of the in-gathered?"
  From the hearth-stone spake, the gray-beard
  "Not a singer of Pohyola,
  Not a minstrel, nor magician,
  That was better skilled in chanting
  Legends of the days departed,
  Than was I when I was singing,
  In my years of vain ambition;
  Then I chanted tales of heroes,
  On the blue back of the waters,
  Sang the ballads of my people,
  In the vales and on the mountains,
  Through the verdant fields and forests;
  Sweet my voice and skilled my singing,
  All my songs were highly lauded,
  Rippled like the quiet rivers,
  Easy-flowing like the waters,
  Easy-gliding as the snow-shoes,
  Like the ship upon the ocean.
  "Woe is me, my days are ended,
  Would not recognize my singing,
  All its sweetness gone to others,
  Flows no more like rippling waters,
  Makes no more the hills re-echo!
  Now my songs are full of discord,
  Like the rake upon the stubble,
  Like the sledge upon the gravel,
  Like the boat upon the sea-shore!"
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Spake these words in magic measures:
  "Since no other bard appeareth
  That will clasp my hand in singing,
  I will sing some simple legends,
  Sing my, garnered store of wisdom,
  Make these magic halls re-echo
  With my tales of ancient story,
  Since a bard I was created,
  Born an orator and singer;
  Do not ask the ways of others,
  Follow not the paths of strangers."
  Wainamoinen, famous minstrel,
  Song's eternal, wise supporter,
  Then began the songs of pleasure,
  Made the halls resound with joyance,
  Filled the rooms with wondrous singing;
  Sang the ancient bard-magician
  All the oldest wisdom-sayings,
  Did not fail in voice nor legends,
  All the wisest thoughts remembered.
  Thus the ancient Wainamoinen
  Sang the joy of all assembled,
  To the pleasure of the evening,
  To the merriment of maidens,
  To the happiness of heroes;
  All the guests were stilled in wonder
  At the magic of his singing,
  At the songs of the magician.
  Spake again wise Wainamoinen,
  When his wonder-tales had ended:
  "l have little worth or power,
  Am a bard of little value,
  Little consequence my singing,
  Mine abilities as nothing,
  If but Ukko, my Creator,
  Should intone his wisdom-sayings,
  Sing the source of good and evil,
  Sing the origin of matter,
  Sing the legends of omniscience,
  Sing his songs in full perfection.
  God could sing the floods to honey,
  Sing the sands to ruddy berries,
  Sing the pebbles into barley,
  Sing to beer the running waters,
  Sing to salt the rocks of ocean,
  Into corn-fields sing the forests,
  Into gold the forest-fruitage,
  Sing to bread the hills and mountains,
  Sing to eggs the rounded sandstones;
  He could touch the springs of magic,
  He could turn the keys of nature,
  And produce within thy pastures,
  Hurdles filled with sheep and reindeer,
  Stables filled with fleet-foot stallions,
  Kine in every field and fallow;
  Sing a fur-robe for the bridegroom,
  For the bride a coat of ermine,
  For the hostess, shoes of silver,
  For the hero, mail of copper.
  "Grant O Ukko, my Creator,
  God of love, and truth, and justice,
  Grant thy blessing on our feasting,
  Bless this company assembled,
  For the good of Sariola,
  For the happiness of Northland!
  May this bread and beer bring joyance,
  May they come in rich abundance,
  May they carry full contentment
  To the people of Pohyola,
  To the cabin and the mansion;
  May the hours we spend in singing,
  In the morning, in the evening,
  Fill our hearts with joy and gladness!
  Hear us in our supplications,
  Grant to us thy needed blessings,
  Send enjoyment, health, and comfort,
  To the people here assembled,
  To the host and to the hostess,
  To the bride and to the bridegroom,
  To the sons upon the waters,
  To the daughters at their weavings,
  To the hunters on the mountains,
  To the shepherds in the fenlands,
  That our lives may end in honor,
  That we may recall with pleasure
  Ilmarinen's magic marriage
  To the Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Snow-white virgin of the Northland."



  When the marriage was completed,
  When the many guests had feasted,
  At the wedding of the Northland,
  At the Dismal-land carousal,
  Spake the hostess of Pohyola
  To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:
  "Wherefore, bridegroom, dost thou linger,
  Why art waiting, Northland hero?
  Sittest for the father's pleasure,
  For affection of the mother,
  For the splendor of the maidens,
  For the beauty of the daughter?
  Noble son-in-law and brother,
  Wait thou longer, having waited
  Long already for the virgin,
  Thine affianced is not ready,
  Not prepared, thy life-companion,
  Only are her tresses braided.
  "Chosen bridegroom, pride of Pohya,
  Wait thou longer, having waited
  Long already for the virgin,
  Thy beloved is preparing,
  Only is one hand made ready.
  "Famous artist, Ilmarinen,
  Wait still longer, having waited
  Long already for the virgin,
  Thy beloved is not ready,
  Only is one foot in fur-shoes,"
  Spake again the ancient Louhi:
  "Chosen suitor of my daughter,
  Thou hast thrice in kindness waited,
  Wait no longer for the virgin,
  Thy beloved now is ready,
  Well prepared thy life-companion,
  Fairy Maiden of the Rainbow.
  "Beauteous daughter, join thy suitor,
  Follow him, thy chosen husband,
  Very near is the uniting,
  Near indeed thy separation.
  At thy hand the honored bridegroom,
  Near the door he waits to lead thee,
  Guide thee to his home and kindred;
  At the gate his steed is waiting,
  Restless champs his silver bridle,
  And the sledge awaits thy presence.
  "Thou wert anxious for a suitor,
  Ready to accept his offer,
  Wert in haste to take his jewels,
  Place his rings upon thy fingers;
  Now, fair daughter, keep thy promise;
  To his sledge, with happy footsteps,
  Hie in haste to join the bridegroom,
  Gaily journey to the village
  With thy chosen life-companion,
  With thy suitor, Ilmarinen.
  Little hast thou looked about thee,
  Hast not raised thine eyes above thee,
  Beauteous maiden of the Northland,
  Hast thou made a rueful bargain,
  Full of wailing thine engagement,
  And thy marriage full of sorrow,
  That thy father's ancient cottage
  Thou art leaving now forever,
  Leaving also friends and kindred,
  For the, blacksmith, Ilmarinen?
  "O how beautiful thy childhood,
  In thy father's dwelling-places,
  Nurtured like a tender flower,
  Like the strawberry in spring-time
  Soft thy couch and sweet thy slumber,
  Warm thy fires and rich thy table;
  From the fields came corn in plenty,
  From the highlands, milk and berries,
  Wheat and barley in abundance,
  Fish, and fowl, and hare, and bacon,
  From thy father's fields and forests.
  "Never wert thou, child, in sorrow,
  Never hadst thou grief nor trouble,
  All thy cares were left to fir-trees,
  All thy worry to the copses,
  All thy weeping to the willows,
  All thy sighing to the lindens,
  All thy thinking to the aspens
  And the birches on the mountains,
  Light and airy as the leaflet,
  As a butterfly in summer,
  Ruddy as a mountain-berry,
  Beautiful as vernal flowers.
  "Now thou leavest home and kindred,
  Wanderest to other firesides,
  Goest to another mother,
  Other sisters, other brothers,
  Goest to a second father,
  To the servant-folk of strangers,
  From thy native hills and lowlands.
  There and here the homes will differ,
  Happier thy mother's hearth-stone;
  Other horns will there be sounded,
  Other portals there swing open,
  Other hinges there be creaking;
  There the doors thou canst not enter
  Like the daughters of Wainola,
  Canst not tend the fires and ovens
  As will please the minds of strangers.
  "Didst thou think, my fairest maiden,
  Thou couldst wed and on the morrow
  Couldst return, if thou shouldst wish it,
  To thy father's court and dwelling?
  Not for one, nor two, nor three days,
  Wilt thou leave thy mother's chambers,
  Leave thy sisters and thy brothers,
  Leave thy father's hills and lowlands.
  Long the time the wife must wander,
  Many months and years must wander,
  Work, and struggle, all her life long,
  Even though the mother liveth.
  Great, indeed, must be the changes
  When thou comest back to Pohya,
  Changed, thy friends and nearest kindred,
  Changed, thy father's ancient dwellings,
  Changed, the valleys and the mountains,
  Other birds will sing thy praises!"
  When the mother thus had spoken,
  Then the daughter spake, departing:
  "In my early days of childhood
  Often I intoned these measures:
  'Art a virgin, yet no virgin,
  Guided by an aged mother,
  In a brother's fields and forests,
  In the mansion of a father!
