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The Epic Poem of Finland

Translated into English


John Martin Crawford



The Kalevala trans. John Martin Crawford is a publication of the Pennsylvania State University. This
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PREFACE ....................................................................................................................................................................................... 5
PROEM ........................................................................................................................................................................................ 30
RUNE I BIRTH OF WAINAMOINEN ...................................................................................................................................... 33
RUNE II WAINAMOINEN’S SOWING ................................................................................................................................... 38
RUNE III WAINAMOINEN AND YOUKAHAINEN .............................................................................................................. 46
RUNE IV THE FATE OF AINO ................................................................................................................................................. 58
RUNE V WAINAVOINEN’S LAMENTATION ........................................................................................................................ 69
RUNE VI WAINAMOINEN’S HAPLESS JOURNEY ............................................................................................................ 74
RUNE VII WAINIOINEN’S RESCUE ...................................................................................................................................... 79
RUNE VIII WAIDEN OF THE RAINBOW ............................................................................................................................. 87
RUNE IX ORIGIN OF IRON ..................................................................................................................................................... 92
RUNE X ILMARINEN FORGES THE SAMPO ................................................................................................................... 103
RUNE XI LEMMINKAINEN’S LAMENT ............................................................................................................................ 114
RUNE XII KYLLIKKI’S BROKEN VOW ............................................................................................................................. 122
RUNE XIII LEMMINIKAINEN’S SECOND WOOING ...................................................................................................... 132
RUNE XIV DEATH OF LEMMINKAINEN .......................................................................................................................... 138
RUNE XV LEMMINKAINEN’S RESTORATION ............................................................................................................... 147
RUNE XVI WAINAMOINEN’S BOAT-BUILDING ............................................................................................................. 161
RUNE XVII WAINAMOINEN FINDS THE LOST-WORD ................................................................................................. 170
RUNE XVIII THE RIVAL SUITORS ...................................................................................................................................... 181
RUNE XIX ILMARINEN’S WOOING ................................................................................................................................... 194
RUNE XX THE BREWING OF BEER ................................................................................................................................... 205
RUNE XXI ILMARINEN’S WEDDING-FEAST .................................................................................................................. 217
RUNE XXII THE BRIDE S FAREWELL .............................................................................................................................. 225
RUNE XXIII OSMOTAR THE BRIDE-ADVISER ............................................................................................................... 234
RUNE XXIV THE BRIDE’S FAREWELL ............................................................................................................................. 250
BOOK II RUNE XXV WAINAMOINEN’S WEDDING-SONGS......................................................................................... 260
RUNE XXVI ORIGIN OF THE SERPENT............................................................................................................................ 272
RUNE XXVII THE UNWELCOME GUEST ......................................................................................................................... 287
RUNE XXVIII THE MOTHER’S COUNSEL ....................................................................................................................... 295
RUNE XXIX THE ISLE OF REFUGE ................................................................................................................................... 301
RUNE XXX THE FROST-FIEND ........................................................................................................................................... 312
RUNE XXXI KULLERWOINEN SON OF EVIL .................................................................................................................. 321
RUNE XXXII KULLERVO AS A SHEPHERD ..................................................................................................................... 328
RUNE XXXIII KULLERVO AND THE CHEAT-CAKE ...................................................................................................... 337
RUNE XXXIV KULLERVO FINDS HIS TRIBE-FOLK...................................................................................................... 343
RUNE XXXV KULLERVO’S EVIL DEEDS ......................................................................................................................... 347
RUNE XXXVI KULLERWOINEN’S VICTORY AND DEATH .......................................................................................... 354
RUNE XXXVII ILMARINEN’S BRIDE OF GOLD ............................................................................................................. 361
RUNE XXXVIII ILMARINEN’S FRUITLESS WOOING ................................................................................................... 365
RUNE XXXIX WAINAMOINEN’S SAILING ....................................................................................................................... 371
RUNE XL BIRTH OF THE HARP .......................................................................................................................................... 379
RUNE XLI WAINAMOINEN’S HARP-SONGS .................................................................................................................... 385
RUNE XLII CAPTURE OF THE SAMPO ............................................................................................................................. 390
RUNE XLIII THE SAMPO LOST IN THE SEA ................................................................................................................... 399
RUNE XLIV BIRTH OF THE SECOND HARP .................................................................................................................... 407
RUNE XLV BIRTH OF THE NINE DISEASES .................................................................................................................... 413
RUNE XLVI OTSO THE HONEY-EATER ............................................................................................................................ 418
RUNE XLVII LOUHI STEALS SUN, MOON, AND FIRE .................................................................................................. 429
RUNE XLVIII CAPTURE OF THE FIRE-FISH ................................................................................................................... 436
RUNE XLIX RESTORATION OF THE SUN AND MOON ................................................................................................. 442
RUNE L MARIATTA—WAINAMOINEN’S DEPARTURE ................................................................................................ 450
EPILOGUE ................................................................................................................................................................................ 460
GLOSSARY ............................................................................................................................................................................... 462
The Kalevala
to lay before the English-speaking people the full treasury of
The Epic Poem of Finland epical beauty, folklore, and mythology comprised in The
Kalevala, the national epic of the Finns. A brief description
Translated into English 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 re-
gion, of which Finland, or Fen-land is said to be a Swedish
John Martin Crawford translation,) is at present a Grand-Duchy in the north-west-
ern part of the Russian empire, bordering on Olenetz, Arch-
angel, Sweden, Norway, and the Baltic Sea, its area being more
than 144,000 square miles, and inhabited by some 2,000,000
To of people, the last remnants of a race driven back from the
East, at a very early day, by advancing tribes. The Finlanders
Dr. J.D. Buck, live in a land of marshes and mountains, lakes and rivers, seas,
gulfs, islands, and inlets, and they call themselves Suomilainen,
An Encouraging and Unselfif Friend, and To His Fen-dwellers. The climate is more severe than that of Sweden.
Affectionate Family, The mean yearly temperature in the north is about 270ºF.,
These Pages Are Gratefully Inscribed. and about 38ºF., at Helsingfors, the capital of Finland. In the
The Kalevala
southern districts the winter is seven months long, and in the a friend of new fashions. Steady, careful, laborious, he is
northern provinces the sun disappears entirely during the valuable in the mine, valuable in the field, valuable oil ship-
months of December and January. board, and, withal, a brave soldier on land.
The inhabitants are strong and hardy, with bright, intelli- The Finns are a very ancient people. It is claimed, too,
gent faces, high cheek-bones, yellow hair in early life, and that they began earlier than any other European nation to
with brown hair in mature age. With regard to their social collect and preserve their ancient folk-lore. Tacitus, writing
habits, morals, and manners, all travellers are unanimous in in the very beginning of the second century of the Christian
speaking well of them. Their temper is universally mild; they era, mentions the Fenni, as he calls them, in the 46th chap-
are slow to anger, and when angry they keep silence. They ter of his De Moribus Germanoram. He says of them: “The
are happy-hearted, affectionate to one another, and honor- Finns are extremely wild, and live in abject poverty. They
able and honest in their dealings with strangers. They are a have no arms, no horses, no dwellings; they live on herbs,
cleanly people, being much given to the use of vapor-baths. they clothe themselves in skins, and they sleep on the ground.
This trait is a conspicuous note of their character from their Their only resources are their arrows, which for the lack of
earliest history to the present day. Often in the runes of The iron are tipped with bone.” Strabo and the great geographer,
Kalevala reference is made to the “cleansing and healing vir- Ptolemy, also mention this curious people. There is evidence
tues of the vapors of the heated bathroom.” that at one time they were spread over large portions of Eu-
The skull of the Finn belongs to the brachycephalic (short- rope and western Asia.
headed) class of Retzius. Indeed the Finn-organization has Perhaps it should be stated here that the copper, so often
generally been regarded as Mongol, though Mongol of a mentioned in The Kalevala, when taken literally, was prob-
modified type. His color is swarthy, and his eyes are gray. ably bronze, or “hardened copper,” the amount and quality
He is not inhospitable, but not over-easy of access; nor is he of the alloy used being not now known. The prehistoric races

The Kalevala
of Europe were acquainted with bronze implements. strict rules of euphony. The dotted o; (equivalent to the
It may be interesting to note in this connection that Canon French eu) of the first syllable must be followed by an e or an
Isaac Taylor, and Professor Sayce have but very recently awak- i. The Finnish, like all Ugrian tongues, admits rhyme, but
ened great interest in this question, in Europe especially, by with reluctance, and prefers alliteration. Their alphabet con-
the reading of papers before the British Philological Associa- sists of but nineteen letters, and of these, b, c, d, f, g, are
tion, in which they argue in favor of the Finnic origin of the found only in a few foreign words, and many others are never
Aryans. For this new theory these scholars present exceed- found initial.
ingly strong evidence, and they conclude that the time of One of the characteristic features of this language, and one
the separation of the Aryan from the Finnic stock must have that is likewise characteristic of the Magyar, Turkish, Mordvin,
been more than five thousand years ago. and other kindred tongues, consists in the frequent use of
The Finnish nation has one of the most sonorous and flex- endearing diminutives. By a series of suffixes to the names of
ible of languages. Of the cultivated tongues of Europe, the human beings, birds, fishes, trees, plants, stones, metals, and
Magyar, or Hungarian, bears the most positive signs of a even actions, events, and feelings, diminutives are obtained,
deep-rooted similarity to the Finnish. Both belong to the which by their form, present the names so made in different
Ugrian stock of agglutinative languages, i.e., those which colors; they become more naive, more childlike, eventually
preserve the root most carefully, and effect all changes of more roguish, or humorous, or pungent. These traits can
grammar by suffixes attached to the original stein. Grimin scarcely be rendered in English; for, as Robert Ferguson re-
has shown that both Gothic and Icelandic present traces of marks: “The English language is not strong in diminutives,
Finnish influence. and therefore it lacks some of the most effective means for
The musical element of a language, the vowels, are well the expression of affectionate, tender, and familiar relations.”
developed in Finnish, and their due sequence is subject to In this respect all translations from the Finnish into English

The Kalevala
necessarily must fall short of the original. The same might shiped the conspicuous objects in nature under their respec-
be said of the many emotional interjections in which the tive, sensible forms. All beings were persons. The Sun, Moon,
Finnish, in common with all Ugrian dialects, abounds. With Stars, the Earth, the Air, and the Sea, were to the ancient
the exception of these two characteristics of the Ugrian lan- Finns, living, self-conscious beings. Gradually the existence
guages, the chief beauties of the Finnish verse admit of an of invisible agencies and energies was recognized, and these
apt rendering into English. The structure of the sentences is were attributed to superior persons who lived independent
very simple indeed, and adverbs and adjectives are used spar- of these visible entities, but at the same time were connected
ingly. with them. The basic idea in Finnish mythology seems to lie
Finnish is the language of a people who live pre-eminently in this: that all objects in nature are governed by invisible
close to nature, and are at home amongst the animals of the deities, termed haltiat, regents or genii. These haltiat, like
wilderness, beasts and birds, winds, and woods, and waters, members of the human family, have distinctive bodies and
falling snows, and flying sands, and rolling rocks, and these spirits; but the minor ones are somewhat immaterial and
are carefully distinguished by corresponding verbs of ever- formless, and their existences are entirely independent of the
changing acoustic import. Conscious of the fact that, in a objects in which they are particularly interested. They are all
people like the Finns where nature and nature-worship form immortal, but they rank according to the relative importance
the centre of all their life, every word connected with the of their respective charges. The lower grades of the Finnish
powers and elements of nature must be given its fall value, gods are sometimes subservient to the deities of greater pow-
great care has been taken in rendering these finely shaded ers, especially to those who rule respectively the air, the wa-
verbs. A glance at the mythology of this interesting people ter, the field, and the forest. Thus, Pilajatar, the daughter of
will place the import of this remark in better view. the aspen, although as divine as Tapio, the god of the wood-
In the earliest age of Suomi, it appears that the people wor- lands, is necessarily his servant.

The Kalevala
One of the most notable characteristics of the Finnish my- and the sky-god Ukko. The word, Ukko, seems related to
thology is the interdependence among the gods. “Every de- the Magyar Agg, old, and meant, therefore, an old being, a
ity”, says Castren, “however petty he may be, rules in his grandfather; but ultimately it came to be used exclusively as
own sphere as a substantial, independent power, or, to speak the name of the highest of the Finnish deities. Frost, snow,
in the spirit of The Kalevala, as a self-ruling householder. hail, ice, wind and rain, sunshine and shadow, are thought
The god of the Polar-star only governs an insignificant spot to come from the hands of Ukko. He controls the clouds; he
in the vault of the sky, but on this spot he knows no master.” is called in The Kalevala, “The Leader of the Clouds,” “The
The Finnish deities, like the ancient gods of Italy and Shepherd of the Lamb-Clouds,” “The God of the Breezes,”
Greece, are generally represented in pairs, and all the gods “The Golden King,” “The Silvern Ruler of the Air,” and
are probably wedded. They have their individual abodes and “The Father of the Heavens.” He wields the thunder-bolts,
are surrounded by their respective families. The Primary striking down the spirits of evil on the mountains, and is
object of worship among the early Finns was most probably therefore termed, “The Thunderer,” like the Greek Zeus, and
the visible sky with its sun, moon, and stars, its aurora-lights, his abode is called, “The Thunder-Home.” Ukko is often
its thunders and its lightnings. The heavens themselves were represented as sitting upon a cloud in the vault of the sky,
thought divine. Then a personal deity of the heavens, coupled and bearing on his shoulders the firmament, and therefore
with the name of his abode, was the next conception; finally he is termed, “The Pivot of the Heavens.” He is armed as an
this sky-god was chosen to represent the supreme Ruler. To omnipotent warrior; his fiery arrows are forged from copper,
the sky, the sky-god, and the supreme God, the term Jumala the lightning is his sword, and the rainbow his bow, still
(thunder-home) was given. called Ukkon Kaari. Like the German god, Thor, Ukko
In course of time, however, when the Finns came to have swings a hammer; and, finally, we find, in a vein of familiar
more purified ideas about religion, they called the sky Taivas symbolism, that his skirt sparkles with fire, that his stock-