  Only wilt become a virgin,
  Only when thou hast a suitor,
  Only when thou wedst a hero,
  One foot on the father's threshold,
  And the other for the snow-sledge
  That will speed thee and thy husband
  To his native vales and highlands!'
  "I have wished thus many summers,
  Sang it often in my childhood,
  Hoped for this as for the flowers,
  Welcome as the birds of spring-time.
  Thus fulfilled are all my wishes,
  Very near is my departure,
  One foot on my father's threshold,
  And the, other for the journey
  With my husband to his people;
  Cannot understand the reason
  That has changed my former feelings,
  Cannot leave thee now with gladness,
  Cannot go with great rejoicing
  From my dear, old home and kindred,
  Where as maiden I have lingered,
  From the courts where I was nurtured,
  From my father's band and guidance,
  From my faithful mother's counsel.
  Now I go, a maid of sorrow,
  Heavy-hearted to the bridegroom,
  Like the bride of Night in winter,
  Like the ice upon the rivers.
  "Such is not the mind of others,
  Other brides of Northland heroes;
  Others do not leave unhappy,
  Have no tears, nor cares, nor sorrows,
  I alas! must weep and murmur,
  Carry to my grave great sadness,
  Heart as dark as Death's black river.
  "Such the feelings of the happy,
  Such the minds of merry maidens:
  Like the early dawn of spring-time,
  Like the rising Sun in summer
  No such radiance awaits me,
  With my young heart filled with terror;
  Happiness is not my portion,
  Like the flat-shore of the ocean,
  Like the dark rift of the storm-cloud,
  Like the cheerless nights of winter!
  Dreary is the day in autumn,
  Dreary too the autumn evening,
  Still more dreary is my future!"
  An industrious old maiden,
  Ever guarding home and kindred,
  Spake these words of doubtful comfort:
  "Dost thou, beauteous bride, remember,
  Canst thou not recall my counsels?
  These the words that I have taught thee:
  'Look not joyfully for suitors,
  Never heed the tongues of wooers,
  Look not in the eyes of charmers,
  At their feet let fall thy vision.
  He that hath a mouth for sweetness,
  He that hath an eye for beauty,
  Offers little that will comfort;
  Lempo sits upon his forehead,
  In his mouth dwells dire Tuoni.'
  "Thus, fair bride, did I advise thee,
  Thus advised my sister's daughter:
  Should there come the best of suitors,
  Noblest wooers, proudest lovers,
  Give to all these wisdom-sayings,
  Let thine answer be as follows:
  'Never will I think it wisdom,
  Never will it be my pleasure,
  To become a second daughter,
  Linger with my husband's mother;
  Never shall I leave my father,
  Never wander forth to bondage,
  At the bidding of a bridegroom:
  Never shall I be a servant,
  Wife and slave to any hero,
  Never will I be submissive
  To the orders of a husband.'
  "Fairest bride, thou didst not heed me,
  Gav'st no thought to my advices,
  Didst not listen to my counsel;
  Wittingly thy feet have wandered
  Into boiling tar and water,
  Hastened to thy suitor's snow-sledge,
  To the bear-dens of thy husband,
  On his sledge to be ill-treated,
  Carried to his native country,
  To the bondage of his people,
  There, a subject to his mother.
  Thou hast left thy mother's dwelling,
  To the schooling of the master;
  Hard indeed the master's teachings,
  Little else than constant torture;
  Ready for thee are his bridles,
  Ready for thy bands the shackles,
  Were not forged for any other;
  Soon, indeed, thou'lt feel the hardness,
  Feel the weight of thy misfortune,
  Feel thy second father's censure,
  And his wife's inhuman treatment,
  Hear the cold words or thy brother,
  Quail before thy haughty sister.
  "Listen, bride, to what I tell thee:
  In thy home thou wert a jewel,
  Wert thy father's pride and pleasure,
  'Moonlight,' did thy father call thee,
  And thy mother called thee 'Sunshine,'
  'Sea-foam' did thy brother call thee,
  And thy sister called thee 'Flower.'
  When thou leavest home and kindred
  Goest to a second mother,
  Often she will give thee censure,
  Never treat thee as her daughter,
  Rarely will she give thee counsel,
  Never will she sound thy praises.
  'Brush-wood,' will the father call thee,
  'Sledge of Rags,' thy husband's mother,
  'Flight of Stairs,' thy stranger brother,
  'Scare-crow,' will the sister call thee,
  Sister of thy blacksmith-husband;
  Then wilt think of my good counsels,
  Then wilt wish in tears and murmurs,
  That as steam thou hadst ascended,
  That as smoke thy soul had risen,
  That as sparks thy life had vanished.
  As a bird thou canst not wander
  From thy nest to circle homeward,
  Canst not fall and die like leaflets,
  As the sparks thou canst not perish,
  Like the smoke thou canst not vanish.
  "Youthful bride, and darling sister,
  Thou hast bartered all thy friendships,
  Hast exchanged thy loving father,
  Thou hast left thy faithful mother
  For the mother of thy husband;
  Hast exchanged thy loving brother,
  Hast renounced thy gentle sister,
  For the kindred of thy suitor;
  Hast exchanged thy snow-white covers
  For the rocky couch of sorrow;
  Hast exchanged these crystal waters
  For the waters of Wainola;
  Hast renounced these sandy sea-shores
  For the muddy banks of Kalew;
  Northland glens thou hast forsaken
  For thy husband's barren meadows;
  Thou hast left thy berry-mountains
  For the stubble-fields and deserts.
  "Thou, O maiden, hast been thinking
  Thou wouldst happy be in wedlock;
  Neither work, nor care, nor sorrow,
  From this night would be thy portion,
  With thy husband for protection.
  Not to sleep art thou conducted,
  Not to happiness, nor joyance,
  Wakefulness, thy night-companion,
  And thy day-attendant, trouble;
  Often thou wilt drink of sorrow,
  Often long for vanished pleasures.
  "When at home thou hadst no head-gear,
  Thou hadst also little sadness;
  When thy couch was not of linen,
  No unhappiness came nigh thee;
  Head-gear brings but pain and sorrow,
  Linen breeds bad dispositions,
  Linen brings but deeps of anguish,
  And the flax untimely mourning.
  "Happy in her home, the maiden,
  Happy at her father's fireside,
  Like the master in his mansion,
  Happy with her bows and arrows.
  'Tis not thus with married women;
  Brides of heroes may be likened
  To the prisoners of Moskva,
  Held in bondage by their masters.
  "As a wife, must weep and labor,
  Carry trouble on both shoulders;
  When the next hour passes over,
  Thou must tend the fire and oven,
  Must prepare thy husband's dinner,
  Must direct thy master's servants.
  When thine evening meal is ready,
  Thou must search for bidden wisdom
  In the brain of perch and salmon,
  In the mouths of ocean whiting,
  Gather wisdom from the cuckoo,
  Canst not learn it from thy mother,
  Mother dear of seven daughters;
  Cannot find among her treasures
  Where were born the human instincts,
  Where were born the minds of heroes,
  Whence arose the maiden's beauty,
  Whence the beauty of her tresses,
  Why all life revives in spring-time.
  "Weep, O weep, my pretty young bride.
  When thou weepest, weep sincerely,
  Weep great rivers from thine eyelids,
  Floods of tears in field and fallow,
  Lakelets in thy father's dwelling;
  Weep thy rooms to overflowing,
  Shed thy tears in great abundance,
  Lest thou weepest on returning
  To thy native hills and valleys,
  When thou visitest thy father
  In the smoke of waning glory,
  On his arm a withered tassel.
  "Weep, O weep, my lovely maiden,
  When thou weepest, weep in earnest,
  Weep great rivers from thine eyelids;
  If thou dost not weep sincerely,
  Thou wilt weep on thy returning
  To thy Northland home and kindred,
  When thou visitest thy mother
  Old and breathless near the hurdles,
  In her arms a barley-bundle.
  "Weep, O weep, sweet bride of beauty,
  When thou weepest, weep profusely;
  If thou dost not weep in earnest,
  Thou wilt weep on thy returning
  To thy native vales and highlands,
  When thou visitest thy brother
  Lying wounded by the way-side,
  In his hand but empty honors.
  "Weep, O weep, my sister's daughter,
  Weep great rivers from thine eyelids;
  If thou dost not weep sufficient,
  Thou wilt weep on thy returning
  To the scenes of happy childhood,
  When thou visitest thy sister
  Lying, prostrate in the meadow,
  In her hand a birch-wood mallet."
  When the ancient maid had ended,
  Then the young bride sighed in anguish,
  Straightway fell to bitter weeping,
  Spake these words in deeps of sorrow:
  "O, ye sisters, my beloved,
  Ye companions of my childhood,
  Playmates of my early summers,
  Listen to your sister's counsel:
  Cannot comprehend the reason,
  Why my mind is so dejected,
  Why this weariness and sadness,
  This untold and unseen torture,
  Cannot understand the meaning
  Of this mighty weight of sorrow!