The Kalevala
ings are blue, and his shoes, crimson colored. with all his power, is by no means superior to the Sun, Moon,
In the following runes, Ukko here and there interposes. and other bodies dwelling in the heavens; they are uninflu-
Thus, when the Sun and Moon were stolen from the heav- enced by him, and are considered deities in their own right.
ens, and hidden away in a cave of the copper-bearing moun- Thus, Paeivae means both sun and sun-god; Kun means
tain, by the wicked hostess of the dismal Sariola, he, like moon and moon-god; and Taehti and Ottava designate the
Atlas in the mythology of Greece, relinquishes the support Polar-star and the Great Bear respectively, as well as the dei-
of the heavens, thunders along the borders of the darkened ties of these bodies.
clouds, and strikes fire from his sword to kindle a new sun The Sun and the Moon have each a consort, and sons, and
and a new moon. Again, when Lemminkainen is hunting daughters. Two sons only of Paeivae appear in The Kalevala,
the fire-breathing horse of Piru, Ukko, invoked by the reck- one comes to aid Wainamoinen in his efforts to destroy the
less hero, checks the speed of the mighty courser by opening mystic Fire-fish, by throwing from the heavens to the girdle
the windows of heaven, and showering upon him flakes of of the hero, a “magic knife, silver-edged, and golden-
snow, balls of ice, and hailstones of iron. Usually, however, handled;” the other son, Panu, the Fire-child, brings back to
Ukko prefers to encourage a spirit of independence among Kalevala the fire that bad been stolen by Louhi, the wicked
his worshipers. Often we find him, in the runes, refusing to hostess of Pohyola. From this myth Castren argues that the
heed the call of his people for help, as when Ilmatar, the ancient Finns regarded fire as a direct emanation from the
daughter of the air, vainly invoked him to her aid, that Sun. The daughters of the Sun, Moon, Great Bear, Polar-
Wainamoinen, already seven hundred years unborn, might star, and of the other heavenly dignitaries, are represented as
be delivered. So also Wainamoinen beseeches Ukko in vain ever-young and beautiful maidens, sometimes seated on the
to check the crimson streamlet flowing from his knee bending branches of the forest-trees, sometimes on the crim-
wounded by an axe in the hands of Hisi. Ukko, however, son rims of the clouds, sometimes on the rainbow, some-

The Kalevala
times on the dome of heaven. These daughters are believed dreaded Shades, and sinks them into a deep sleep, while the
to be skilled to perfection in the arts of spinning and weav- mother gathers up the fragments of her son’s body in safety.
ing, accomplishments probably attributed to them from the This rune of the Kalevala is particularly interesting as show-
fanciful likeness of the rays of light to the warp of the weaver’s ing the belief that the dead can be restored to life through
web. the blissful light of heaven.
The Sun’s career of usefulness and beneficence in bringing Among the other deities of the air are the Luonnotars, mys-
light and life to Northland is seldom varied. Occasionally tic maidens, three of whom were created by the rubbing of
he steps from his accustomed path to give important infor- Ukko’s hands upon his left knee. They forthwith walk the
mation to his suffering worshipers. For example, when the crimson borders of the clouds, and one sprinkles white milk,
Star and the Moon refuse the information, the Sun tells the one sprinkles red milk, and the third sprinkles black milk
Virgin Mariatta, where her golden infant lies bidden. over the hills and mountains; thus they become the “moth-
ers of iron,” as related in the ninth rune of The Kalevala. In
“Yonder is thy golden infant, the highest regions of the heavens, Untar, or Undutar, has
There thy holy babe lies sleeping,
Hidden to his belt in water, her abode, and presides over mists and fogs. These she passes
Hidden in the reeds and rushes.” through a silver sieve before sending them to the earth. There
are also goddesses of the winds, one especially noteworthy,
Again when the devoted mother of the reckless hero, Suvetar (suve, south, summer), the goddess of the south-
Lemminkainen, (chopped to pieces by the Sons Of Nana, as wind. She is represented as a kind-hearted deity, healing her
in the myth of Osiris) was raking together the fragments of sick and afflicted followers with honey, which she lets drop
his body from the river of Tuoui, and fearing that the sprites from the clouds, and she also keeps watch over the herds
of the Death-stream might resent her intrusion, the Sun, in grazing in the fields and forests.
answer to her entreaties, throws his Powerful rays upon the
The Kalevala
Second only to air, water is the element held most in rever- the meadows which it watered, nor sowed the fields which it
ence by the Finns and their kindred tribes. “It could hardly made fruitful, but robbed and murdered, insomuch that its
be otherwise,” says Castren, “for as soon as the soul of the clear waves grew dark with the blood of the slaughtered men.
savage began to suspect that the godlike is spiritual, super- Then did the lake Him mourn, and one evening it called
sensual, then, even though he continues to pay reverence to together all its fishes, and rose aloft with them into the air.
matter, he in general values it the more highly the less com- When the robbers heard the sound, they exclaimed: ‘Eim
pact it is. He sees on the one hand how easy it is to lose his hath arisen; let us gather its fishes and treasures.’ But the
life on the surging waves, and on the other, he sees that from fishes had departed with the lake, and nothing was found on
these same waters he is nurtured, and his life prolonged.” the bottom but snakes, and lizards, and toads. And Eim
Thus it is that the map of Finland is to this day full of names rose higher, and higher, and hastened through the air like a
like Pyhojarvi (sacred lake) and Pyhajoki (sacred river). Some white cloud. And the hunters in the forest said: ‘What bad
of the Finlanders still offer goats and calves to these sacred weather is coming on!’ The herdsmen said: ‘What a white
waters; and many of the Ugrian clans still sacrifice the rein- swan is flying above there!’ For the whole night the lake
deer to the river Ob. In Esthonia is a rivulet, Vohanda, held hovered among the stars, and in the morning the reapers
in such reverence that until very recently, none dared to fell beheld it sinking. And from the swan grew a white ship, and
a tree or cut a shrub in its immediate vicinity, lest death should from the ship a dark train of clouds; and a voice came from
overtake the offender within a year, in punishment for his the waters: ‘Get thee hence with thy harvest, for I will dwell
sacrilege. The lake, Eim, is still held sacred by the Esthonians, beside thee.’ Then they bade the lake welcome, if it would
and the Eim-legend is thus told by F. Thiersch, quoted also only bedew their fields and meadows; and it sank down and
by Grimm and by Mace da Charda: spread itself out in its home to the full limits. Then the lake
made all the neighborhood fruitful, and the fields became
“Savage, evil men dwelt by its borders. They neither mowed
The Kalevala
green, and the people danced around it, so that the old men gold, and gave it to the young shepherd. Innocent and hon-
grew joyous as the youth.” est, 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
The chief water-god is Ahto, on the etymology of which lad, but this in turn was not accepted. Thereupon the Wave-
the Finnish language throws little light. It is curiously like host dived again, and the third time brought the right knife
Ahti, another name for the reckless Lemminkainen. This to the boy who gladly recognized his own, and received it
water-god, or “Wave-host,” as he is called, lives with his “cold with gratitude. To the shepherd-lad Ahto gave the three
and cruel-hearted spouse,” Wellamo, at the bottom of the knives as a reward for his honesty.
sea, in the chasms of the Salmon-rocks, where his palace, A general term for the other water-hosts living not only in
Ahtola, is constructed. Besides the fish that swim in his do- the sea, but also in the rivers, lakes, cataracts, and fountains,
minions, particularly the salmon, the trout, the whiting, the is Ahtolaiset (inhabitants of Ahtola), “Water-people,” “People
perch, the herring, and the white-fish, he possesses a price- of the Foam and Billow,” “Wellamo’s Eternal People.” Of
less treasure in the Sampo, the talisman of success, which these, some have specific names; as Allotar (wave-goddess),
Louhi, the hostess of Pohyola, dragged into the sea in her Koskenneiti (cataract-maiden), Melatar (goddess of the
efforts to regain it from the heroes of Kalevala. Ever eager for helm), and in The Kalevala these are sometimes personally
the treasures of others, and generally unwilling to return any invoked. Of these minor deities, Pikku Mies (the Pigmy) is
that come into his possession, Ahto is not incapable of gen- the most noteworthy. Once when the far-outspreading
erosity. For example, once when a shepherd lad was whit- branches of the primitive oak-tree shut out the light of the
tling a stick on the bank of a river, he dropped his knife into sun from Northland, Pikku Mies, moved by the entreaties
the stream. Ahto, as in the fable, “Mercury and the of Wainamoinen, emerged from the sea in a suit of copper,
Woodman,” moved by the tears of the unfortunate lad, swam with a copper hatchet in his belt, quickly grew from a pigmy
to the scene, dived to the bottom, brought up a knife of
The Kalevala
to a gigantic hero, and felled the mighty oak with the third the Virgin Mariatta. Once again Wirokannas left his native
stroke of his axe. In general the water-deities are helpful and sphere of action, this time making a most miserable and lu-
full of kindness; some, however, as Wetehilien and Iku-Turso, dicrous failure, when he emerged from the wilderness and
find their greatest pleasure in annoying and destroying their attempted to slay the Finnish Taurus, as described in the
fellow-beings. runes that follow. The agricultural deities, however, receive
Originally the Finlanders regarded the earth as a godlike but little attention from the Finns, who, with their cold and
existence with personal powers, and represented as a benefi- cruel winters, and their short but delightful summers, natu-
cent mother bestowing peace and plenty on all her worthy rally neglect the cultivation of the fields, for cattle-raising,
worshipers. In evidence of this we find the names, Maa-emae fishing, and hunting.
(mother-earth), and Maan-emo (mother of the earth), given The forest deities proper, however, are held in high ven-
to the Finnish Demeter. She is always represented as a god- eration. Of these the chief is Tapio, “The Forest-Friend,”
dess of great powers, and, after suitable invocation, is ever “The Gracious God of the Woodlands.” He is represented as
willing and able to help her helpless sufferers. She is accord- a very tall and slender divinity, wearing a long, brown board,
ing to some mythologists espoused to Ukko, who bestows a coat of tree-moss, and a high-crowned hat of fir-leaves.
upon her children the blessings of sunshine and rain, as Ge His consort is Mielikki, “The Honey-rich Mother of the
is wedded to Ouranos, Jordh to Odhin, and Papa to Rangi. Woodland,” “The Hostess of the Glen and Forest.” When
Of the minor deities of the earth, who severally govern the the hunters were successful she was represented as beautiful
plants, such as trees, rye, flax, and barley, Wirokannas only and benignant, her hands glittering with gold and silver or-
is mentioned in The Kalevala. Once, for example, this “green naments, wearing ear-rings and garlands of gold, with hair-
robed Priest of the Forest” abandoned for a time his presi- bands silver-tinseled, on her forehead strings of pearls, and
dency over the cereals in order to baptize the infant-son of with blue stockings on her feet, and red strings in her shoes.

The Kalevala
But if the game-bag came back empty, she was described as a scribed as cruel, horrible, hideous, and bloodthirsty, and all
hateful, hideous thing, robed in untidy rags, and shod with the most painful diseases and misfortunes that ever afflict
straw. She carries the keys to the treasury of Metsola, her mortals are supposed to emanate from him. This demon,
husband’s abode, and her bountiful chest of honey, the food too, is thought by the Finlanders to have a hand in all the
of all the forest-deities, is earnestly sought for by all the weary evil done in the world.
hunters of Suomi. These deities are invariably described as Turning from the outer world to man, we find deities whose
gracious and tender-hearted, probably because they are all energies are used only in the domain of human existence.
females with the exception of Tapio and his son, Nyrikki, a “These deities,” says Castren, “have no dealings with the
tall and stately youth who is engaged in building bridges higher, spiritual nature of man. All that they do concerns
over marshes and forest-streams, through which the herds man solely as an object in nature. Wisdom and law, virtue
must pass on their way to the woodland-pastures. Nyrikki and justice, find in Finnish mythology no protector among
also busies himself in blazing the rocks and the trees to guide the gods, who trouble themselves only about the temporal
the heroes to their favorite hunting-grounds. Sima-suu wants of humanity.” The Love-goddess was Sukkamieli
(honey-mouth), one of the tiny daughters of Tapio, by play- (stocking-lover). “Stockings,” says Castren gravely, “are soft
ing on her Sima-pilli (honey-flute), also acts as guide to the and tender things, and the goddess of love was so called be-
deserving hunters. cause she interests herself in the softest and tenderest feel-
Hiisi, the Finnish devil, bearing also the epithets, Juntas, ings of the heart.” This conception, however, is as farfetched
Piru, and Lempo, is the chief of the forest-demons, and is as it is modern. The Love-deity of the ancient Finns was
inconceivably wicked. He was brought into the world Lempo, the evil-demon. It is more reasonable therefore to
consentaneously with Suoyatar, from whose spittle, as sung suppose that the Finns chose the son of Evil to look after the
in The Kalevala, he formed the serpent. This demon is de- feelings of the human heart, because they regarded love as

The Kalevala
an insufferable passion, or frenzy, that bordered on insanity, in looking after the interests of weary travellers. Aarni is the
and incited in some mysterious manner by an evil enchanter. guardian of hidden treasures. This important office is also
Uni is the god of sleep, and is described as a kind-hearted filled by a hideous old deity named Mammelainen, whom
and welcome deity. Untamo is the god of dreams, and is Renwall, the Finnish lexicographer, describes as “femina
always spoken of as the personification of indolence. Munu maligna, matrix serpentis, divitiarum subterranearum cus-
tenderly looks after the welfare of the human eye. This deity, tos,” a malignant woman, the mother of the snake, and the
to say the least is an oculist of long and varied experience, in guardian of subterranean treasures. From this conception it
all probability often consulted in Finland because of the blind- is evident that the idea of a kinship between serpents and
ing snows and piercing winds of the north. Lemmas is a god- hidden treasures frequently met with in the myths of the
dess in the mythology of the Finns who dresses the wounds Hungarians, Germans, and Slavs, is not foreign to the Finns.
of her faithful sufferers, and subdues their pains. Suonetar is Nowhere are the inconsistencies of human theory and prac-
another goddess of the human frame, and plays a curious tice more curiously and forcibly shown than in the custom
and important part in the restoration to life of the reckless in vogue among the clans of Finland who are not believers in
Lemminkainen, as described in the following runes. She a future life, but, notwithstanding, perform such funereal
busies herself in spinning veins, and in sewing up the ceremonies as the burying in the graves of the dead, knives,
wounded tissues of such deserving worshipers as need her hatchets, spears, bows, and arrows, kettles, food, clothing,
surgical skill. sledges and snow-shoes, thus bearing witness to their practi-
Other deities associated with the welfare of mankind are cal recognition of some form of life beyond the grave. The
the Sinettaret and Kankahattaret, the goddesses respectively ancient Finns occasionally craved advice and assistance from
of dyeing and weaving. Matka-Teppo is their road-god, and the dead. Thus, as described in The Kalevala, when the hero
busies himself in caring for horses that are over-worked, and of Wainola needed three words of master-magic wherewith