  Differently I had thought it,
  I had hoped for greater pleasures,
  I had hoped to sing as cuckoos,
  On the hill-tops call and echo,
  When I had attained this station,
  Reached at last the goal expectant;
  But I am not like the cuckoo,
  Singing, merry on the hill-tops;
  I am like the songless blue-duck,
  As she swims upon the waters,
  Swims upon the cold, cold ocean,
  Icicles upon her pinions.
  "Ancient father, gray-haired mother,
  Whither do ye wish to lead me,
  Whither take this bride, thy daughter,
  That this sorrow may pass over,
  Where this heavy heart may lighten,
  Where this grief may turn to gladness?
  Better it had been, O mother,
  Hadst thou nursed a block of birch-wood,
  Hadst thou clothed the colored sandstone,
  Rather than this hapless maiden,
  For the fulness of these sorrows,
  For this keen and killing trouble.
  Many sympathizers tell me:
  'Foolish bride, thou art ungrateful,
  Do not grieve, thou child of sorrow,
  Thou hast little cause for weeping.'
  "O, deceive me not, my people,
  Do not argue with me falsely,
  For alas! I have more troubles
  Than the waterfalls have pebbles,
  Than the Ingerland has willows,
  Than the Suomi-hills have berries;
  Never could the Pohya plow-horse
  Pull this mighty weight of sorrow,
  Shaking not his birchen cross-bar,
  Breaking not his heavy collar;
  Never could the Northland reindeer
  Heavy shod and stoutly harnessed,
  Draw this load of care and trouble."
  By the stove a babe was playing,
  And the young child spake as follows:
  "Why, O fair bride, art thou weeping,
  Why these tears of pain and sadness?
  Leave thy troubles to the elk-herds,
  And thy grief to sable fillies,
  Let the steeds of iron bridles
  Bear the burden of thine anguish,
  Horses have much larger foreheads,
  Larger shoulders, stronger sinews,
  And their necks are made for labor,
  Stronger are their bones and muscles,
  Let them bear thy heavy burdens.
  There is little good in weeping,
  Useless are thy tears of sorrow;
  Art not led to swamps and lowlands,
  Nor to banks of little rivers;
  Thou art led to fields of flowers,
  Led to fruitful trees and forests,
  Led away from beer of Pohya
  To the sweeter mead of Kalew.
  At thy shoulder waits thy husband,
  On thy right side, Ilmarinen,
  Constant friend and life-protector,
  He will guard thee from all evil;
  Husband ready, steed in waiting,
  Gold-and-silver-mounted harness,
  Hazel-birds that sing and flutter
  On the courser's yoke and cross-bar;
  Thrushes also sing and twitter
  Merrily on hame and collar,
  Seven bluebirds, seven cuckoos,
  Sing thy wedding-march in concord.
  "Be no longer full of sorrow,
  Dry thy tears, thou bride of beauty,
  Thou hast found a noble husband,
  Better wilt thou fare than ever,
  By the side of Ilmarinen,
  Artist husband, metal-master,
  Bread-provider of thy table,
  On the arm of the fish-catcher,
  On the breast of the elk-hunter,
  By the side of the bear-killer.
  Thou hast won the best of suitors,
  Hast obtained a mighty hero;
  Never idle is his cross-bow,
  On the nails his quivers hang not,
  Neither are his dogs in kennel,
  Active agents is his bunting.
  Thrice within the budding spring-time
  In the early hours of morning
  He arises from his fare-couch,
  From his slumber in the brush-wood,
  Thrice within the sowing season,
  On his eyes the deer has fallen,
  And the branches brushed his vesture,
  And his locks been combed by fir-boughs.
  Hasten homeward with thy husband,
  Where thy hero's friends await thee,
  Where his forests sing thy welcome.
  "Ilmarinen there possesses
  All the birds that fly in mid-air,
  All the beasts that haunt the woodlands,
  All that feed upon the mountains,
  All that graze on hill and valley,
  Sheep and cattle by the thousands;
  Sweet the grass upon his meadows,
  Sweet the barley in his uplands,
  In the lowlands corn abundant,
  Wheat upon the elm-wood fallows,
  Near the streamlets rye is waving,
  Waving grain on many acres,
  On his mountains gold and silver,
  Rich his mines of shining copper,
  Highlands filled with magic metals,
  Chests of jewels in his store-house,
  All the wealth of Kalevala."



  Now the bride must be instructed,
  Who will teach the Maid of Beauty,
  Who instruct the Rainbow-daughter?
  Osmotar, the wisdom-maiden,
  Kalew's fair and lovely virgin,
  Osmotar will give instructions
  To the bride of Ilmarinen,
  To the orphaned bride of Pohya,
  Teach her how to live in pleasure,
  How to live and reign in glory,
  Win her second mother's praises,
  Joyful in her husband's dwelling.
  Osmotar in modest accents
  Thus the anxious bride addresses;
  "Maid of Beauty, lovely sister,
  Tender plant of Louhi's gardens,
  Hear thou what thy sister teaches,
  Listen to her sage instructions:
  Go thou hence, my much beloved,
  Wander far away, my flower,
  Travel on enwrapped in colors,
  Glide away in silks and ribbons,
  From this house renowned and ancient,
  From thy father's halls and court-yards
  Haste thee to thy husband's village,
  Hasten to his mother's household;
  Strange, the rooms in other dwellings,
  Strange, the modes in other hamlets.
  "Full of thought must be thy going,
  And thy work be well considered,
  Quite unlike thy home in Northland,
  On the meadows of thy father,
  On the high-lands of thy brother,
  Singing through thy mother's fenlands,
  Culling daisies with thy sister.
  "When thou goest from thy father
  Thou canst take whatever pleases,
  Only three things leave behind thee:
  Leave thy day-dreams to thy sister,
  Leave thou kindness for thy mother,
  To thy brother leave thy labors,
  Take all else that thou desirest.
  Throw away thine incantations,
  Cast thy sighing to the pine-trees,
  And thy maidenhood to zephyrs,
  Thy rejoicings to the couches,
  Cast thy trinkets to the children,
  And thy leisure to the gray-beards,
  Cast all pleasures to thy playmates,
  Let them take them to the woodlands,
  Bury them beneath the mountain.
  "Thou must hence acquire new habits,
  Must forget thy former customs,
  Mother-love must be forsaken,
  Thou must love thy husband's mother,
  Lower must thy head be bended,
  Kind words only must thou utter.
  "Thou must hence acquire new habits,
  Must forget thy former customs,
  Father-love must be forsaken,
  Thou must love thy husband's father,
  Lower must thy head be bended,
  Kind words only must thou utter.
  "Thou must hence acquire new habits,
  Must forget thy former customs,
  Brother-love must be forsaken,
  Thou must love thy husband's brother,
  Lower must thy head be bended,
  Kind words only must thou utter.
  "Thou must hence acquire new habits
  Must forget thy former customs,
  Sister-love must be forsaken,
  Thou must love thy husband's sister,
  Lower must thy head be bended,
  Kind words only must thou utter.
  "Never in the course of ages,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers,
  Wickedly approach thy household,
  Nor unworthily, thy servants,
  Nor thy courts with indiscretion;
  Let thy dwellings sing good manners,
  And thy walls re-echo virtue.
  After mind the hero searches.
  And the best of men seek honor,
  Seek for honesty and wisdom;
  If thy home should be immoral,
  If thine inmates fail in virtue,
  Then thy gray-beards would be black-dogs
  In sheep's clothing at thy firesides;
  All thy women would be witches,
  Wicked witches in thy chambers,
  And thy brothers be as serpents
  Crawling through thy husband's mansion;
  All thy sisters would be famous
  For their evil thoughts and conduct.
  "Equal honors must be given
  To thy husband's friends and kindred;
  Lower must thy head be bended,
  Than within thy mother's dwelling,
  Than within thy father's guest-room,
  When thou didst thy kindred honor.
  Ever strive to give good counsel,
  Wear a countenance of sunshine,
  Bear a head upon thy shoulders
  Filled with wise and ancient sayings;
  Open bright thine eyes at morning
  To behold the silver sunrise,
  Sharpen well thine ears at evening,
  Thus to hear the rooster crowing;
  When he makes his second calling,
  Straightway thou must rise from slumber,
  Let the aged sleep in quiet;
  Should the rooster fail to call thee,
  Let the moonbeams touch thine eyelids,
  Let the Great Bear be thy keeper
  Often go thou and consult them,
  Call upon the Moon for counsel,
  Ask the Bear for ancient wisdom,
  From the stars divine thy future;
  When the Great Bear faces southward,
  When his tail is pointing northward,
  This is time to break with slumber,
  Seek for fire within the ashes,
  Place a spark upon the tinder,
  Blow the fire through all the fuel.