The Kalevala
to finish the boat in which he was to sail to win the mystic Like Helheim of Scandinavian mythology, Manala, or
maiden of Sariola, he first looked in the brain of the white Tuonela, was considered as corresponding to the upper world.
squirrel, then in the mouth of the white-swan when dying, The Sun and the Moon visited there; fen and forest gave a
but all in vain; then he journeyed to the kingdom of Tuoni, home to the wolf, the bear, the elk, the serpent, and the song-
and failing there, he “struggled over the points of needles, bird; the salmon, the whiting, the perch, and the pike were
over the blades of swords, over the edges of hatchets” to the sheltered in the “coal-black waters of Manala.” From the seed-
grave of the ancient wisdom-bard, Antero Wipunen, where grains of the death-land fields and forests, the Tuoni-worm
he “found the lost-words of the Master.” In this legend of (the serpent) had taken its teeth. Tuoui, or Mana, the god of
The Kalevala, exceedingly interesting, instructive, and curi- the under world, is represented as a hard-hearted, and fright-
ous, are found, apparently, the remote vestiges of ancient ful, old personage with three iron-pointed fingers on each
Masonry. hand, and wearing a hat drawn down to his shoulders. As in
It would seem that the earliest beliefs of the Finns regard- the original conception of Hades, Tuoni was thought to be
ing the dead centred in this: that their spirits remained in the leader of the dead to their subterranean home, as well as
their graves until after the complete disintegration of their their counsellor, guardian, and ruler. In the capacity of ruler
bodies, over which Kalma, the god of the tombs, with his he was assisted by his wife, a hideous, horrible, old witch
black and evil daughter, presided. After their spirits had been with “crooked, copper-fingers iron-pointed,” with deformed
fully purified, they were then admitted to the Kingdom of head and distorted features, and uniformly spoken of in irony
Manala in the under world. Those journeying to Tuonela in the Kalevala as “hyva emanta,” the good hostess; she feasted
were required to voyage over nine seas, and over one river, her guests on lizards, worms, toads, and writhing serpents.
the Finnish Styx, black, deep, and violent, and filled with Tuouen Poika, “The God of the Red Cheeks,” so called be-
hungry whirlpools, and angry waterfalls. cause of his bloodthirstiness and constant cruelties, is the

The Kalevala
son and accomplice of this merciless and hideous pair. kind. The Finns regarded all human ailments as evil spirits
Three daughters of Tuoni are mentioned in the runes, the or indwelling devils, some formless, others taking the shapes
first of whom, a tiny, black maiden, but great in wickedness, of the most odious forms of animal life, as worms and mites;
once at least showed a touch of human kindness when she the nine, however, described above, were conceived to have
vainly urged Wainamoinen not to cross the river of Tuoui, human forms.
assuring the hero that while many visit Manala, few return, Where the three arms of the Tuoni river meet a frightful
because of their inability to brave her father’s wrath. Finally, rock arises, called Kipu-Kivi, or Kipuvuori, in a dungeon
after much entreaty, she ferried him over the Finnish Styx, beneath which the spirits of all diseases are imprisoned. On
like Charon, the son of Erebus and Nox, in the mythology this rock the third daughter of Tuoui sits, constantly whirl-
of Greece. The second daughter of Tuoni is Lowyatar, black ing it round like a millstone, grinding her subjects until they
and blind, and is described as still more malignant and loath- escape and go forth to torture and slay the children of men;
some than the first. Through the East-wind’s impregnation as in Hindu mythology, Kali (black) sits in judgment on the
she brought forth the spirits of the nine diseases most dreaded dead.
by mankind, as described in the 45th Rune of the Kalevala: Various other spiritual powers than gods and goddesses
are held in high reverence by the Finns. Tontu is represented
“Colic, Pleurisy, and Fever. as a kind-hearted house-spirit, a sort of diminutive Cyclops,
Ulcer, Plague, and dread Consumption,
Gout, Sterility, and Cancer.” and offerings of bread and broth are made to him every
morning. Putting a mare’s collar on one’s neck and walking
The third daughter of Tuoni combines the malevolent and nine times around a church is thought to be a certain means
repugnant attributes of her two sisters, and is represented as of attracting one to the place desired. Para is a mystical,
the mother and hostess of the impersonal diseases of man- three-legged being, constructed in many ways, and which,

The Kalevala
according to Castren, attains life and action when its pos- worship, once very common among the tribes of the north,
sessor, cutting the little finger of his left hand, lets three drops Otso, the bear, according to Finnish mythology, was born
of blood fall upon it, and at the same time pronouncing the on the shoulders of Otava, in the regions of the sun and
proper magic word. The possessor, by whatever means, of moon, and “nursed by a goddess of the woodlands in a cradle
this mystic being, is always supplied with abundance of milk swung by bands of gold between the bending branches of
and cheese. The Maahiset are the dwarfs of Finnish mythol- budding fir-trees.” His nurse would not give him teeth and
ogy. Their abode is under stumps, trees, blocks, thresholds claws until he had promised never to engage in bloody strife,
and hearth-stones. Though exceedingly minute and invis- or deeds of violence. Otso, however, does not always keep
ible to man they have human forms. They are irritable and his pledge, and accordingly the hunters of Finland find it
resentful, and they punish with ulcers, tetter, ringworms, comparatively easy to reconcile their consciences to his de-
pimples, and other cutaneous affections, all those who ne- struction. Otso is called in the runes by many endearing titles
glect them at brewings, bakings, and feastings. They punish as “The Honey-Eater,” “Golden Light-Foot,” “The Forest-
in a similar manner those who enter new houses without Apple,” “Honey-Paw of the Mountains,” “ThePride of the
making obeisance to the four corners, and paying them other Thicket,” “The Fur-robed Forest-Friend.” Ahava, the West-
kindly attentions; those who live in untidy houses are also wind, and Penitar, a blind old witch of Sariola, are the par-
likewise punished. The Kirkonwaeki (church-folk) are little ents of the swift dogs of Finland, just as the horses of Achil-
deformed beings living under the altars of churches. These les, Xanthos and Belios, sprang from Zephyros and the harpy
misshapen things are supposed to be able to aid their sor- Podarge.
rowing and suffering worshipers. As to birds, the duck, according to the Kalevala, the eagle,
Certain beasts, and birds, and trees, are held sacred in Fin- according to other traditions, lays the mundane egg, thus
land. In the Kalevala are evident traces of arctolatry, bear- taking part in the creation of the world. Puhuri, the north-

The Kalevala
wind, the father of Pakkanen (frost) is sometimes personi- and from Grimm’s Teutonic Mythology. “The giants,” says
fied as a gigantic eagle. The didapper is reverenced because it Grimm, “are distinguished by their cunning and ferocity from
foretells the approach of rain. Linnunrata (bird-path) is the the stupid, good-natured monsters of Germany and
name given to the Milky-way, due probably to a myth like Scandinavia.” Soini, for example a synonym of Kullervo, the
those of the Swedes and Slavs, in which liberated songs take here of the saddest episode of the Kalevala when only three
the form of snow-white dovelets. The cuckoo to this day is days old, tore his swaddling clothes to tatters. When sold to
sacred, and is believed to have fertilized the earth with his a forgeman of Karelia, he was ordered to nurse an infant, but
songs. As to insects, honey-bees, called by the Finns, he dug out the eyes of the child, killed it, and burned its
Mehilainen, are especially sacred, as in the mythologies of cradle. Ordered to fence the fields, he built a fence from
many other nations. Ukkon-koiva (Ukko’s dog) is the Finn- earth to heaven, using entire pine-trees for fencing materi-
ish name for the butterfly, and is looked upon as a messen- als, and interweaving their branches with venomous serpents.
ger of the Supreme Deity. It may be interesting to observe Ordered to tend the herds in the woodlands, he changed the
here that the Bretons in reverence called butterflies, “feath- cattle to wolves and bears, and drove them home to destroy
ers from the wings of God.” his mistress because she had baked a stone in the centre of
As to inanimate nature, certain lakes, rivers, springs, and his oat-loaf, causing him to break his knife, the only keep-
fountains, are held in high reverence. In the Kalevala the sake of his people.
oak is called Pun Jumalan (God’s tree). The mountain-ash Regarding the heroes of the Kalevala, much discussion has
even to this day, and the birch-tree, are held sacred, and peas- arisen as to their place in Finnish mythology. The Finns
ants plant them by their cottages with reverence. proper regard the chief heroes of the Suomi epic,
Respecting the giants of Finnish mythology, Castren is si- Wainamoinen, Ilmarinen, and Lemminkainen, as descen-
lent, and the following notes are gleaned from the Kalevala, dants of the Celestial Virgin, Ilmatar, impregnated by the

The Kalevala
winds when Ilma (air), Light, and Water were the only ma- tion of Finnish poems in lyric forms, chiefly incantations; but
terial existences. In harmony with this conception we find the author was entirely at a loss how to account for them, or
in the Kalevala, a description of the birth of Wainamoinen, how to appreciate them. He failed to see their intimate con-
or Vaino, as he is sometimes called in the original, a word nection with the religious worship of the Finns in paganism.
probably akin to the Magyar Ven, old. The Esthonians re- The next to study the Finnish poetry and language was
gard these heroes as sons of the Great Spirit, begotten before Daniel Juslenius, a celebrated bishop, and a highly-gifted
the earth was created, and dwelling with their Supreme Ruler scholar. In a dissertation, published as early as 1700, entitled,
in Jumala. Aboa vetus et nova, he discussed the origin and nature of the
The poetry of a people with such an elaborate mythology Finnish language; and in another work of his, printed in
and with such a keen and appreciative sense of nature and of 1745, he treated of Finnish incantations, displaying withal a
her various phenomena, was certain, sooner or later, to at- thorough understanding of the Finnish folk-lore, and of the
tract the attention of scholars. And, in fact, as early as the importance of the Finnish language and national poetry.
seventeenth century, we meet men of literary tastes who tried With great care he began to collect the songs of Suomi, but
to collect and interpret the various national songs of the Finns. this precious collection was unfortunately burned.
Among these were Palmskold and Peter Bang. They collected Porthan, a Finnish scholar of great attainments, born in
portions of the national poetry, consisting chiefly of wizard- 1766, continuing the work of Juslenius, accumulated a great
incantations, and all kinds of pagan folk-lore. Gabriel number of national songs and poems, and by his profound
Maxenius, however, was the first to publish a work on Finn- enthusiasm for the promotion of Finnish literature, succeeded
ish national poetry, which brought to light the beauties of in founding the Society of the Fennophils, which to the
the Kalevala. It appeared in 1733, and bore the title: De present day, forms the literary centre of Finland. Among his
Effectibus Naturalibus. The book contains a quaint collec- pupils were E. Lenquist, and Chr. Ganander, whose works

The Kalevala
on Finnish mythology are among the references used in pre- to sing their heroic poems, which he copied as they were
paring this preface. These indefatigable scholars were joined uttered. And, when he heard of a renowned Finnish singer,
by Reinhold Becker and others, who were industriously or minstrel, he did all in his power to bring the song-man to
searching for more and more fragments of what evidently his house, in order that he might gather new fragments of
was a great epic of the Finns. For certainly neither of the the national epic. Thus the first glory of collecting the frag-
scholars just mentioned, nor earlier investigators, could fail ments of the Kalevala and of rescuing it from literary oblivion,
to see that the runes they collected, gathered round two or belongs to Topelius. In 1822 he published his first collec-
three chief heroes, but more especially around the central tions, and in 18317 his last.
figure of Wainamoinen, the hero of the following epic. Elias Lonnrot, who brought the whole work to a glorious
The Kalevala proper was collected by two great Finnish completion, was born April 9, 1802. He entered the Uni-
scholars, Zacharias Topelius and Elias Lonnrot. Both were versity of Abo in 1822, and in 1832, received the degree of
practicing physicians, and in this capacity came into frequent Doctor of Medicine from the University of Helsingfors. After
contact with the people of Finland. Topelius, who collected the death of Castren in 1850, Lonnrot was appointed pro-
eighty epical fragments of the Kalevala, spent the last eleven fessor of the Suomi (Finnish) language and literature in the
years of his life in bed, afflicted with a fatal disease. But this University, where he remained until 1862, at which time he
sad and trying circumstance did not dampen his enthusi- withdrew from his academical activity and devoted himself
asm. His manner of collecting these songs was as follows: exclusively to the study of his native language, and its epical
Knowing that the Finns of Russia preserved most of the na- productions. Dr. Lonnrot had already published a scholarly
tional poetry, and that they came annually to Finland proper, treatise, in 1827, on the chief hero of the Kalevala, before he
which at that time did not belong to Russia, he invited these went to Sava and Karjala to glean the songs and parts of
itinerant Finnish merchants to his bedside, and induced them songs front the lips of the people. This work was entitled:

The Kalevala
De Wainainoine priscorum Fennorum numine. In the year old peasant, one of the oldest of the runolainen in the Rus-
1828, he travelled as far as Kajan, collecting poems and songs sian province of Wuokiniem, who was by far the most re-
of the Finnish people, sitting by the fireside of the aged, row- nowned minstrel of the country, and with whose closely im-
ing on the lakes with the fishermen, and following the flocks pending death, numerous very precious runes would have
with the shepherds. In 1829 he published at Helsingfors a been irrevocably lost.
work under the following title: Kantele taikka Suomee Kan- The happy result of his travels throughout Finland, Dr.
san sek vazhoja etta nykysempia Runoja ja Lauluja (Lyre, or Lonnrot now commenced to arrange under the central idea
Old and New Songs and Lays of the Finnish Nation). In of a great epic, called Kalevala, and in February, 1835, the
another work edited in 1832, written in Swedish, entitled: manuscript was transmitted to the Finnish Literary Society,
Om Finnarues Magiska Medicin (On the Magic Medicine which had it published in two parts. Lonnrot, however, did
of the Finns), he dwells on the incantations so frequent in not stop here; he went on searching and collecting, and, in
Finnish poetry, notably in the Kalevala. A few years later he 1840, had brought together more than one thousand frag-
travelled in the province of Archangel, and so ingratiated ments of epical poetry, national ballads, and proverbs. These
himself into the hearts of the simple-minded people that they he published in two works, respectively entitled, Kanteletar
most willingly aided him in collecting these songs. These (Lyre-charm), and The Proverbs of the Suomi People, the
journeys were made through wild fens, forests, marshes, and latter containing over 1700 proverbs, adages, gnomic sen-
ice-plains, on horseback, in sledges drawn by the reindeer, tences, and songs.
in canoes, or in some other forms of primitive conveyance. His example was followed by many of his enthusiastic coun-
The enthusiastic physician described his journeyings and trymen, the more prominent of whom are Castren,
difficulties faithfully in a paper published at Helsingfors in Europaeus, Polen and Reniholm. Through the collections of
Swedish in 1834. He had the peculiar good luck to meet an these scholars so many additional parts of the epical treasure

The Kalevala
of Finland were made public that a new edition of the Kalevala epics of the world. These are his words:
soon became an imperative necessity. The task of sifting, ar- “From the mouths of the aged an epic poem has been col-
ranging, and organizing the extensive material, was again lected equalling the Iliad in length and completeness; nay, if
allotted to Dr. Lonnrot, and in his second editions of the we can forget for a moment, all that we in our youth learned
Kalevala, which appeared in 1849, the epic, embracing fifty to call beautiful, not less beautiful. A Finn is not a Greek,
runes and 22,793 lines, had reached its mature form. The and Wainamoinen was not a Homer [Achilles?]; but if the
Kalevala was no sooner published than it attracted the atten- poet may take his colors from that nature by which he is
tion of the leading scholars of Europe. Men of such world- surrounded, if he may depict the men with whom he lives,
wide fame as Jacob Grimm, Steinthal, Uhland, Carrière and the Kalevala possesses merits not dissimilar from those of
Max Müller hastened to acknowledge its surpassing value the Illiad, and will claim its place as the fifth national epic of
and intrinsic beauty. Jacob Grimm, in a separate treatise, the world, side by side with the Ionian Songs, with the
published in his Kleinere Schriften, said that the genuine- Mahabharata, the Shalinameth, and the Nibelunge.”
ness and extraordinary value of the Kalevala is easily proved
by the fact that from its mythological ideas we can frequently Steinthal recognizes but four great national epics, viz., the
interpret the mythological conceptions of the ancient Ger- Iliad, Kalevala, Nibelunge and the Roland Songs.
mans, whereas the poems of Ossian manifest their modern The Kalevala describes Finnish nature very minutely and
origin by their inability to clear up questions of old Saxon or very beautifully. Grimm says that no poem is to be com-
German mythology. Grimm, furthermore, shows that both pared with it in this respect, unless it be some of the epics of
the Gothic and Icelandic literatures display unmistakable India. It has been translated into several European languages;
features of Finnish influence. into Swedish by Alex. Castren, in 1844; into French prose
Max Müller places the Kalevala on a level with the greatest by L. LeDuc, in 1845; into German by Anton Schiefuer, in

The Kalevala
1852; into Hungarian by Ferdinand Barna, in 1871; and a of which the Finns and Hungarians are branches, display a
very small portion of it—the legend of Aino—into English, most satisfactory sameness with the numerous incantations
in 1868, by the late Prof. John A. Porter, of Yale College. It of the Kalevala used for the same purpose. Barna published
must remain a matter of universal regret to the English-speak- an elaborate treatise on this subject; it appeared in the, Trans-
ing people that Prof. Porter’s life could not have been spared actions of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Philological
to finish the great work he had so beautifully begun. Department, for 1870. Again, in 1868, twenty-two Hun-
Some of the most convincing evidences of the genuine- garian deeds, dating from 1616-1660, were sent to the Hun-
ness and great age of the Kalevala have been supplied by the garian Academy of Sciences, as having been found in the
Hungarian translator. The Hungarians, as is well known, are Hegyalja, where the celebrated wine of Tokay is made. These
closely related to the Finns, and their language, the Magyar deeds contained several contracts for the sale of vineyards,
dialect, has the same characteristic features as the Finnish and at the end of each deed the customary cup of wine was
tongue. Barna’s translation, accordingly, is the best render- said to have been emptied by both parties to the contract.
ing of the original. In order to show the genuineness and This cup of wine, in the deeds, was termed, “Ukkon’s
antiquity of the Kalevala, Barna adduces a Hungarian book cup.” Ukko, however, is the chief God according to Finnish
written by a certain Peter Bornemissza, in 1578, entitled mythology, and thus the coincidence of the Magyar Ukkon
ordogi Kisertetekrol (on Satanic Specters), the unique copy and the Finnish Ukko was placed beyond doubt.
of which he found in the library of the University of Budapest. The Kalevala (the Land of Heroes) relates the ever-varying
In this book Bornemissza collected all the incantations contests between the Finns and the “darksome Laplanders”,
(raolvasasok) in use among Hungarian country-people of his just as the Iliad relates the contests between the Greeks and
day for the expulsion of diseases and misfortunes. These in- the Trojans. Castren is of the opinion that the enmity be-
cantations, forming the common stock of all Ugrian peoples, tween the Finns and the Lapps was sung long before the

The Kalevala
Finns had left their Asiatic birth-place. indicative of a deep insight into the workings of the human
A deeper and more esoteric meaning of the Kalevala, how- mind, and into the forces of nature. Whenever one of the
ever, points to a contest between Light and Darkness, Good heroes of the Kalevala wishes to overcome the aggressive
and Evil; the Finns representing the Light and the Good, power of an evil force, as a wound, a disease, a ferocious
and the Lapps, the Darkness and the Evil. Like the beast, or a venomous serpent, he achieves his purpose by
Niebelungs, the heroes of the Finns woo for brides the beau- chanting the origin of the inimical force. The thought un-
teous maidens of the North; and the similarity is rendered derlying this idea evidently is that all evil could be obviated
still more striking by their frequent inroads into the country had we but the knowledge of whence and how it came.
of the Lapps, in order to possess themselves of the envied The numerous myths of the poem are likewise full of sig-
treasure of Lapland, the mysterious Sampo, evidently the nificance and beauty, and the Kalevala should be read between
Golden Fleece of the Argonautic expedition. Curiously the lines, in order that the fall meaning of this great epic may
enough public opinion is often expressed in the runes, in the be comprehended. Even such a hideous impersonation as that
words of an infant; often too the unexpected is introduced of Kullerwoinen, is rich with pointed meaning, showing as it
after the manner of the Greek dramas, by a young child, or does, the incorrigibility of ingrained evil. This legend, like all
an old man. others of the poem, has its deep-running stream of esoteric
The whole poem is replete with the most fascinating folk- interpretation. The Kalevala, perhaps, more than any other,
lore about the mysteries of nature, the origin of things, the uses its lines on the surface in symbolism to point the human
enigmas of human tears, and, true to the character of a na- mind to the brighter gems of truth beneath.
tional epic, it represents not only the poetry, but the entire The three main personages, Wainamoinen, the ancient
wisdom and accumulated experience of a nation. Among singer, Ilmarinen, the eternal forgeman, and Lemminkainen,
others, there is a profoundly philosophical trait in the poem, the reckless wizard, as mentioned above, are conceived as

The Kalevala
being of divine origin. In fact, the acting characters of the reason for believing this, lies in the silence of the Kalevala
Kalevala are mostly superhuman, magic beings. Even the fe- about Russians, Germans, or Swedes, their neighbors. This
male actors are powerful sorceresses, and the hostess of evidently shows that the poem must have been composed at
Pohyola, especially, braves the might of all the enchanters of a time when these nations had but very little or no inter-
Wainola combined. The power of magic is a striking feature course with the Finns. The coincidence between the incan-
of the poem. Here, as in the legends of no other people, do tations adduced above, proves that these witch-songs date
the heroes and demi-gods accomplish nearly everything by from a time when the Hungarians and the Finns were still
magic. The songs of Wainamoinen disarm his opponents; united as one people; in other words, to a time at least 3000
they quiet the angry sea; they give warmth to the new sun years ago. The whole poem betrays no important signs of
and the new moon which his brother, Ilmarinen, forges from foreign influence, and in its entire tenor is a thoroughly pa-
the magic metals; they give life to the spouse of Ilmarinen, gan epic. There are excellent reasons for believing that the
which the “eternal metal-artist” forges from gold, silver, and story of Mariatta, recited in the 50th Rune, is an ante-Chris-
copper. In fact we are among a people that endows every- tian legend.
thing with life, and with human and divine attributes. Birds, An additional proof of the originality and independent rise
and beasts, and fishes, and serpents, as well as the Sun, the of the Kalevala is to be found in its metre. All genuine po-
Moon, the Great Bear, and the stars, are either kind or un- etry must have its peculiar verse, just as snow-flakes cannot
kind. Drops of blood find speech; men and maidens trans- exist without their peculiar crystalizations. It is thus that the
form themselves into other shapes and resume again their Iliad is inseparably united, and, as it were, immersed in the
native forms at will; ships, and trees, and waters, have magic stately hexametre, and the French epics, in the graceful Al-
powers; in short, all nature speaks in human tongues. exandrine verse. The metre of the Kalevala is the “eight-syl-
The Kalevala dates back to an enormous antiquity. One labled trochaic, with the part-line echo,” and is the charac-

The Kalevala
teristic verse of the Finns. The natural speech of this people rately copied from the first edition in Finnish of the Kalevala,
is poetry. The young men and maidens, the old men and collated by Dr. Lonnrot, and published in 1835 at
matrons, in their interchange of ideas, unwittingly fall into Helsingfors, the quotation beginning with the 150th line of
verse. The genius of their language aids to this end, inas- the 2nd Rune:
much as their words are strongly trochaic.
Louhi Pohjolan emanta
This wonderfully versatile metre admits of keeping the right
Sanan wirkko, noin nimesi:
medium between the dignified, almost prancing hexameter, “Niin mita minulleannat,
and the shorter metres of the lyrics. Its feet are nimble and Kun saatan omille maille,
fleet, but yet full of vigor and expressiveness. In addition, Oman pellon pientarelle,
Oman pihan rikkasille?”
the Kalevala uses alliteration, and thus varies the rhythm of
Sano wanha Wainamoinen:
time with the rhythm of sound. This metre is especially fit “Mitapa kysyt minulta,
for the numerous expressions of endearment in which the Kun saatat omille maille,
Finnish epic abounds. It is more especially the love of the Oman kaën kukkumille,
Oman kukon kukkluwille,
mother for her children, and the love of the children for
Oman saunan lampimille?”
their mother, that find frequent and ever-tender expression Sano Pohjolan emanta:
in the sonorous lines of the Kalevala. The Swedish transla- “Ohoh wiisas Wainamoinen!
tion by Castren, the German, by Schiefner, and the Hungar- Taiatko takoa sammon,
Kirjokannen kirjaëlla,
ian, by Barna, as well as the following English translation,
Yhen joukkosen sulasta,
are in the original metre of the Kalevala. Yhen willan kylkyesta,
To prove that this peculiar and fascinating style of verse is Yhen otrasen jywasta,
of very ancient origin, the following lines have been accu- Yhen warttinan muruista.”

The Kalevala
As to the architecture of the Kalevala, it stands midway be- Castren, Anton Schieffier, L. LeDuc and Ferdinand Barna;
tween the epical ballads of the Servians and the purely epical and especially to the excellent treatises on the Kalevala, and
structure of the Iliad. Though a continuous whole, it con- on the Mythology of the Finns, by Mace Da Charda and
tains several almost independent parts, as the contest of Alex. Castren; to Prof. Helena Klingner, of Cincinnati, a lin-
Youkahainen, the Kullervo episode, and the legend of guist of high rank, and who has compared very conscien-
Mariatta. tiously the manuscript of the following pages with the Ger-
By language-masters this epic of Suomi, descending un- man translation of the Kalevala by Anton Schiefner; to Dr.
written from the mythical age to the present day, kept alive Emil Reich, a native Hungarian, a close student of the Ugrian
from generation to generation by minstrels, or song-men, is tongues, who, in a most thorough manner, has compared
regarded as one of the most precious contributions to the this translation with the Hungarian by Ferdinand Barna, and
literature of the world, made since the time of Milton and who, familiar with the habits, customs, and religious no-
the German classics. tions of the Finns, has furnished much valuable material used
in the preparation of this preface; and, finally, to Prof. Tho-
Acknowledgment is hereby made to the following sources of mas C. Porter, D.D., LL.D., of Lafayette College, who has
information used in the preparation of this work: to E. become an authority on the Kalevala through his own re-
Lenquist’s De Superstitione veterum Fennorum theoretica searches for many years, aided by a long and intimate ac-
et practica; to Chr. Ganander’s Mythologia Fennica; to quaintance with Prof. A. F. Soldan, a Finn by birth, an en-
Becker’s De Vainamoine; to Max Müller’s Oxford Essays; to thusiastic lover of his country, a scholar of great attainments,
Prof. John A. Porter’s Selections from the Kalevala; to the acquainted with many languages, and once at the head of
writings of the two Grimms; to Latham’s Native Races of the the Imperial Mint at Helsingfors, the capital of Finland. Prof.
Russian Empire; to the translations of the Kalevala by Alex. Porter has very kindly placed in the hands of the author of