  If no spark is in the ashes,
  Then go wake thy hero-husband,
  Speak these words to him on waking:
  'Give me fire, O my beloved,
  Give a single spark, my husband,
  Strike a little fire from flintstone,
  Let it fall upon my tinder.'
  "From the spark, O Bride of Beauty,
  Light thy fires, and heat thine ovens,
  In the holder, place the torch-light,
  Find thy pathway to the stables,
  There to fill the empty mangers;
  If thy husband's cows be lowing,
  If thy brother's steeds be neighing,
  Then the cows await thy coming,
  And the steeds for thee are calling,
  Hasten, stooping through the hurdles,
  Hasten through the yards and stables,
  Feed thy husband's cows with pleasure,
  Feed with care the gentle lambkins,
  Give the cows the best of clover,
  Hay, and barley, to the horses,
  Feed the calves of lowing mothers,
  Feed the fowl that fly to meet thee.
  "Never rest upon the haymow,
  Never sleep within the hurdles,
  When the kine are fed and tended,
  When the flocks have all been watered;
  Hasten thence, my pretty matron,
  Like the snow-flakes to thy dwelling,
  There a crying babe awaits thee,
  Weeping in his couch neglected,
  Cannot speak and tell his troubles,
  Speechless babe, and weeping infant,
  Cannot say that he is hungry,
  Whether pain or cold distresses,
  Greets with joy his mother's footsteps.
  Afterward repair in silence
  To thy husband's rooms and presence,
  Early visit thou his chambers,
  In thy hand a golden pitcher,
  On thine arm a broom of birch-wood,
  In thy teeth a lighted taper,
  And thyself the fourth in order.
  Sweep thou then thy hero's dwelling,
  Dust his benches and his tables,
  Wash the flooring well with water.
  "If the baby of thy sister
  Play alone within his corner,
  Show the little child attention,
  Bathe his eyes and smoothe his ringlets,
  Give the infant needed comforts;
  Shouldst thou have no bread of barley,
  In his hand adjust some trinket.
  "Lastly, when the week has ended,
  Give thy house a thorough cleansing,
  Benches, tables, walls, and ceilings;
  What of dust is on the windows,
  Sweep away with broom of birch-twigs,
  All thy rooms must first be sprinkled,
  at the dust may not be scattered,
  May not fill the halls and chambers.
  Sweep the dust from every crevice,
  Leave thou not a single atom;
  Also sweep the chimney-corners,
  Do not then forget the rafters,
  Lest thy home should seem untidy,
  Lest thy dwelling seem neglected.
  "Hear, O maiden, what I tell thee,
  Learn the tenor of my teaching:
  Never dress in scanty raiment,
  Let thy robes be plain and comely,
  Ever wear the whitest linen,
  On thy feet wear tidy fur-shoes,
  For the glory of thy husband,
  For the honor of thy hero.
  Tend thou well the sacred sorb-tree,
  Guard the mountain-ashes planted
  In the court-yard, widely branching;
  Beautiful the mountain-ashes,
  Beautiful their leaves and flowers,
  Still more beautiful the berries.
  Thus the exiled one demonstrates
  That she lives to please her husband,
  Tries to make her hero happy.
  "Like the mouse, have ears for hearing,
  Like the hare, have feet for running,
  Bend thy neck and turn thy visage
  Like the juniper and aspen,
  Thus to watch with care thy goings,
  Thus to guard thy feet from stumbling,
  That thou mayest walk in safety.
  "When thy brother comes from plowing,
  And thy father from his garners,
  And thy husband from the woodlands,
  From his chopping, thy beloved,
  Give to each a water-basin,
  Give to each a linen-towel,
  Speak to each some pleasant greeting.
  "When thy second mother hastens
  To thy husband's home and kindred,
  In her hand a corn-meal measure,
  Haste thou to the court to meet her,
  Happy-hearted, bow before her,
  Take the measure from her fingers,
  Happy, bear it to thy husband.
  "If thou shouldst not see distinctly
  What demands thy next attention,
  Ask at once thy hero's mother:
  'Second mother, my beloved,
  Name the task to be accomplished
  By thy willing second daughter,
  Tell me how to best perform it.'
  "This should be the mother's answer:
  'This the manner of thy workings,
  Thus thy daily work accomplish:
  Stamp with diligence and courage,
  Grind with will and great endurance,
  Set the millstones well in order,
  Fill the barley-pans with water,
  Knead with strength the dough for baking,
  Place the fagots on the fire-place,
  That thy ovens may be heated,
  Bake in love the honey-biscuit,
  Bake the larger loaves of barley,
  Rinse to cleanliness thy platters,
  Polish well thy drinking-vessels.
  "If thou hearest from the mother,
  From the mother of thy husband,
  That the cask for meal is empty,
  Take the barley from the garners,
  Hasten to the rooms for grinding.
  When thou grindest in the chambers,
  Do not sing in glee and joyance,
  Turn the grinding-stones in silence,
  To the mill give up thy singing,
  Let the side-holes furnish music;
  Do not sigh as if unhappy,
  Do not groan as if in trouble,
  Lest the father think thee weary,
  Lest thy husband's mother fancy
  That thy groans mean discontentment,
  That thy sighing means displeasure.
  Quickly sift the flour thou grindest,
  Take it to the casks in buckets,
  Bake thy hero's bread with pleasure,
  Knead the dough with care and patience,
  That thy biscuits may be worthy,
  That the dough be light and airy.
  "Shouldst thou see a bucket empty,
  Take the bucket on thy shoulder,
  On thine arm a silver-dipper,
  Hasten off to fill with water
  From the crystal river flowing;
  Gracefully thy bucket carry,
  Bear it firmly by the handles,
  Hasten houseward like the zephyrs,
  Hasten like the air of autumn;
  Do not tarry near the streamlet,
  At the waters do not linger,
  That the father may not fancy,
  Nor the ancient dame imagine,
  That thou hast beheld thine image,
  Hast admired thy form and features,
  Hast admired thy grace and beauty
  In the mirror of the fountain,
  In the crystal streamlet's eddies.
  "Shouldst thou journey to the woodlands,
  There to gather aspen-fagots,
  Do not go with noise and bustle,
  Gather all thy sticks in silence,
  Gather quietly the birch-wood,
  That the father may not fancy,
  And the mother not imagine,
  That thy calling came from anger,
  And thy noise from discontentment.
  "If thou goest to the store-house
  To obtain the flour of barley,
  Do not tarry on thy journey,
  On the threshold do not linger,
  That the father may not fancy,
  And the mother not imagine,
  That the meal thou hast divided
  With the women of the village.
  "If thou goest to the river,
  There to wash thy birchen platters,
  There to cleanse thy pans and buckets,
  Lest thy work be done in neatness,
  Rinse the sides, and rinse the handles,
  Rinse thy pitchers to perfection,
  Spoons, and forks, and knives, and goblets,
  Rinse with care thy cooking-vessels,
  Closely watch the food-utensils,
  That the dogs may not deface them,
  That the kittens may not mar them,
  That the eagles may not steal them,
  That the children may not break them;
  Many children in the village,
  Many little heads and fingers,
  That will need thy careful watching,
  Lest they steal the things of value.
  "When thou goest to thy bathing,
  Have the brushes ready lying
  In the bath-room clean and smokeless;
  Do not, linger in the water,
  At thy bathing do not tarry,
  That the father may not fancy,
  And the mother not imagine,
  Thou art sleeping on the benches,
  Rolling in the laps of comfort.
  "From thy bath, when thou returnest,
  To his bathing tempt the father,
  Speak to him the words that follow:
  'Father of my hero-husband,
  Clean are all the bath-room benches,
  Everything in perfect order;
  Go and bathe for thine enjoyment,
  Pour the water all-sufficient,
  I will lend thee needed service.'
  "When the time has come for spinning,
  When the hours arrive for weaving,
  Do not ask the help of others,
  Look not in the stream for knowledge,
  For advice ask not the servants,
  Nor the spindle from the sisters,
  Nor the weaving-comb from strangers.
  Thou thyself must do the spinning,
  With thine own hand ply the shuttle,
  Loosely wind the skeins of wool-yarn,
  Tightly wind the balls of flax-thread,
  Wind them deftly in the shuttle
  Fit the warp upon the rollers,
  Beat the woof and warp together,
  Swiftly ply the weaver's shuttle,
  Weave good cloth for all thy vestments,
  Weave of woolen, webs for dresses
  From the finest wool of lambkins,
  One thread only in thy weaving.
  "Hear thou what I now advise thee:
  Brew thy beer from early barley,
  From the barley's new-grown kernels,
  Brew it with the magic virtues,
  Malt it with the sweets of honey,
  Do not stir it with the birch-rod,
  Stir it with thy skilful fingers;
  When thou goest to the garners,
  Do not let the seed bring evil,
  Keep the dogs outside the brew-house,
  Have no fear of wolves in hunger,
  Nor the wild-beasts of the mountains,
  When thou goest to thy brewing,
  Shouldst thou wander forth at midnight.
  "Should some stranger come to see thee,
  Do not worry for his comfort;
  Ever does the worthy household
  Have provisions for the stranger,
  Bits of meat, and bread, and biscuit,
  Ample for the dinner-table;
  Seat the stranger in thy dwelling,
  Speak with him in friendly accents,
  Entertain the guest with kindness,
  While his dinner is preparing.
  When the stranger leaves thy threshold,
  When his farewell has been spoken,
  Lead him only to the portals,
  Do not step without the doorway,
  That thy husband may not fancy,
  And the mother not imagine,
  Thou hast interest in strangers.
  "Shouldst thou ever make a journey
  To the centre of the village,
  There to gain some needed object,
  While thou speakest in the hamlet,
  Let thy words be full of wisdom,
  That thou shamest not thy kindred,
  Nor disgrace thy husband's household.
  "Village-maidens oft will ask thee,
  Mothers of the hamlet question:
  'Does thy husband's mother greet thee
  As in childhood thou wert greeted,
  In thy happy home in Pohya?'
  Do not answer in negation,
  Say that she has always given
  Thee the best of her provisions,
  Given thee the kindest greetings,
  Though it be but once a season.
  "Listen well to what I tell thee:
  As thou goest from thy father
  To thy husband's distant dwelling,
  Thou must not forget thy mother,
  Her that gave thee life and beauty,
  Her that nurtured thee in childhood,
  Many sleepless nights she nursed thee;
  Often were her wants neglected,
  Numberless the times she rocked thee;
  Tender, true, and ever faithful,
  Is the mother to her daughter.
  She that can forget her mother,
  Can neglect the one that nursed her,
  Should not visit Mana's castle,
  In the kingdom of Tuoni;
  In Manala she would suffer,
  Suffer frightful retribution,
  Should her mother be forgotten;
  Should her dear one be neglected,
  Mana's daughters will torment her,
  And Tuoni's sons revile her,
  They will ask her much as follows:
  'How couldst thou forget thy mother,
  How neglect the one that nursed thee?
  Great the pain thy mother suffered,
  Great the trouble that thou gavest
  When thy loving mother brought thee
  Into life for good or evil,
  When she gave thee earth-existence,
  When she nursed thee but an infant,
  When she fed thee in thy childhood,
  When she taught thee what thou knowest,
  Mana's punishments upon thee,
  Since thy mother is forgotten!'"
  On the floor a witch was sitting,
  Near the fire a beggar-woman,
  One that knew the ways of people,
  These the words the woman uttered:
  "Thus the crow calls in the winter:
  'Would that I could be a singer,
  And my voice be full of sweetness,
  But, alas! my songs are worthless,
  Cannot charm the weakest creature;
  I must live without the singing
  Leave the songs to the musicians,
  Those that live in golden houses,
  In the homes of the beloved;
  Homeless therefore I must wander,
  Like a beggar in the corn-fields,
  And with none to do me honor.'
  "Hear now, sister, what I tell thee,
  Enter thou thy husband's dwelling,
  Follow not his mind, nor fancies,
  As my husband's mind I followed;
  As a flower was I when budding,
  Sprouting like a rose in spring-time,
  Growing like a slender maiden,
  Like the honey-gem of glory,
  Like the playmates of my childhood,
  Like the goslings of my father,
  Like the blue-ducks of my mother,
  Like my brother's water-younglings,
  Like the bullfinch of my sister;
  Grew I like the heather-flower,
  Like the berry of the meadow,
  Played upon the sandy sea-shore,
  Rocked upon the fragrant upland,
  Sang all day adown the valley,
  Thrilled with song the hill and mountain,
  Filled with mirth the glen and forest,
  Lived and frolicked in the woodlands.
  "Into traps are foxes driven
  By the cruel pangs of hunger,
  Into traps, the cunning ermine;
  Thus are maidens wooed and wedded,
  In their hunger for a husband.
  Thus created is the virgin,
  Thus intended is the daughter,
  Subject to her hero-husband,
  Subject also to his mother.
  "Then to other fields I hastened,
  Like a berry from the border,
  Like a cranberry for roasting,
  Like a strawberry for dinner;
  All the elm-trees seemed to wound me,
  All the aspens tried to cut me,
  All the willows tried to seize me,
  All the forest tried to slay me.
  Thus I journeyed to my husband,
  Thus I travelled to his dwelling,
  Was conducted to his mother.
  Then there were, as was reported,
  Six compartments built of pine-wood,
  Twelve the number of the chambers,
  And the mansion filled with garrets,
  Studding all the forest border,
  Every by-way filled with flowers
  Streamlets bordered fields of barley,
  Filled with wheat and corn, the islands,
  Grain in plenty in the garners,
  Rye unthrashed in great abundance,
  Countless sums of gold and silver,
  Other treasures without number.
  When my journey I had ended,
  When my hand at last was given,
  Six supports were in his cabin,
  Seven poles as rails for fencing.
  Filled with anger were the bushes,
  All the glens disfavor showing,
  All the walks were lined with trouble,
  Evil-tempered were the forests,
  Hundred words of evil import,
  Hundred others of unkindness.
  Did not let this bring me sorrow,
  Long I sought to merit praises,
  Long I hoped to find some favor,
  Strove most earnestly for kindness;
  When they led me to the cottage,
  There I tried some chips to gather,
  Knocked my head against the portals
  Of my husband's lowly dwelling.
  "At the door were eyes of strangers,
  Sable eyes at the partition,
  Green with envy in his cabin,
  Evil heroes in the back-ground,
  From each mouth the fire was streaming,
  From each tongue the sparks out-flying,
  Flying from my second father,
  From his eyeballs of unkindness.
  Did not let this bring me trouble,
  Tried to live in peace and pleasure,
  In the homestead of my husband
  In humility I suffered,
  Skipped about with feet of rabbit,
  Flew along with steps of ermine,
  Late I laid my head to slumber,
  Early rose as if a servant,
  Could not win a touch of kindness,
  Could not merit love nor honor,
  Though I had dislodged the mountains,
  Though the rocks had I torn open.
  "Then I turned the heavy millstone,
  Ground the flour with care and trouble,
  Ground the barley-grains in patience,
  That the mother might be nourished,
  That her fury-throat might swallow
  What might please her taste and fancy,.
  From her gold-enamelled platters,
  From the corner of her table.
  "As for me, the hapless daughter,
  All my flour was from the siftings
  On the table near the oven,
  Ate I from the birchen ladle;
  Oftentimes I brought the mosses
  Gathered in the lowland meadows,
  Baked them into loaves for eating;
  Brought the water from the river,
  Thirsty, sipped it from the dipper,
  Ate of fish the worst in Northland,
  Only smelts, and worthless swimmers,
  Rocking in my boat of birch-bark
  Never ate I fish or biscuit
  From my second mother's fingers.
  "Blades I gathered in the summers,
  Twisted barley-stalks in winter,
  Like the laborers of heroes,
  Like the servants sold in bondage.
  In the thresh-house of my husband,
  Evermore to me was given
  Flail the heaviest and longest,
  And to me the longest lever,
  On the shore the strongest beater,
  And the largest rake in haying;
  No one thought my burden heavy,
  No one thought that I could suffer,
  Though the best of heroes faltered,
  And the strongest women weakened.
  "Thus did I, a youthful housewife,
  At the right time, all my duties,
  Drenched myself in perspiration,
  Hoped for better times to follow;
  But I only rose to labor,
  Knowing neither rest nor pleasure.
  I was blamed by all the household,
  With ungrateful tongues derided,
  Now about my awkward manners,
  Now about my reputation,
  Censuring my name and station.
  Words unkind were heaped upon me,
  Fell like hail on me unhappy,
  Like the frightful flash of lightning,
  Like the heavy hail of spring-time.
  I did not despair entirely,
  Would have lived to labor longer
  Underneath the tongue of malice,
  But the old-one spoiled Lay temper,
  Roused my deepest ire and hatred
  Then my husband grew a wild-bear,
  Grew a savage wolf of Hisi.