The Kalevala
these pages, all the literature on this subject at his command,
including his own writings; he has watched the growth of THE KALEVALA
this translation with unusual interest; and, with the eye of a
gifted poet and scholar, he has made two careful and critical PROEM
examinations of the entire manuscript, making annotations,
emendations, and corrections, by which this work has been
MASTERED by desire impulsive,
greatly improved. By a mighty inward urging,
With this prolonged introduction, this, the first English I am ready now for singing,
translation of the Kalevala, with its many imperfections, is Ready to begin the chanting
Of our nation’s ancient folk-song
hesitatingly given to the public.
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;
October 1, 1887.
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.
The Kalevala
Seldom do we come for singing, Over Sampo and o’er Louhi,
Seldom to the one, the other, Sampo growing old in singing,
O’er this cold and cruel country, Louhi ceasing her enchantment.
O’er the poor soil of the Northland. In the songs died wise Wipunen,
Let us clasp our hands together At the games died Lemminkainen.
That we thus may best remember. There are many other legends,
Join we now in merry singing, Incantations that were taught me,
Chant we now the oldest folk-lore, That I found along the wayside,
That the dear ones all may hear them, Gathered in the fragrant copses,
That the well-inclined may hear them, Blown me from the forest branches,
Of this rising generation. Culled among the plumes of pine-trees,
These are words in childhood taught me, Scented from the vines and flowers,
Songs preserved from distant ages, Whispered to me as I followed
Legends they that once were taken Flocks in land of honeyed meadows,
From the belt of Wainamoinen, Over hillocks green and golden,
From the forge of Ilmarinen, After sable-haired Murikki,
From the sword of Kaukomieli, And the many-colored Kimmo.
From the bow of Youkahainen, Many runes the cold has told me,
From the pastures of the Northland, Many lays the rain has brought me,
From the meads of Kalevala. Other songs the winds have sung me;
These my dear old father sang me Many birds from many forests,
When at work with knife and hatchet Oft have sung me lays n concord
These my tender mother taught me Waves of sea, and ocean billows,
When she twirled the flying spindle, Music from the many waters,
When a child upon the matting Music from the whole creation,
By her feet I rolled and tumbled. Oft have been my guide and master.
Incantations were not wanting Sentences the trees created,
The Kalevala
Rolled together into bundles, Of the barley of my fathers,
Moved them to my ancient dwelling, Lest my singing grow too weary,
On the sledges to my cottage, Singing from the water only.
Tied them to my garret rafters, Bring me too a cup of strong-beer,
Hung them on my dwelling-portals, It will add to our enchantment,
Laid them in a chest of boxes, To the pleasure of the evening,
Boxes lined with shining copper. Northland’s long and dreary evening,
Long they lay within my dwelling For the beauty of the day-dawn,
Through the chilling winds of winter, For the pleasure of the morning,
In my dwelling-place for ages. The beginning of the new-day.
Shall I bring these songs together Often I have heard them chanting,
From the cold and frost collect them? Often I have heard them singing,
Shall I bring this nest of boxes, That the nights come to us singly,
Keepers of these golden legends, That the Moon beams on us singly,
To the table in my cabin, That the Sun shines on us singly;
Underneath the painted rafters, Singly also, Wainamoinen,
In this house renowned and ancient? The renowned and wise enchanter,
Shall I now these boxes open, Born from everlasting Ether
Boxes filled with wondrous stories? Of his mother, Ether’s daughter.
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
The Kalevala
RUNE I On the blue back of the waters;
On the white-wreathed waves of ocean,
BIRTH Play the forces of the salt-sea,
With the lone and helpless maiden;
In primeval times, a maiden, Till at last in full conception,
Beauteous Daughter of the Ether, Union now of force and beauty,
Passed for ages her existence Sink the storm-winds into slumber;
In the great expanse of heaven, Overburdened now the maiden
O’er the prairies yet enfolded. Cannot rise above the surface;
Wearisome the maiden growing, Seven hundred years she wandered,
Her existence sad and hopeless, Ages nine of man’s existence,
Thus alone to live for ages Swam the ocean hither, thither,
In the infinite expanses Could not rise above the waters,
Of the air above the sea-foam, Conscious only of her travail;
In the far outstretching spaces, Seven hundred years she labored
In a solitude of ether, Ere her first-born was delivered.
She descended to the ocean, Thus she swam as water-mother,
Waves her coach, and waves her pillow. Toward the east, and also southward,
Thereupon the rising storm-wind Toward the west, and also northward;
Flying from the East in fierceness, Swam the sea in all directions,
Whips the ocean into surges, Frightened at the strife of storm-winds,
Strikes the stars with sprays of ocean Swam in travail, swam unceasing,
Till the waves are white with fervor. Ere her first-born was delivered.
To and fro they toss the maiden, Then began she gently weeping,
Storm-encircled, hapless maiden; Spake these measures, heavy-hearted:
With her sport the rolling billows, “Woe is me, my life hard-fated!
With her play the storm-wind forces, Woe is me, in this my travail!
The Kalevala
Into what have I now fallen? Scarce a moment onward passes,
Woe is me, that I unhappy, Ere a beauteous duck descending,
Left my home in subtle ether, Hastens toward the water-mother,
Came to dwell amid the sea-foam, Comes a-flying hither, thither,
To be tossed by rolling billows, Seeks herself a place for nesting.
To be rocked by winds and waters, Flies she eastward, flies she westward,
On the far outstretching waters, Circles northward, circles southward,
In the salt-sea’s vast expanses, Cannot find a grassy hillock,
Knowing only pain and trouble! Not the smallest bit of verdure;
Better far for me, O Ukko! Cannot find a spot protected,
Were I maiden in the Ether, Cannot find a place befitting,
Than within these ocean-spaces, Where to make her nest in safety.
To become a water-mother! Flying slowly, looking round her,
All this life is cold and dreary, She descries no place for resting,
Painful here is every motion, Thinking loud and long debating,
As I linger in the waters, And her words are such as follow:
As I wander through the ocean. “Build I in the winds my dwelling,
Ukko, thou O God, up yonder, On the floods my place of nesting?
Thou the ruler of the heavens, Surely would the winds destroy it,
Come thou hither, thou art needed, Far away the waves would wash it.”
Come thou hither, I implore thee, Then the daughter of the Ether,
To deliver me from trouble, Now the hapless water-mother,
To deliver me in travail. Raised her shoulders out of water,
Come I pray thee, hither hasten, Raised her knees above the ocean,
Hasten more that thou art needed, That the duck might build her dwelling,
Haste and help this helpless maiden!” Build her nesting-place in safety.
When she ceased her supplications, Thereupon the duck in beauty,
The Kalevala
Flying slowly, looking round her, And the eggs fall into ocean,
Spies the shoulders of the maiden, Dash in pieces on the bottom
Sees the knees of Ether’s daughter, Of the deep and boundless waters.
Now the hapless water-mother, In the sand they do not perish,
Thinks them to be grassy hillocks, Not the pieces in the ocean;
On the blue back of the ocean. But transformed, in wondrous beauty
Thence she flies and hovers slowly, All the fragments come together
Lightly on the knee she settles, Forming pieces two in number,
Finds a nesting-place befitting, One the upper, one the lower,
Where to lay her eggs in safety. Equal to the one, the other.
Here she builds her humble dwelling, From one half the egg, the lower,
Lays her eggs within, at pleasure, Grows the nether vault of Terra:
Six, the golden eggs she lays there, From the upper half remaining,
Then a seventh, an egg of iron; Grows the upper vault of Heaven;
Sits upon her eggs to hatch them, From the white part come the moonbeams,
Quickly warms them on the knee-cap From the yellow part the sunshine,
Of the hapless water-mother; From the motley part the starlight,
Hatches one day, then a second, From the dark part grows the cloudage;
Then a third day sits and hatches. And the days speed onward swiftly,
Warmer grows the water round her, Quickly do the years fly over,
Warmer is her bed in ocean, From the shining of the new sun
While her knee with fire is kindled, From the lighting of the full moon.
And her shoulders too are burning, Still the daughter of the Ether,
Fire in every vein is coursing. Swims the sea as water-mother,
Quick the maiden moves her shoulders, With the floods outstretched before her,
Shakes her members in succession, And behind her sky and ocean.
Shakes the nest from its foundation, Finally about the ninth year,
The Kalevala
In the summer of the tenth year, Checkered stones of many colors,
Lifts her head above the surface, Gleaming in the silver sunlight,
Lifts her forehead from the waters, All the rocks stood well established;
And begins at last her workings, But the singer, Wainamoinen,
Now commences her creations, Had not yet beheld the sunshine,
On the azure water-ridges, Had not seen the golden moonlight,
On the mighty waste before her. Still remaining undelivered.
Where her hand she turned in water, Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
There arose a fertile hillock; Lingering within his dungeon
Wheresoe’er her foot she rested, Thirty summers altogether,
There she made a hole for fishes; And of winters, also thirty,
Where she dived beneath the waters, Peaceful on the waste of waters,
Fell the many deeps of ocean; On the broad-sea’s yielding bosom,
Where upon her side she turned her, Well reflected, long considered,
There the level banks have risen; How unborn to live and flourish
Where her head was pointed landward, In the spaces wrapped in darkness,
There appeared wide bays and inlets; In uncomfortable limits,
When from shore she swam a distance, Where he had not seen the moonlight,
And upon her back she rested, Had not seen the silver sunshine.
There the rocks she made and fashioned, Thereupon these words be uttered,
And the hidden reefs created, Let himself be heard in this wise:
Where the ships are wrecked so often, “Take, O Moon, I pray thee, take me,
Where so many lives have perished. Take me, thou, O Sun above me,
Thus created were the islands, Take me, thou O Bear of heaven,
Rocks were fastened in the ocean, From this dark and dreary prison,
Pillars of the sky were planted, From these unbefitting portals,
Fields and forests were created, From this narrow place of resting,
The Kalevala
From this dark and gloomy dwelling, Turning with his hands the water;
Hence to wander from the ocean, Swims he northward, swims he southward,
Hence to walk upon the islands, Swims he eastward, swims he westward,
On the dry land walk and wander, Studying his new surroundings.
Like an ancient hero wander, Thus our hero reached the water,
Walk in open air and breathe it, Rested five years in the ocean,
Thus to see the moon at evening, Six long years, and even seven years,
Thus to see the silver sunlight, Till the autumn of the eighth year,
Thus to see the Bear in heaven, When at last he leaves the waters,
That the stars I may consider.” Stops upon a promontory,
Since the Moon refused to free him, On a coast bereft of verdure;
And the Sun would not deliver, On his knees he leaves the ocean,
Nor the Great Bear give assistance, On the land he plants his right foot,
His existence growing weary, On the solid ground his left foot,
And his life but an annoyance, Quickly turns his hands about him,
Bursts he then the outer portals Stands erect to see the sunshine,
Of his dark and dismal fortress; Stands to see the golden moonlight,
With his strong, but unnamed finger, That he may behold the Great Bear,
Opens he the lock resisting; That he may the stars consider.
With the toes upon his left foot, Thus our hero, Wainamoinen,
With the fingers of his right hand, Thus the wonderful enchanter
Creeps he through the yielding portals Was delivered from his mother,
To the threshold of his dwelling; Ilmatar, the Ether’s daughter.
On his knees across the threshold,
Throws himself head foremost, forward
Plunges into deeps of ocean,
Plunges hither, plunges thither,
The Kalevala
RUNE II Many shrubs in every valley,
Birches sows he in the marshes,
SOWING In the loose soil sows the alders,
In the lowlands sows the lindens,
Then arose old Wainamoinen, In the moist earth sows the willow,
With his feet upon the island, Mountain-ash in virgin places,
On the island washed by ocean, On the banks of streams the hawthorn,
Broad expanse devoid of verdure; Junipers in hilly regions;
There remained be many summers, This the work of Pellerwoinen,
There he lived as many winters, Slender Sampsa, in his childhood.
On the island vast and vacant, Soon the fertile seeds were sprouting,
well considered, long reflected, Soon the forest trees were growing,
Who for him should sow the island, Soon appeared the tops of fir-trees,
Who for him the seeds should scatter; And the pines were far outspreading;
Thought at last of Pellerwoinen, Birches rose from all the marshes,
First-born of the plains and prairies, In the loose soil grew the alders,
When a slender boy, called Sampsa, In the mellow soil the lindens;
Who should sow the vacant island, Junipers were also growing,
Who the forest seeds should scatter. Junipers with clustered berries,
Pellerwoinen, thus consenting, Berries on the hawthorn branches.
Sows with diligence the island, Now the hero, Wainamoinen,
Seeds upon the lands he scatters, Stands aloft to look about him,
Seeds in every swamp and lowland, How the Sampsa-seeds are growing,
Forest seeds upon the loose earth, How the crop of Pellerwoinen;
On the firm soil sows the acorns, Sees the young trees thickly spreading,
Fir-trees sows he on the mountains, Sees the forest rise in beauty;
Pine-trees also on the hill-tops, But the oak-tree has not sprouted,
The Kalevala
Tree of heaven is not growing, Of the grasses raked together.
Still within the acorn sleeping, In the ashes of the windrows,
Its own happiness enjoying. Tender leaves the giant places,
Then he waited three nights longer, In the leaves he plants an acorn,
And as many days he waited, From the acorn, quickly sprouting,
Waited till a week had vanished, Grows the oak-tree, tall and stately,
Then again the work examined; From the ground enriched by ashes,
But the oak-tree was not growing, Newly raked by water-maidens;
Had not left her acorn-dwelling. Spread the oak-tree’s many branches,
Wainamoinen, ancient hero, Rounds itself a broad corona,
Spies four maidens in the distance, Raises it above the storm-clouds;
Water-brides, he spies a fifth-one, Far it stretches out its branches,
On the soft and sandy sea-shore, Stops the white-clouds in their courses,
In the dewy grass and flowers, With its branches hides the sunlight,
On a point extending seaward, With its many leaves, the moonbeams,
Near the forests of the island. And the starlight dies in heaven.
Some were mowing, some were raking, Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
Raking what was mown together, Thought awhile, and well considered,