  "Only then I turned to weeping,
  And reflected in my chamber,
  Thought of all my former pleasures
  Of the happy days of childhood,
  Of my father's joyful firesides,
  Of my mother's peaceful cottage,
  Then began I thus to murmur:
  'Well thou knowest, ancient mother,
  How to make thy sweet bud blossom,
  How to train thy tender shootlet;
  Did not know where to ingraft it,
  Placed, alas! the little scion
  In the very worst of places,
  On an unproductive hillock,
  In the hardest limb of cherry,
  Where it could not grow and flourish,
  There to waste its life, in weeping,
  Hapless in her lasting sorrow.
  Worthier had been my conduct
  In the regions that are better,
  In the court-yards that are wider,
  In compartments that are larger,
  Living with a loving husband,
  Living with a stronger hero.
  Shoe of birch-bark was my suitor,
  Shoe of Laplanders, my husband;
  Had the body of a raven,
  Voice and visage like the jackdaw,
  Mouth and claws were from the black-wolf,
  The remainder from the wild-bear.
  Had I known that mine affianced
  Was a fount of pain and evil,
  To the hill-side I had wandered,
  Been a pine-tree on the highway,
  Been a linden on the border,
  Like the black-earth made my visage,
  Grown a beard of ugly bristles,
  Head of loam and eyes of lightning,
  For my ears the knots of birches,
  For my limbs the trunks of aspens.'
  "This the manner of my singing
  In the hearing of my husband,
  Thus I sang my cares and murmurs
  Thus my hero near the portals
  Heard the wail of my displeasure,
  Then he hastened to my chamber;
  Straightway knew I by his footsteps,
  Well concluded be was angry,
  'Knew it by his steps implanted;
  All the winds were still in slumber,
  Yet his sable locks stood endwise,
  Fluttered round his bead in fury,
  While his horrid mouth stood open;
  To and fro his eyes were rolling,
  In one hand a branch of willow,
  In the other, club of alder;
  Struck at me with might of malice,
  Aimed the cudgel at my forehead.
  "When the evening had descended,
  When my husband thought of slumber
  Took he in his hand a whip-stalk,
  With a whip-lash made of deer-skin,
  Was not made for any other,
  Only made for me unhappy.
  "When at last I begged for mercy,
  When I sought a place for resting,
  By his side I courted slumber,
  Merciless, my husband seized me,
  Struck me with his arm of envy,
  Beat me with the whip of torture,
  Deer-skin-lash and stalk of birch-wood.
  From his couch I leaped impulsive,
  In the coldest night of winter,
  But the husband fleetly followed,
  Caught me at the outer portals,
  Grasped me by my streaming tresses,
  Tore my ringlets from my forehead,
  Cast in curls upon the night-winds
  To the freezing winds of winter.
  What the aid that I could ask for,
  Who could free me from my torment?
  Made I shoes of magic metals,
  Made the straps of steel and copper,
  Waited long without the dwelling,
  Long I listened at the portals,
  Hoping he would end his ravings,
  Hoping he would sink to slumber,
  But he did not seek for resting,
  Did not wish to still his fury.
  Finally the cold benumbed me;
  As an outcast from his cabin,
  I was forced to walk and wander,
  When I, freezing, well reflected,
  This the substance of my thinking:
  'I will not endure this torture,
  Will not bear this thing forever,
  Will not bear this cruel treatment,
  Such contempt I will not suffer
  In the wicked tribe of Hisi,
  In this nest of evil Piru.'
  "Then I said, 'Farewell forever!'
  To my husband's home and kindred,
  To my much-loved home and husband;
  Started forth upon a journey
  To my father's distant hamlet,
  Over swamps and over snow-fields,
  Wandered over towering mountains,
  Over hills and through the valleys,
  To my brother's welcome meadows,
  To my sister's home and birthplace.
  "There were rustling withered pine-trees.
  Finely-feathered firs were fading,
  Countless ravens there were cawing,
  All the jackdaws harshly singing,
  This the chorus of the ravens:
  'Thou hast here a home no longer,
  This is not the happy homestead
  Of thy merry days of childhood.'
  "Heeding not this woodland chorus,
  Straight I journeyed to the dwelling
  Of my childhood's friend and brother,
  Where the portals spake in concord,
  And the hills and valleys answered,
  This their saddened song and echo:
  'Wherefore dost thou journey hither,
  Comest thou for joy or sorrow,
  To thy father's old dominions?
  Here unhappiness awaits thee,
  Long departed is thy father,
  Dead and gone to visit Ukko,
  Dead and gone thy faithful mother,
  And thy brother is a stranger,
  While his wife is chill and heartless!'
  "Heeding not these many warnings,
  Straightway to my brother's cottage
  Were my weary feet directed,
  Laid my hand upon the door-latch
  Of my brother's dismal cottage,
  But the latch was cold and lifeless.
  When I wandered to the chamber,
  When I waited at the doorway,
  There I saw the heartless hostess,
  But she did not give me greeting,
  Did not give her hand in welcome;
  Proud, alas! was I unhappy,
  Did not make the first advances,
  Did not offer her my friendship,
  And my hand I did not proffer;
  Laid my hand upon the oven,
  All its former warmth departed!
  On the coal I laid my fingers,
  All the latent heat had left it.
  On the rest-bench lay my brother,
  Lay outstretched before the fire-place,
  Heaps of soot upon his shoulders,
  Heaps of ashes on his forehead.
  Thus the brother asked the stranger,
  Questioned thus his guest politely:
  'Tell me what thy name and station,
  Whence thou comest o'er the waters!'
  This the answer that I gave him:
  Hast thou then forgot thy sister,
  Does my brother not remember,
  Not recall his mother's daughter
  We are children of one mother,
  Of one bird were we the fledgelings,
  In one nest were hatched and nurtured.'
  "Then the brother fell to weeping,
  From his eyes great tear-drops flowing,
  To his wife the brother whispered,
  Whispered thus unto the housewife.
  'Bring thou beer to give my sister,
  Quench her thirst and cheer her spirits.'
  "Full of envy, brought the sister
  Only water filled with evil,
  Water for the infant's eyelids,
  Soap and water from the bath-room.
  "To his wife the brother whispered,
  Whispered thus unto the housewife:
  'Bring thou salmon for my sister,
  For my sister so long absent,
  Thus to still her pangs of hunger.'
  "Thereupon the wife obeying,
  Brought, in envy, only cabbage
  That the children had been eating,
  And the house-dogs had been licking,
  Leavings of the black-dog's breakfast.
  "Then I left my brother's dwelling,
  Hastened to the ancient homestead,
  To my mother's home deserted;
  Onward, onward did I wander,
  Hastened onward by the cold-sea,
  Dragged my body on in anguish,
  To the cottage-doors of strangers,
  To the unfamiliar portals,
  For the care of the neglected,
  For the needy of the village,
  For the children poor and orphaned.
  "There are many wicked people,
  Many slanderers of women,
  Many women evil-minded,
  That malign their sex through envy.
  Many they with lips of evil,
  That belie the best of maidens,
  Prove the innocent are guilty
  Of the worst of misdemeanors,
  Speak aloud in tones unceasing,
  Speak, alas! with wicked motives,
  Spread the follies of their neighbors
  Through the tongues of self-pollution.
  Very few, indeed, the people
  That will feed the poor and hungry,
  That will bid the stranger welcome;
  Very few to treat her kindly,
  Innocent, and lone, and needy,
  Few to offer her a shelter
  From the chilling storms of winter,
  When her skirts with ice are stiffened,
  Coats of ice her only raiment!
  "Never in my days of childhood,
  Never in my maiden life-time,
  Never would believe the story
  Though a hundred tongues had told
  Though a thousand voices sang it,
  That such evil things could happen,
  That such misery could follow,
  Such misfortune could befall one
  Who has tried to do her duty,
  Who has tried to live uprightly,
  Tried to make her people happy."
  Thus the young bride was instructed,
  Beauteous Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Thus by Osmotar, the teacher.



  Osmotar, the bride-instructor,
  Gives the wedding-guests this counsel,
  Speaks these measures to the bridegroom:
  "Ilmarinen, artist-brother,
  Best of all my hero-brothers,
  Of my mother's sons the dearest,
  Gentlest, truest, bravest, grandest,
  Listen well to what I tell thee
  Of the Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Of thy beauteous life-companion
  Bridegroom, praise thy fate hereafter,
  Praise forever thy good fortune;
  If thou praisest, praise sincerely,
  Good the maiden thou hast wedded,
  Good the bride that Ukko gives thee,
  Graciously has God bestowed her.
  Sound her praises to thy father,
  Praise her virtues to thy mother,
  Let thy heart rejoice in secret,
  That thou hast the Bride of Beauty,
  Lovely Maiden of the Rainbow!