In a windrow on the meadow. How to kill the mighty oak-tree,
From the ocean rose a giant, First created for his pleasure,
Mighty Tursas, tall and hardy, How to fell the tree majestic,
Pressed compactly all the grasses, How to lop its hundred branches.
That the maidens had been raking, Sad the lives of man and hero,
When a fire within them kindles, Sad the homes of ocean-dwellers,
And the flames shot up to heaven, If the sun shines not upon them,
Till the windrows burned to ashes, If the moonlight does not cheer them
Only ashes now remaining Is there not some mighty hero,
The Kalevala
Was there never born a giant, And the handle of his hatchet
That can fell the mighty oak-tree, Was as long as hand of woman,
That can lop its hundred branches? Of a finger’s breadth the blade was.
Wainamoinen, deeply thinking, Then the trusty Wainamoinen
Spake these words soliloquizing: Thought awhile and well considered,
“Kape, daughter of the Ether, And his measures are as follow:
Ancient mother of my being, “Art thou, sir, divine or human?
Luonnotar, my nurse and helper, Which of these thou only knowest;
Loan to me the water-forces, Tell me what thy name and station.
Great the powers of the waters; Very like a man thou lookest,
Loan to me the strength of oceans, Hast the bearing of a hero,
To upset this mighty oak-tree, Though the length of man’s first finger,
To uproot this tree of evil, Scarce as tall as hoof of reindeer.”
That again may shine the sunlight, Then again spake Wainamoinen
That the moon once more may glimmer.” To the form from out the ocean:
Straightway rose a form from oceans, “Verily I think thee human,
Rose a hero from the waters, Of the race of pigmy-heroes,
Nor belonged he to the largest, Might as well be dead or dying,
Nor belonged he to the smallest, Fit for nothing but to perish.”
Long was he as man’s forefinger, Answered thus the pigmy-hero,
Taller than the hand of woman; Spake the small one from the ocean
On his head a cap of copper, To the valiant Wainamoinen
Boots upon his feet were copper, “Truly am I god and hero,
Gloves upon his hands were copper, From the tribes that rule the ocean;
And its stripes were copper-colored, Come I here to fell the oak-tree,
Belt around him made of copper, Lop its branches with my hatchet.”
Hatchet in his belt was copper; Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
The Kalevala
Answers thus the sea-born hero: With his second step he totters
“Never hast thou force sufficient, On the land of darker color;
Not to thee has strength been given, With his third stop firmly planted,
To uproot this mighty oak-tree, Reaches he the oak-tree’s branches,
To upset this thing of evil, Strikes the trunk with sharpened hatchet,
Nor to lop its hundred branches.” With one mighty swing he strikes it,
Scarcely had he finished speaking, With a second blow he cuts it;
Scarcely had he moved his eyelids, As his blade descends the third time,
Ere the pigmy full unfolding, From his axe the sparks fly upward,
Quick becomes a mighty giant. From the oak-tree fire outshooting;
With one step he leaves the ocean, Ere the axe descends a fourth time,
Plants himself, a mighty hero, Yields the oak with hundred branches,
On the forest-fields surrounding; Shaking earth and heaven in falling.
With his head the clouds he pierces, Eastward far the trunk extending,
To his knees his beard extending, Far to westward flew the tree-tops,
And his locks fall to his ankles; To the South the leaves were scattered,
Far apart appear his eyeballs, To the North its hundred branches.
Far apart his feet are stationed. Whosoe’er a branch has taken,
Farther still his mighty shoulders. Has obtained eternal welfare;
Now begins his axe to sharpen, Who secures himself a tree-top,
Quickly to an edge he whets it, He has gained the master magic;
Using six hard blocks of sandstone, Who the foliage has gathered,
And of softer whetstones, seven. Has delight that never ceases.
Straightway to the oak-tree turning, Of the chips some had been scattered,
Thither stalks the mighty giant, Scattered also many splinters,
In his raiment long and roomy, On the blue back of the ocean,
Flapping in the winds of heaven; Of the ocean smooth and mirrored,
The Kalevala
Rocked there by the winds and waters, And again, the vines and flowers.
Like a boat upon the billows; Birds again sang in the tree-tops,
Storm-winds blew them to the Northland, Noisily the merry thrushes,
Some the ocean currents carried. And the cuckoos in the birch-trees;
Northland’s fair and slender maiden, On the mountains grew the berries,
Washing on the shore a head-dress, Golden flowers in the meadows,
Beating on the rocks her garments, And the herbs of many colors,
Rinsing there her silken raiment, Many kinds of vegetation;
In the waters of Pohyola, But the barley is not growing.
There beheld the chips and splinters, Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
Carried by the winds and waters. Goes away and well considers,
In a bag the chips she gathered, By the borders of the waters,
Took them to the ancient court-yard, On the ocean’s sandy margin,
There to make enchanted arrows, Finds six seeds of golden barley,
Arrows for the great magician, Even seven ripened kernels,
There to shape them into weapons, On the shore of upper Northland,
Weapons for the skilful archer, In the sand upon the sea-shore,
Since the mighty oak has fallen, Hides them in his trusty pouches,
Now has lost its hundred branches, Fashioned from the skin of squirrel,
That the North may see the sunshine, Some were made from skin of marten;
See the gentle gleam of moonlight, Hastens forth the seeds to scatter,
That the clouds may keep their courses, Quickly sows the barley kernels,
May extend the vault of heaven On the brinks of Kalew-waters,
Over every lake and river, On the Osma-hills and lowlands.
O’er the banks of every island. Hark! the titmouse wildly crying,
Groves arose in varied beauty, From the aspen, words as follow:
Beautifully grew the forests, “Osma’s barley will not flourish,
The Kalevala
Not the barley of Wainola, That the birch-tree thou hast left us,
If the soil be not made ready, Left the sacred birch-tree standing,
If the forest be not levelled, As a resting-place for eagles,
And the branches burned to ashes.” And for birds of every feather,
Wainamoinen, wise and ancient, Even I may rest upon it.”
Made himself an axe for chopping, Quickly then this bird of heaven,
Then began to clear the forest, Kindled fire among the branches;
Then began the trees to level, Soon the flames are fanned by north-winds,
Felled the trees of all descriptions, And the east-winds lend their forces,
Only left the birch-tree standing Burn the trees of all descriptions,
For the birds a place of resting, Burn them all to dust and ashes,
Where might sing the sweet-voiced cuckoo, Only is the birch left standing.
Sacred bird in sacred branches. Wainamoinen, wise and ancient,
Down from heaven came the eagle, Brings his magic grains of barley,
Through the air be came a-flying, Brings he forth his seven seed-grains,
That he might this thing consider; Brings them from his trusty pouches,
And he spake the words that follow: Fashioned from the skin of squirrel,
“Wherefore, ancient Wainamoinen, Some were made from skin of marten.
Hast thou left the slender birch-tree, Thence to sow his seeds he hastens,
Left the birch-tree only standing?” Hastes the barley-grains to scatter,
Wainamoinen thus made answer: Speaks unto himself these measures:
“Therefore is the birch left standing, “I the seeds of life am sowing,
That the birds may liest within it, Sowing through my open fingers,
That the eagle there may rest him, From the hand of my Creator,
There may sing the sacred cuckoo.” In this soil enriched with ashes,
Spake the eagle, thus replying: In this soil to sprout and flourish.
Good indeed, thy hero-judgment, Ancient mother, thou that livest
The Kalevala
Far below the earth and ocean, From the North-east send a rain-cloud,
Mother of the fields and forests, From the West another send us,
Bring the rich soil to producing, From the North-west, still another,
Bring the seed-grains to the sprouting, Quickly from the South a warm-cloud,
That the barley well may flourish. That the rain may fall from heaven,
Never will the earth unaided, That the clouds may drop their honey,
Yield the ripe nutritious barley; That the ears may fill and ripen,
Never will her force be wanting, That the barley-fields may rustle.”
If the givers give assistance, Thereupon benignant Ukko,
If the givers grace the sowing, Ukko, father of the heavens,
Grace the daughters of creation. Held his counsel in the cloud-space,
Rise, O earth, from out thy slumber, Held good counsel in the Ether;
From the slumber-land of ages, From the East, he sent a cloudlet,
Let the barley-grains be sprouting, From the North-east, sent a rain-cloud,
Let the blades themselves be starting, From the West another sent he,
Let the verdant stalks be rising, From the North-west, still another,
Let the ears themselves be growing, Quickly from the South a warm-cloud;
And a hundredfold producing, Joined in seams the clouds together,
From my plowing and my sowing, Sewed together all their edges,
From my skilled and honest labor. Grasped the cloud, and hurled it earthward.
Ukko, thou O God, up yonder, Quick the rain-cloud drops her honey,
Thou O Father of the heavens, Quick the rain-drops fall from heaven,
Thou that livest high in Ether, That the ears may quickly ripen,
Curbest all the clouds of heaven, That the barley crop may rustle.
Holdest in the air thy counsel, Straightway grow the seeds of barley,
Holdest in the clouds good counsel, From the germ the blade unfolding,
From the East dispatch a cloudlet, Richly colored ears arising,
The Kalevala
From the rich soil of the fallow, Sing the cuckoo’s golden flute-notes;
From the work of Wainamoinen. Call at morning, call at evening,
Here a few days pass unnoted Call within the hour of noontide,
And as many nights fly over. For the better growth of forests,
When the seventh day had journeyed, For the ripening of the barley,
On the morning of the eighth day, For the richness of, the Northland,
Wainamoinen, wise and ancient, For the joy of Kalevala.”
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,
The Kalevala
RUNE III Far away in dismal Northland,
Lived the singer, Youkahainen,
WAINAMOINEN AND YOUKAHAINEN Lapland’s young and reckless minstrel,
Once upon a time when feasting,
Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Dining with his friends and fellows,
Passed his years in full contentment, Came upon his ears the story
On the meadows of Wainola, That there lived a sweeter singer,
On the plains of Kalevala, On the meadows of Wainola,
Singing ever wondrous legends, On the plains of Kalevala,
Songs of ancient wit and wisdom, Better skilled in chanting legends,
Chanting one day, then a second, Better skilled than Youkahainen,
Singing in the dusk of evening, Better than the one that taught him.
Singing till the dawn of morning, Straightway then the bard grew angry,
Now the tales of old-time heroes, Envy rose within his bosom,
Tales of ages long forgotten, Envy of this Wainamoinen,
Now the legends of creation, Famed to be a sweeter singer;
Once familiar to the children, Hastes he angry to his mother,
By our children sung no longer, To his mother, full of wisdom,
Sung in part by many heroes, Vows that he will southward hasten,
In these mournful days of evil, Hie him southward and betake him
Evil days our race befallen. To the dwellings of Wainola,
Far and wide the story travelled, To the cabins of the Northland,
Far away men spread the knowledge There as bard to vie in battle,
Of the chanting of the hero, With the famous Wainamoinen.
Of the song of Wainamoinen; “Nay,” replies the anxious father,
To the South were heard the echoes, “Do not go to Kalevala.”
All of Northland heard the story. “Nay,” replies the fearful mother,
The Kalevala
“Go not hence to Wainamoinen, In his heart a stony burden,
There with him to offer battle; On his shoulder bow of marble,
He will charm thee with his singing On his hand a flint-stone gauntlet,
Will bewitch thee in his anger, On his brow a stony visor.”
He will drive thee back dishonored, Then the wizard, Youkahainen,
Sink thee in the fatal snow-drift, Heeding not advice paternal,
Turn to ice thy pliant fingers, Heeding not his mother’s counsel,
Turn to ice thy feet and ankles.” Leads his courser from his stable,
These the words of Youkahainen: Fire outstreaming from his nostrils,
Good the judgement of a father, From his hoofs, the sparks outshooting,
Better still, a mother’s counsel, Hitches to his sledge, the fleet-foot,
Best of all one’s own decision. To his golden sledge, the courser,
I will go and face the minstrel, Mounts impetuous his snow-sledge,
Challenge him to sing in contest, Leaps upon the hindmost cross-bench,
Challenge him as bard to battle, Strikes his courser with his birch-whip,
Sing to him my sweet-toned measures, With his birch-whip, pearl-enamelled.
Chant to him my oldest legends, Instantly the prancing racer
Chant to him my garnered wisdom, Springs away upon his journey;
That this best of boasted singers, On he, restless, plunges northward,
That this famous bard of Suomi, All day long be onward gallops,
Shall be worsted in the contest, All the next day, onward, onward,
Shall become a hapless minstrel; So the third from morn till evening,
By my songs shall I transform him, Till the third day twilight brings him
That his feet shall be as flint-stone, To the meadows of Wainola,
And as oak his nether raiment; To the plains of Kalevala.
And this famous, best of singers, As it happened, Wainamoinen,
Thus bewitched, shall carry ever, Wainamoinen, the magician,
The Kalevala
Rode that sunset on the highway, Spake at last the words that follow:
Silently for pleasure driving “I am youthful Youkahainen,
Down Wainola’s peaceful meadows, But make answer first, who thou art,
O’er the plains of Kalevala. Whence thou comest, where thou goest,
Youkahainen, young and fiery, From what lowly tribe descended?”
Urging still his foaming courser, Wainamolinen, wise and ancient,
Dashes down upon the singer, Answered thus the youthful minstrel:
Does not turn aside in meeting, “If thou art but Youkahainen,
Meeting thus in full collision; Thou shouldst give me all the highway;
Shafts are driven tight together, I am many years thy senior.”
Hames and collars wedged and tangled, Then the boastful Youkahainen
Tangled are the reins and traces. Spake again to Wainamoinen:
Thus perforce they make a stand-still, “Young or ancient, little matter,
Thus remain and well consider; Little consequence the age is;
Water drips from hame and collar, He that higher stands in wisdom,
Vapors rise from both their horses. He whose knowledge is the greater,
Speaks the minstrel, Wainamoinen: He that is the sweeter singer,
“Who art thou, and whence? Thou comest He alone shall keep the highway,
Driving like a stupid stripling, And the other take the roadside.
Wainamoinen and Youkahainen. Art thou ancient Wainamoinen,
Careless, dashing down upon me. Famous sorcerer and minstrel?
Thou hast ruined shafts and traces; Let us then begin our singing,
And the collar of my racer Let us sing our ancient legends,
Thou hast shattered into ruin, Let us chant our garnered wisdom,
And my golden sleigh is broken, That the one may hear the other,
Box and runners dashed to pieces.” That the one may judge the other,
Youkahainen then make answer, In a war of wizard sayings.”
The Kalevala
Wainamoinen, wise and ancient, Whitings live in quiet shallows,
Thus replied in modest accents: Salmon love the level bottoms;
“What I know is very little, Spawns the pike in coldest weather,
Hardly is it worth the singing, And defies the storms of winter.
Neither is my singing wondrous: Slowly perches swim in Autumn,
All my days I have resided Wry-backed, hunting deeper water,
In the cold and dreary Northland, Spawn in shallows in the summer,
In a desert land enchanted, Bounding on the shore of ocean.
In my cottage home for ayes; Should this wisdom seem too little,
All the songs that I have gathered, I can tell thee other matters,
Are the cuckoo’s simple measures, Sing thee other wizard sayings:
Some of these I may remember; All the Northmen plow with reindeer,
But since thou perforce demandest, Mother-horses plow the Southland,
I accept thy boastful challenge. Inner Lapland plows with oxen;
Tell me now, my golden youngster, All the trees on Pisa-mountain,
What thou knowest more than others, Know I well in all their grandeur;
Open now thy store of wisdom.” On the Horna-rock are fir-trees,
Thus made answer Youkahainen, Fir-trees growing tall and slender;
Lapland’s young and fiery minstrel: Slender grow the trees on mountains.
“Know I many bits of learning Three, the water-falls in number,
This I know in perfect clearness: Three in number, inland oceans,
Every roof must have a chimney, Three in number, lofty mountains,
Every fire-place have a hearth-stone; Shooting to the vault of heaven.
Lives of seal are free and merry, Hallapyora’s near to Yaemen,
Merry is the life of walrus, Katrakoski in Karyala;
Feeding on incautious salmon, Imatra, the falling water,
Daily eating perch and whiting; Tumbles, roaring, into Wuoksi.”
The Kalevala
Then the ancient Wainimoinen: Marshes are of lands the oldest;
“Women’s tales and children’s wisdom First of all the trees, the willow;
Do not please a bearded hero, Fir-trees were the first of houses;
Hero, old enough for wedlock; Hollowed stones the first of kettles.”
Tell the story of creation, Now the ancient Wainamoinen
Tell me of the world’s beginning, Thus addresses Youkahainen:
Tell me of the creatures in it, “Canst thou give me now some wisdom,
And philosophize a little.” Is this nonsense all thou knowest?”
Then the youthful Youkahainen Youkahainen thus made answer:
Thus replied to Wainamoinen: “I can tell thee still a trifle,
“Know I well the titmouse-fountains, Tell thee of the times primeval,
Pretty birdling is the titmouse; When I plowed the salt-sea’s bosom,
And the viper, green, a serpent; When I raked the sea-girt islands,
Whitings live in brackish waters; When I dug the salmon-grottoes,
Perches swim in every river; Hollowed out the deepest caverns,
Iron rusts, and rusting weakens; When I all the lakes created,
Bitter is the taste of umber; When I heaped the mountains round them,
Boiling water is malicious; When I piled the rocks about them.
Fire is ever full of danger; I was present as a hero,
First physician, the Creator; Sixth of wise and ancient heroes,
Remedy the oldest, water; Seventh of all primeval heroes,
Magic is the child of sea-foam; When the heavens were created,
God the first and best adviser; When were formed the ether-spaces,
Waters gush from every mountain; When the sky was crystal-pillared,
Fire descended first from heaven; When was arched the beauteous rainbow,
Iron from the rust was fashioned; When the Moon was placed in orbit,
Copper from the rocks created; When the silver Sun was planted,
The Kalevala
When the Bear was firmly stationed, Thou the ancient wonder-singer,
And with stars the heavens were sprinkled.” Let us try our strength with broadswords,
Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: let our blades be fully tested.”
“Thou art surely prince of liars, Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
Lord of all the host of liars; “Not thy sword and not thy wisdom,
Never wert thou in existence, Not thy prudence, nor thy cunning,
Surely wert thou never present, Do I fear a single moment.
When was plowed the salt-sea’s bosom, Let who may accept thy challenge,
When were raked the sea-girt islands, Not with thee, a puny braggart,
When were dug the salmon-grottoes, Not with one so vain and paltry,
When were hollowed out the caverns, Will I ever measure broadswords.”
When the lakes were all created, Then the youthful Youkahainen,
When were heaped the mountains round them, Mouth awry and visage sneering,
When the rocks were piled about them. Shook his golden locks and answered:
Thou wert never seen or heard of “Whoso fears his blade to measure,
When the earth was first created, Fears to test his strength at broadswords,
When were made the ether-spaces, Into wild-boar of the forest,
When the air was crystal-pillared, Swine at heart and swine in visage,
When the Moon was placed in orbit, Singing I will thus transform him;
When the silver Sun was planted, I will hurl such hero-cowards,
When the Bear was firmly stationed, This one hither, that one thither,
When the skies with stars were sprinkled.” Stamp him in the mire and bedding,
Then in anger Youkahainen In the rubbish of the stable.”
Answered ancient Wainamoinen: Angry then grew Wainamoinen,
“Then, sir, since I fail in wisdom, Wrathful waxed, and fiercely frowning,
With the sword I offer battle; Self-composed he broke his silence,
Come thou, famous bard and minstrel, And began his wondrous singing.
The Kalevala
Sang he not the tales of childhood, Hames and traces are as fir-boughs,
Children’s nonsense, wit of women, And his collar, straw and sea-grass.
Sang he rather bearded heroes, Still the minstrel sings enchantment,
That the children never heard of, Sings his sword with golden handle,
That the boys and maidens knew not Sings it into gleam of lightning,
Known but half by bride and bridegroom, Hangs it in the sky above him;
Known in part by many heroes, Sings his cross-bow, gaily painted,
In these mournful days of evil, To a rainbow o’er the ocean;
Evil times our race befallen. Sings his quick and feathered arrows
Grandly sang wise Wainamoinen, Into hawks and screaming eagles;
Till the copper-bearing mountains, Sings his dog with bended muzzle,
And the flinty rocks and ledges Into block of stone beside him;
Heard his magic tones and trembled; Sings his cap from off his forehead,
Mountain cliffs were torn to pieces, Sings it into wreaths of vapor;
All the ocean heaved and tumbled; From his hands he sings his gauntlets
And the distant hills re-echoed. Into rushes on the waters;
Lo! the boastful Youkahainen Sings his vesture, purple-colored,
Is transfixed in silent wonder, Into white clouds in the heavens;
And his sledge with golden trimmings Sings his girdle, set with jewels,
Floats like brushwood on the billows; Into twinkling stars around him;
Sings his braces into reed-grass, And alas! for Youkahainen,
Sings his reins to twigs of willow, Sings him into deeps of quick-sand;
And to shrubs his golden cross-bench. Ever deeper, deeper, deeper,
Lo! his birch-whip, pearl-enameled, In his torture, sinks the wizard,
Floats a reed upon the border; To his belt in mud and water.
Lo! his steed with golden forehead, Now it was that Youkahainen
Stands a statue on the waters; Comprehended but too clearly
The Kalevala
What his folly, what the end was, Lift thee from thy slough of horror,
Of the journey he had ventured, Loose thee from thy stony prison,
Vainly he had undertaken Free thee from thy killing torment?”
For the glory of a contest Answered youthful Youkahainen:
With the grand, old Wainamoinen. “Have at home two magic cross-bows,
When at last young Youkahainen, Pair of bows of wondrous power,
Pohyola’s old and sorry stripling, One so light a child can bend it,
Strives his best to move his right foot, Only strength can bend the other,
But alas! the foot obeys not; Take of these the one that pleases.”
When he strives to move his left foot, Then the ancient Wainamoinen:
Lo! he finds it turned to flint-stone. “Do not wish thy magic cross-bows,
Thereupon sad Youkahainen, Have a few of such already,
In the deeps of desperation, Thine to me are worse than useless
And in earnest supplication, I have bows in great abundance,
Thus addresses Wainamoinen: Bows on every nail and rafter,
“O thou wise and worthy minstrel, Bows that laugh at all the hunters,
Thou the only true, magician, Bows that go themselves a-hunting.”
Cease I pray thee thine enchantment,. Then the ancient Wainamoinen
Only turn away thy magic, Sang alas! poor Youkahainen
Let me leave this slough of horror, Deeper into mud and water,
Loose me from this stony prison, Deeper in the slough of torment.
Free me from this killing torment, Youkahainen thus made answer:
I will pay a golden ransom.” “Have at home two magic shallops,
Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: Beautiful the boats and wondrous;
“What the ransom thou wilt give me One rides light upon the ocean,
If I cease from mine enchantment, One is made for heavy burdens;
If I turn away my magic, Take of these the one that pleases.”
The Kalevala
Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: Deeper, deeper into torment,
“Do not wish thy magic shallops, To his shoulders into water.
Have enough of such already; Spake again young Youkahainen:
All my bays are full of shallops, “O thou ancient Wainamoinen,
All my shores are lined with shallops, Thou the only true magician,
Some before the winds are sailors, Cease I pray thee thine enchantment,
Some were built to sail against them.” Only turn away thy magic,
Still the Wainola bard and minstrel I will give thee gold abundant,
Sings again poor Youkahainen Countless stores of shining silver;
Deeper, deeper into torment, From the wars my father brought it,
Into quicksand to his girdle, Brought it from the hard-fought battles.”
Till the Lapland bard in anguish Spake the wise, old Wainamoinen:
Speaks again to Wainamoinen: “For thy gold I have no longing,
“Have at home two magic stallions, Neither do I wish thy silver,
One a racer, fleet as lightning, Have enough of each already;
One was born for heavy burdens; Gold abundant fills my chambers,
Take of these the one that pleases.” On each nail hang bags of silver,
Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: Gold that glitters in the sunshine,
“Neither do I wish thy stallions, Silver shining in the moonlight.”
Do not need thy hawk-limbed stallions, Sank the braggart, Youkahainen,
Have enough of these already; Deeper in his slough of torment,
Magic stallions swarm my stables, To his chin in mud and water,
Eating corn at every manger, Ever praying, thus beseeching:
Broad of back to hold the water, “O thou ancient Wainamoinen,
Water on each croup in lakelets.” Greatest of the old magicians,
Still the bard of Kalevala Lift me from this pit of horror,
Sings the hapless Lapland minstrel From this prison-house of torture;
The Kalevala
I will give thee all my corn-fields, I will give thee sister, Aino,
Give thee all my corn in garners, Fairest daughter of my mother,
Thus my hapless life to ransom, Bride of thine to be forever,
Thus to gain eternal freedom.” Bride of thine to do thy pleasure,
Wainamoinen thus made answer: Sweep the rooms within thy cottage,
“Take thy corn to other markets, Keep thy dwelling-place in order,
Give thy garners to the needy; Rinse for thee the golden platters,
I have corn in great abundance, Spread thy couch with finest linens,
Fields have I in every quarter, For thy bed, weave golden covers,
Corn in all my fields is growing; Bake for thee the honey-biscuit.”
One’s own fields are always richer, Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
One’s own grain is much the sweeter.” Finds at last the wished-for ransom,
Lapland’s young and reckless minstrel, Lapland’s young and fairest daughter,
Sorrow-laden, thus enchanted, Sister dear of Youkahainen;
Deeper sinks in mud and water, Happy he, that he has won him,
Fear-enchained and full of anguish, In his age a beauteous maiden,
In the mire, his beard bedrabbled, Bride of his to be forever,
Mouth once boastful filled with sea-weed, Pride and joy of Kalevala.
In the grass his teeth entangled, Now the happy Wainamoinen,
Youkahainen thus beseeches: Sits upon the rock of gladness,
“O thou ancient Wainamoinen, Joyful on the rock of music,
Wisest of the wisdom-singers, Sings a little, sings and ceases,
Cease at last thine incantations, Sings again, and sings a third time,
Only turn away thy magic, Thus to break the spell of magic,
And my former life restore me, Thus to lessen the enchantment,
Lift me from this stifling torment, Thus the potent charm to banish.
Free mine eyes from sand and water, As the magic spell is broken,
The Kalevala
Youkahainen, sad, but wiser, Head depressed and mind dejected,
Drags his feet from out the quicksand, Eyes and lips expressing sadness,
Lifts his beard from out the water, Answers not his anxious father.
From the rocks leads forth his courser, Then the mother quickly asked him,
Brings his sledge back from the rushes, Sought to find his cause for sorrow:
Calls his whip back from the ocean, “Tell me, first-born, why thou weepest,
Sets his golden sledge in order, Why thou weepest, heavy-hearted,
Throws himself upon the cross-bench, Why thy mind is so dejected,
Snaps his whip and hies him homeward, Why thine eyes express such sadness.”
Hastens homeward, heavy-hearted, Youkahainen then made answer:
Sad indeed to meet his mother, “Golden mother, ever faithful,
Aino’s mother, gray and aged. Cause there is to me sufficient,
Careless thus be hastens homeward, Cause enough in what has happened,
Nears his home with noise and bustle, Bitter cause for this my sorrow,
Reckless drives against the pent-house, Cause for bitter tears and murmurs:
Breaks the shafts against the portals, All my days will pass unhappy,
Breaks his handsome sledge in pieces. Since, O mother of my being,
Then his mother, quickly guessing, I have promised beauteous Aino,
Would have chided him for rashness, Aino, thy beloved daughter,
But the father interrupted: Aino, my devoted sister,
“Wherefore dost thou break thy snow-sledge, To decrepit Wainamoinen,
Wherefore dash thy thills in fragments, Bride to be to him forever,
Wherefore comest home so strangely, Roof above him, prop beneath him,
Why this rude and wild behavior?” Fair companion at his fire-side.”
Now alas! poor Youkahainen, Joyful then arose the mother,
Cap awry upon his forehead, Clapped her hands in glee together,
Falls to weeping, broken-hearted, Thus addressing Youkahainen:
The Kalevala
“Weep no more, my son beloved, Cause enough for bitter weeping:
Thou hast naught to cause thy weeping, I must loose my sunny tresses,
Hast no reason for thy sorrow, Tresses beautiful and golden,
Often I this hope have cherished; Cannot deck my hair with jewels,
Many years have I been praying Cannot bind my head with ribbons,
That this mighty bard and hero, All to be hereafter hidden
Wise and valiant Wainamoinen, Underneath the linen bonnet
Spouse should be to beauteous Aino, That the wife. must wear forever;
Son-in-law to me, her mother.” Weep at morning, weep at evening,
But the fair and lovely maiden, Weep alas! for waning beauty,
Sister dear of Youkahainen, Childhood vanished, youth departed,
Straightway fell to bitter weeping, Silver sunshine, golden moonlight,
On the threshold wept and lingered, Hope and pleasure of my childhood,
Wept all day and all the night long, Taken from me now forever,
Wept a second, then a third day, And so soon to be forgotten
Wept because a bitter sorrow At the tool-bench of my brother,
On her youthful heart had fallen. At the window of my sister,