  "Brilliant near thee stands the maiden,
  At thy shoulder thy companion,
  Happy under thy protection,
  Beautiful as golden moonlight,
  Beautiful upon thy bosom,
  Strong to do thy kindly bidding,
  Labor with thee as thou wishest,
  Rake the hay upon thy meadows,
  Keep thy home in full perfection,
  Spin for thee the finest linen,
  Weave for thee the richest fabrics,
  Make for thee the softest raiment,
  Make thy weaver's loom as merry
  As the cuckoo of the forest;
  Make the shuttle glide in beauty
  Like the ermine of the woodlands;
  Make the spindle twirl as deftly
  As the squirrel spins the acorn;
  Village-maidens will not slumber
  While thy young bride's loom is humming,
  While she plies the graceful shuttle.
  "Bridegroom of the Bride of Beauty,
  Noblest of the Northland heroes,
  Forge thyself a scythe for mowing,
  Furnish it with oaken handle,
  Carve it in thine ancient smithy,
  Hammer it upon thine anvil,
  Have it ready for the summer,
  For the merry days of sunshine;
  Take thy bride then to the lowlands,
  Mow the grass upon thy meadows,
  Rake the hay when it is ready,
  Make the reeds and grasses rustle,
  Toss the fragrant heads of clover,
  Make thy hay in Kalevala
  When the silver sun is shining.
  "When the time has come for weaving,
  To the loom attract the weaver,
  Give to her the spools and shuttles,
  Let the willing loom be worthy,
  Beautiful the frame and settle;
  Give to her what may be needed,
  That the weaver's song may echo,
  That the lathe may swing and rattle,
  Ma y be heard within the village,
  That the aged may remark it,
  And the village-maidens question:
  'Who is she that now is weaving,
  What new power now plies the shuttle?'
  "Make this answer to the question:
  'It is my beloved weaving,
  My young bride that plies the shuttle.'
  "Shall the weaver's weft be loosened,
  Shall the young bride's loom be tightened?
  Do not let the weft be loosened,
  Nor the weaver's loom be tightened;
  Such the weaving of the daughters
  Of the Moon beyond the cloudlets;
  Such the spinning of the maidens
  Of the Sun in high Jumala,
  Of the daughters of the Great Bear,
  Of the daughters of the Evening.
  Bridegroom, thou beloved hero,
  Brave descendant of thy fathers,
  When thou goest on a journey,
  When thou drivest on the highway,
  Driving with the Rainbow-daughter,
  Fairest bride of Sariola,
  Do not lead her as a titmouse,
  As a cuckoo of the forest,
  Into unfrequented places,
  Into copses of the borders,
  Into brier-fields and brambles,
  Into unproductive marshes;
  Let her wander not, nor stumble
  On opposing rocks and rubbish.
  Never in her father's dwelling,
  Never in her mother's court-yard,
  Has she fallen into ditches,
  Stumbled hard against the fences,
  Run through brier-fields, nor brambles,
  Fallen over rocks, nor rubbish.
  "Magic bridegroom of Wainola,
  Wise descendant of the heroes,
  Never let thy young wife suffer,
  Never let her be neglected,
  Never let her sit in darkness,
  Never leave her unattended.
  Never in her father's mansion,
  In the chambers of her mother,
  Has she sat alone in darkness,
  Has she suffered for attention;
  Sat she by the crystal window,
  Sat and rocked, in peace and plenty,
  Evenings for her father's pleasure,
  Mornings for her mother's sunshine.
  Never mayest thou, O bridegroom,
  Lead the Maiden of the Rainbow
  To the mortar filled with sea-grass,
  There to grind the bark for cooking,
  There to bake her bread from stubble,
  There to knead her dough from tan-bark
  Never in her father's dwelling,
  Never in her mother's mansion,
  Was she taken to the mortar,
  There to bake her bread from sea-grass.
  Thou shouldst lead the Bride of Beauty
  To the garner's rich abundance,
  There to draw the till of barley,
  Grind the flour and knead for baking,
  There to brew the beer for drinking,
  Wheaten flour for honey-biscuits.
  "Hero-bridegroom of Wainola,
  Never cause thy Bride of Beauty
  To regret her day of marriage;
  Never make her shed a tear-drop,
  Never fill her cup with sorrow.
  Should there ever come an evening
  When thy wife shall feel unhappy,
  Put the harness on thy racer,
  Hitch the fleet-foot to the snow-sled;
  Take her to her father's dwelling,
  To the household of her mother;
  Never in thy hero-lifetime,
  Never while the moonbeams glimmer,
  Give thy fair spouse evil treatment,
  Never treat her as thy servant;
  Do not bar her from the cellar,
  Do not lock thy best provisions
  Never in her father's mansion,
  Never by her faithful mother
  Was she treated as a hireling.
  Honored bridegroom of the Northland,
  Proud descendant of the fathers,
  If thou treatest well thy young wife,
  Worthily wilt thou be treated;
  When thou goest to her homestead,
  When thou visitest her father,
  Thou shalt meet a cordial welcome.
  "Censure not the Bride of Beauty,
  Never grieve thy Rainbow-maiden,
  Never say in tones reproachful,
  She was born in lowly station,
  That her father was unworthy;
  Honored are thy bride's relations,
  From an old-time tribe, her kindred;
  When of corn they sowed a measure,
  Each one's portion was a kernel;
  When they sowed a cask of flax-seed,
  Each received a thread of linen.
  Never, never, magic husband,
  Treat thy beauty-bride unkindly,
  Teach her not with lash of servants,
  Strike her not with thongs of leather;
  Never has she wept in anguish
  From the birch-whip of her mother.
  Stand before her like a rampart,
  Be to her a strong protection,
  Do not let thy mother chide her,
  Let thy father not upbraid her,
  Never let thy guests offend her;
  Should thy servants bring annoyance,
  They may need the master's censure;
  Do not harm the Bride of Beauty,
  Never injure her thou lovest;
  Three long years hast thou been wooing,
  Hoping every mouth to win her.
  "Counsel with the bride of heaven,
  To thy young wife give instruction,
  Kindly teach thy bride in secret,
  In the long and dreary evenings,
  When thou sittest at the fireside;
  Teach one year, in words of kindness,
  Teach with eyes of love a second,
  In the third year teach with firmness.
  If she should not heed thy teaching,
  Should not hear thy kindly counsel
  After three long years of effort,
  Cut a reed upon the lowlands,
  Cut a nettle from the border,
  Teach thy wife with harder measures.
  In the fourth year, if she heed not,
  Threaten her with sterner treatment,
  With the stalks of rougher edges,
  Use not yet the thongs of leather,
  Do not touch her with the birch-whip.
  If she does not heed this warning,
  Should she pay thee no attention,
  Cut a rod upon the mountains,
  Or a willow in the valleys,
  Hide it underneath thy mantle,
  That the stranger may not see it,
  Show it to thy wife in secret,
  Shame her thus to do her duty,
  Strike not yet, though disobeying.
  Should she disregard this warning,
  Still refuse to heed thy wishes,
  Then instruct her with the willow,
  Use the birch-rod from the mountains
  In the closet of thy dwelling,
  In the attic of thy mansion;
  Strike, her not upon the common,
  Do not conquer her in public,
  Lest the villagers should see thee,
  Lest the neighbors hear her weeping,
  And the forests learn thy troubles.
  Touch thy wife upon the shoulders,
  Let her stiffened back be softened.
  Do not touch her on the forehead,
  Nor upon the ears, nor visage;
  If a ridge be on her forehead,
  Or a blue mark on her eyelids,
  Then her mother would perceive it,
  And her father would take notice,
  All the village-workmen see it,
  And the village-women ask her
  'Hast thou been in heat of battle,
  Hast thou struggled in a conflict,
  Or perchance the wolves have torn thee,
  Or the forest-bears embraced thee,
  Or the black-wolf be thy husband,
  And the bear be thy protector?'"
  By the fire-place lay a gray-beard,
  On the hearth-stone lay a beggar,
  And the old man spake as follows:
  "Never, never, hero-husband,
  Follow thou thy young wife's wishes,
  Follow not her inclinations,
  As, alas! I did, regretful;
  Bought my bride the bread of barley,
  Veal, and beer, and best of butter,
  Fish and fowl of all descriptions,
  Beer I bought, home-brewed and sparkling,
  Wheat from all the distant nations,
  All the dainties of the Northland;
  All of this was unavailing,
  Gave my wife no satisfaction,
  Often came she to my chamber,
  Tore my sable locks in frenzy,
  With a visage fierce and frightful,
  With her eyeballs flashing anger,
  Scolding on and scolding ever,
  Ever speaking words of evil,
  Using epithets the vilest,
  Thought me but a block for chopping.
  Then I sought for other measures,
  Used on her my last resources,
  Cut a birch-whip in the forest,
  And she spake in tones endearing;
  Cut a juniper or willow,
  And she called me 'hero-darling';
  When with lash my wife I threatened,
  Hung she on my neck with kisses."
  Thus the bridegroom was instructed,
  Thus the last advices given.
  Then the Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Beauteous bride of Ilmarinen,
  Sighing heavily and moaning,
  Fell to weeping, heavy-hearted,
  Spake these words from depths of sorrow:
  "Near, indeed, the separation,
  Near, alas! the time for parting,
  Near the time for my departure;
  O the anguish of the parting,
  O the pain of separation,
  From these walls renowned and ancient,
  From this village of the Northland,
  From these scenes of peace and plenty,
  Where my faithful mother taught me,
  Where my father gave instruction
  To me in my happy childhood,
  When my years were few and tender!
  As a child I did not fancy,
  Never thought of separation
  From the confines of this cottage,
  From these dear old hills and mountains,
  But, alas! I now must journey,
  Since I now cannot escape it;
  Empty is the bowl of parting,
  All the farewell-beer is taken,
  And my husband's sledge is waiting,
  With the break-board looking southward,
  Looking from my father's dwelling.
  "How shall I give compensation,
  How repay, on my departure,
  All the kindness of my mother,
  All the counsel of my father,
  All the friendship of my brother,
  All my sister's warm affection?
  Gratitude to thee, dear father,
  For my former-life and blessings,
  For the comforts of thy table,
  For the pleasures of my childhood!
  Gratitude to thee, dear mother,
  For thy tender care and guidance,
  For my birth and for my culture,
  Nurtured by thy purest life-blood!
  Gratitude to thee, dear brother,
  Gratitude to thee, sweet sister,
  To the servants of my childhood,
  To my many friends and playmates!
  "Never, never, aged father,
  Never, thou, beloved mother,
  Never, ye, my kindred spirits,
  Never harbor care, nor sorrow,
  Never fall to bitter weeping,
  Since thy child has gone to others,
  To the distant home of strangers,
  To the meadows of Wainola,
  From her father's fields and firesides.
  Shines the Sun of the Creator,
  Shines the golden Moon of Ukko,
  Glitter all the stars of heaven,
  In the firmament of ether,
  Full as bright on other homesteads;
  Not upon my father's uplands,
  Not upon my home in childhood,
  Shines the Star of Joyance only.
  "Now the time has come for parting
  From my father's golden firesides,
  From my brother's welcome hearth-stone,
  From the chambers of my sister,
  From my mother's happy dwelling;
  Now I leave the swamps and lowlands,
  Leave the grassy vales and mountains,
  Leave the crystal lakes and rivers,
  Leave the shores and sandy shallows,
  Leave the white-capped surging billows,
  Where the maidens swim and linger,
  Where the mermaids sing and frolic;
  Leave the swamps to those that wander,
  Leave the corn-fields to the plowman,
  Leave the forests to the weary,
  Leave the heather to the rover,
  Leave the copses to the stranger,
  Leave the alleys to the beggar,
  Leave the court-yards to the rambler,
  Leave the portals to the servant,
  Leave the matting to the sweeper,
  Leave the highways to the roebuck,
  Leave the woodland-glens to lynxes,
  Leave the lowlands to the wild-geese,
  And the birch-tree to the cuckoo.
  Now I leave these friends of childhood,
  Journey southward with my husband,
  To the arms of Night and Winter,
  O'er the ice-grown seas of Northland.
  "Should I once again, returning,
  Pay a visit to my tribe-folk,
  Mother would not hear me calling,
  Father would not see me weeping,
  Calling at my mother's grave-stone,
  'Weeping o'er my buried father,
  On their graves the fragrant flowers,
  Junipers and mournful willows,
  Verdure from my mother's tresses,
  From the gray-beard of my father.
  "Should I visit Sariola,
  Visit once again these borders,
  No one here would bid me welcome.
  Nothing in these hills would greet me,
  Save perchance a few things only,
  By the fence a clump of osiers,
  And a land-mark at the corner,
  Which in early youth I planted,
  When a child of little stature.
  "Mother's kine perhaps will know me,
  Which so often I have watered,
  Which I oft have fed and tended,
  Lowing now at my departure,
  In the pasture cold and cheerless;
  Sure my mother's kine will welcome
  Northland's daughter home returning.
  Father's steeds may not forget me,
  Steeds that I have often ridden,
  When a maiden free and happy,
  Neighing now for me departing,
  In the pasture of my brother,
  In the stable of my father;
  Sure my father's steeds will know me,
  Bid Pohyola's daughter welcome.
  Brother's faithful dogs may know me,
  That I oft have fed and petted,
  Dogs that I have taught to frolic,
  That now mourn for me departing,
  In their kennels in the court-yard,
  In their kennels cold and cheerless;
  Sure my brother's dogs will welcome
  Pohya's daughter home returning.
  But the people will not know me,
  When I come these scenes to visit,
  Though the fords remain as ever,
  Though unchanged remain the rivers,
  Though untouched the flaxen fish-nets
  On the shores await my coming.
  "Fare thou well, my dear old homestead,
  Fare ye well, my native bowers;
  It would give me joy unceasing
  Could I linger here forever.
  Now farewell, ye halls and portals,
  Leading to my father's mansion;
  It would give me joy unceasing
  Could I linger here forever.
  Fare ye well, familiar gardens
  Filled with trees and fragrant flowers;
  It would give me joy unceasing,
  Could I linger here forever.
  Send to all my farewell greetings,
  To the fields, and groves, and berries;
  Greet the meadows with their daisies,
  Greet the borders with their fences,
  Greet the lakelets with their islands,
  Greet the streams with trout disporting,
  Greet the hills with stately pine-trees,
  And the valleys with their birches.
  Fare ye well, ye streams and lakelets,
  Fertile fields, and shores of ocean,
  All ye aspens on the mountains,
  All ye lindens of the valleys,
  All ye beautiful stone-lindens,
  All ye shade-trees by the cottage,
  All ye junipers and willows,
  All ye shrubs with berries laden,
  Waving grass and fields of barley,
  Arms of elms, and oaks, and alders,
  Fare ye well, dear scenes of childhood,
  Happiness of days departed!"
  Ending thus, Pohyola's daughter
  Left her native fields and fallows,
  Left the darksome Sariola,
  With her husband, Ilmarinen,
  Famous son of Kalevala.
  But the youth remained for singing,
  This the chorus of the children:
  "Hither came a bird of evil'
  Flew in fleetness from the forest,
  Came to steal away our virgin,
  Came to win the Maid of Beauty;
  Took away our fairest flower,
  Took our mermaid from the waters,
  Won her with his youth and beauty,
  With his keys of ancient wisdom.
  Who will lead us to the sea-beach,
  Who conduct us to the rivers?
  Now the buckets will be idle,
  On the hooks will rest the fish-poles,
  Now unswept will lie the matting,
  And unswept the halls of birch-wood,
  Copper goblets be unburnished,
  Dark the handles of the pitchers,
  Fare thou well, dear Rainbow Maiden."
  Ilmarinen, happy bridegroom,
  Hastened homeward with the daughter
  Of the hostess of Pohyola,
  With the beauty of the Northland
  Fleetly flew the hero's snow-sledge,
  Loudly creaked, and roared, and rattled
  Down the banks of Northland waters,
  By the side of Honey-inlet,
  On the back of Sandy Mountain.
  Stones went rolling from the highway,
  Like the winds the sledge flew onward,
  On the yoke rang hoops of iron,
  Loud the spotted wood resounded,
  Loudly creaked the bands of willow,
  All the birchen cross-bars trembled,
  And the copper-bells rang music,
  In the racing of the fleet-foot,
  In the courser's gallop homeward;
  Journeyed one day, then a second,
  Journeyed still the third day onward,
  In one hand the reins of magic,
  While the other grasped the maiden,
  One foot resting on the cross-bar,
  And the other in the fur-robes.
  Merrily the steed flew homeward,
  Quickly did the highways shorten,
  Till at last upon the third day,
  As the sun was fast declining,
  There appeared the blacksmith's furnace,
  Nearer, Ilmarinen's dwelling,
  Smoke arising high in ether,
  Clouds of smoke to lofty heaven,
  From the village of Wainola,
  From the suitor's forge and smithy,
  From the chimneys of the hero,
  From the home of the successful.


  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
  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
  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
  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
  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
  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
  Wai'no (Vai'no).   The same as Wainamoinen.
  Wai-no'la.   The home of Wainamoinen and his people; a synonym of
  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.


*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland — Volume 01" ***

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