Then the gray-haired mother asked her: In the cottage of my father.”
“Why this weeping, lovely Aino? Spake again the gray-haired mother
Thou hast found a noble suitor, To her wailing daughter Aino:
Thou wilt rule his spacious dwelling, “Cease thy sorrow, foolish maiden,
At his window sit and rest thee, By thy tears thou art ungrateful,
Rinse betimes his golden platters, Reason none for thy repining,
Walk a queen within his dwelling.” Not the slightest cause for weeping;
Thus replied the tearful Aino: Everywhere the silver sunshine
“Mother dear, and all-forgiving, Falls as bright on other households;
Cause enough for this my sorrow, Not alone the moonlight glimmers
The Kalevala
Through thy father’s open windows, RUNE IV
On the work-bench of thy brother;
Flowers bloom in every meadow, THE FATE OF AINO
Berries grow on every mountain;
Thou canst go thyself and find them, When the night had passed, the maiden,
All the day long go and find them; Sister fair of Youkahainen,
Not alone thy brother’s meadows Hastened early to the forest,
Grow the beauteous vines and flowers; Birchen shoots for brooms to gather,
Not alone thy father’s mountains Went to gather birchen tassels;
Yield the ripe, nutritious berries; Bound a bundle for her father,
Flowers bloom in other meadows, Bound a birch-broom for her mother,
Berries grow on other mountains, Silken tassels for her sister.
There as here, my lovely Aino.” 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.”
The Kalevala
Thus the maiden quickly answered: From my belt, the clasp of copper,
“Not for thee and not for others, From my waist, the belt of silver,
Hang I from my neck the crosslet, Golden was my pretty crosslet.”
Deck my hair with silken ribbons; Near the door-way sat her brother,
Need no more the many trinkets Carving out a birchen ox-bow:
Brought to me by ship or shallop; “Why art weeping, lovely Aino,
Sooner wear the simplest raiment, Aino, my devoted sister?”
Feed upon the barley bread-crust, “Cause enough for weeping, brother,
Dwell forever with my mother Good the reasons for my mourning
In the cabin with my father.” Therefore come I as thou seest,
Then she threw the gold cross from her, Rings no longer on my fingers,
Tore the jewels from her fingers, On my neck no pretty necklace;
Quickly loosed her shining necklace, Golden were the rings thou gavest,
Quick untied her silken ribbons, And the necklace, pearls and silver!”
Cast them all away indignant On the threshold sat her sister,
Into forest ferns and flowers. Weaving her a golden girdle:
Thereupon the maiden, Aino, “Why art weeping, beauteous Aino,
Hastened to her mother’s cottage. Aino, my beloved sister?”
At the window sat her father “Cause enough for weeping, sister,
Whittling on an oaken ax-helve: Good the reasons for my sorrow:
“Wherefore weepest, beauteous Aino, Therefore come I as thou seest,
Aino, my beloved daughter? On my head no scarlet fillet,
“Cause enough for weeping, father, In my hair no braids of silver,
Good the reasons for my mourning, On mine arms no purple ribbons,
This, the reason for my weeping, Round my neck no shining necklace,
This, the cause of all my sorrow: On my breast no golden crosslet,
From my breast I tore the crosslet, In mine ears no golden ear-rings.”
The Kalevala
Near the door-way of the dairy, Then I threw the gold-cross from me,
Skimming cream, sat Aino’s mother. Tore the jewels from my fingers,
“Why art weeping, lovely Aino, Quickly loosed my shining necklace,
Aino, my devoted daughter?” Quick untied my silken ribbons,
Thus the sobbing maiden answered; Cast them all away indignant,
“Loving mother, all-forgiving, Into forest ferns and flowers.
Cause enough for this my weeping, Then I thus addressed the singer:
Good the reasons for my sorrow, ‘Not for thee and not for others,
Therefore do I weep, dear mother: Hang I from my neck the crosslet,
I have been within the forest, Deck my hair with silken ribbons;
Brooms to bind and shoots to gather, Need no more the many trinkets,
There to pluck some birchen tassels; Brought to me by ship and shallop;
Bound a bundle for my father, Sooner wear the simplest raiment,
Bound a second for my mother, Feed upon the barley bread-crust,
Bound a third one for my brother, Dwell forever with my mother
For my sister silken tassels. In the cabin with my father.’”
Straightway then I hastened homeward, Thus the gray-haired mother answered
By a foot-path left the forest; Aino, her beloved daughter:
As I reached the woodland border “Weep no more, my lovely maiden,
Spake Osmoinen from the cornfield, Waste no more of thy sweet young-life;
Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: One year eat thou my sweet butter,
‘Wear not, beauteous maid, for others, It will make thee strong and ruddy;
Only wear for me, sweet maiden, Eat another year fresh bacon,
On thy breast a golden crosslet, It will make thee tall and queenly;
Shining pearls upon thy shoulders, Eat a third year only dainties,
Bind for me thine auburn tresses, It will make thee fair and lovely.
Weave for me thy silver braidlets.’ Now make haste to yonder hill-top,
The Kalevala
To the store-house on the mountain, To a poor, but worthy maiden;
Open there the large compartment, Give thy gold, O Sun’s sweet virgins,
Thou will find it filled with boxes, To this maiden, young and needy.’
Chests and cases, trunks and boxes; Thereupon the Moon’s fair daughters
Open thou the box, the largest, Gave me silver from their coffers;
Lift away the gaudy cover, And the Sun’s sweet shining virgins
Thou will find six golden girdles, Gave me gold from their abundance,
Seven rainbow-tinted dresses, Gold to deck my throbbing temples,
Woven by the Moon’s fair daughters, For my hair the shining silver.
Fashioned by the Sun’s sweet virgins. Then I hastened joyful homeward,
In my young years once I wandered, Richly laden with my treasures,
As a maiden on the mountains, Happy to my mother’s cottage;
In the happy days of childhood, Wore them one day, than a second,
Hunting berries in the coppice; Then a third day also wore them,
There by chance I heard the daughters Took the gold then from my temples,
Of the Moon as they were weaving; From my hair I took the silver,
There I also heard the daughters Careful laid them in their boxes,
Of the Sun as they were spinning Many seasons have they lain there,
On the red rims of the cloudlets, Have not seen them since my childhood.
O’er the blue edge of the forest, Deck thy brow with silken ribbon,
On the border of the pine-wood, Trim with gold thy throbbing temples,
On a high and distant mountain. And thy neck with pearly necklace,
I approached them, drawing nearer, Hang the gold-cross on thy bosom,
Stole myself within their hearing, Robe thyself in pure, white linen
Then began I to entreat them, Spun from flax of finest fiber;
Thus besought them, gently pleading: Wear withal the richest short-frock,
‘Give thy silver, Moon’s fair daughters, Fasten it with golden girdle;
The Kalevala
On thy feet, put silken stockings, Like the crystal waters flowing.
With the shoes of finest leather; Unto what, the biting sorrow
Deck thy hair with golden braidlets, Of the child of cold misfortune?
Bind it well with threads of silver; Like the spirit of the sea-duck,
Trim with rings thy fairy fingers, Like the icicle in winter,
And thy hands with dainty ruffles; Water in the well imprisoned.
Come bedecked then to thy chamber, Often roamed my mind in childhood,
Thus return to this thy household, When a maiden free and merry,
To the greeting of thy kindred, Happily through fen and fallow,
To the joy of all that know thee, Gamboled on the meads with lambkins,
Flushed thy cheeks as ruddy berries, Lingered with the ferns and flowers,
Coming as thy father’s sunbeam, Knowing neither pain nor trouble;
Walking beautiful and queenly, Now my mind is filled with sorrow,
Far more beautiful than moonlight.” Wanders though the bog and stubble,
Thus she spake to weeping Aino, Wanders weary through the brambles,
Thus the mother to her daughter; Roams throughout the dismal forest,
But the maiden, little bearing, Till my life is filled with darkness,
Does not heed her mother’s wishes; And my spirit white with anguish.
Straightway hastens to the court-yard, Better had it been for Aino
There to weep in bitter sorrow, Had she never seen the sunlight,
All alone to weep in anguish. Or if born had died an infant,
Waiting long the wailing Aino Had not lived to be a maiden
Thus at last soliloquizes: In these days of sin and sorrow,
“Unto what can I now liken Underneath a star so luckless.
Happy homes and joys of fortune? Better had it been for Aino,
Like the waters in the river, Had she died upon the eighth day
Like the waves in yonder lakelet, After seven nights had vanished;
The Kalevala
Needed then but little linen, And the friend of perch and salmon;
Needed but a little coffin, Better far to ride the billows,
And a grave of smallest measure; Swim the sea-foam as a mermaid,
Mother would have mourned a little, And the friend of nimble fishes,
Father too perhaps a trifle, Than to be an old man’s solace,
Sister would have wept the day through, Prop to stay him when be totters,
Brother might have shed a tear-drop, Hand to aid him when he trembles,
Thus had ended all the mourning.” Arm to guide him when he falters,
Thus poor Aino wept and murmured, Strength to give him when he weakens;
Wept one day, and then a second, Better be the whiting’s sister
Wept a third from morn till even, And the friend of perch and salmon,
When again her mother asked her: Than an old man’s slave and darling.”
“Why this weeping, fairest daughter, Ending thus she left her mother,
Darling daughter, why this grieving? Straightway hastened to the mountain?
Thus the tearful maiden answered: To the store-house on the summit,
Therefore do I weep and sorrow, Opened there the box the largest,
Wretched maiden all my life long, From the box six lids she lifted,
Since poor Aino, thou hast given, Found therein six golden girdles,
Since thy daughter thou hast promised Silken dresses seven in number.
To the aged Wainamoinen, Choosing such as pleased her fancy,
Comfort to his years declining She adorned herself as bidden,
Prop to stay him when he totters, Robed herself to look her fairest,
In the storm a roof above him, Gold upon her throbbing temples,
In his home a cloak around him; In her hair the shining silver,
Better far if thou hadst sent me On her shoulders purple ribbons,
Far below the salt-sea surges, Band of blue around her forehead,
To become the whiting’s sister, Golden cross, and rings, and jewels,
The Kalevala
Fitting ornaments to beauty. Lovely sister, dry thine eyelids,
Now she leaves her many treasures, Do not mourn me, dearest brother,
Leaves the store-house on the mountain, When I sink beneath the sea-foam,
Filled with gold and silver trinkets, Make my home in salmon-grottoes,
Wanders over field and meadow, Make my bed in crystal waters,
Over stone-fields waste and barren, Water-ferns my couch and pillow.”
Wanders on through fen and forest, All day long poor Aino wandered,
Through the forest vast and cheerless, All the next day, sad and weary,
Wanders hither, wanders thither, So the third from morn till evening,
Singing careless as she wanders, Till the cruel night enwrapped her,
This her mournful song and echo: As she reached the sandy margin,
“Woe is me, my life hard-fated! Reached the cold and dismal sea-shore,
Woe to Aino, broken-hearted! Sat upon the rock of sorrow,
Torture racks my heart and temples, Sat alone in cold and darkness,
Yet the sting would not be deeper, Listened only to the music
Nor the pain and anguish greater, Of the winds and rolling billows,
If beneath this weight of sorrow, Singing all the dirge of Aino.
In my saddened heart’s dejection, All that night the weary maiden
I should yield my life forever, Wept and wandered on the border
Now unhappy, I should perish! Through the sand and sea-washed pebbles.
Lo! the time has come for Aino As the day dawns, looking round her,
From this cruel world to hasten, She beholds three water-maidens,
To the kingdom of Tuoni, On a headland jutting seaward,
To the realm of the departed, Water-maidens four in number,
To the isle of the hereafter. Sitting on the wave-lashed ledges,
Weep no more for me, O Father, Swimming now upon the billows,
Mother dear, withhold thy censure, Now upon the rocks reposing.
The Kalevala
Quick the weeping maiden, Aino, Falls the weeping maiden, Aino,
Hastens there to join the mermaids, Clinging to its craggy edges,
Fairy maidens of the waters. Sinking far below the surface,
Weeping Aino, now disrobing, To the bottom of the blue-sea.
Lays aside with care her garments, Thus the weeping maiden vanished.
Hangs her silk robes on the alders, Thus poor Aino sank and perished,
Drops her gold-cross on the sea-shore, Singing as the stone descended,
On the aspen hangs her ribbons, Chanting thus as she departed:
On the rocks her silken stockings, Once to swim I sought the sea-side,
On the grass her shoes of deer-skin, There to sport among the billows;
In the sand her shining necklace, With the stone or many colors
With her rings and other jewels. Sank poor Aino to the bottom
Out at sea a goodly distance, Of the deep and boundless blue-sea,
Stood a rock of rainbow colors, Like a pretty son-bird. perished.
Glittering in silver sunlight. Never come a-fishing, father,
Toward it springs the hapless maiden, To the borders of these waters,
Thither swims the lovely Aino, Never during all thy life-time,
Up the standing-stone has clambered, As thou lovest daughter Aino.
Wishing there to rest a moment, “Mother dear, I sought the sea-side,
Rest upon the rock of beauty; There to sport among the billows;
When upon a sudden swaying With the stone of many colors,
To and fro among the billows, Sank poor Aino to the bottom
With a crash and roar of waters Of the deep and boundless blue-sea,
Falls the stone of many colors, Like a pretty song-bird perished.
Falls upon the very bottom Never mix thy bread, dear mother,
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea. With the blue-sea’s foam and waters,
With the stone of rainbow colors, Never during all thy life-time,
The Kalevala
As thou lovest daughter Aino. All the willows on the sea-side
Brother dear, I sought the sea-side, Shall be Aino’s ribs hereafter;
There to sport among the billows; All the sea-grass on the margin
With the stone of many colors Will have grown from Aino’s tresses.”
Sank poor Aino to the bottom Thus at last the maiden vanished,
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Thus the lovely Aino perished.
Like a pretty song-bird perished. Who will tell the cruel story,
Never bring thy prancing war-horse, Who will bear the evil tidings
Never bring thy royal racer, To the cottage of her mother,
Never bring thy steeds to water, Once the home of lovely Aino?
To the borders of the blue-sea, Will the bear repeat the story,
Never during all thy life-time, Tell the tidings to her mother?
As thou lovest sister Aino. Nay, the bear must not be herald,
“Sister dear, I sought the sea-side, He would slay the herds of cattle.
There to sport among the billows; Who then tell the cruel story,
With the stone of many colors Who will bear the evil tidings
Sank poor Aino to the bottom To the cottage of her father,
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Once the home of lovely Aino?
Like a pretty song-bird perished. Shall the wolf repeat the story,
Never come to lave thine eyelids Tell the sad news to her father?
In this rolling wave and sea-foam, Nay, the wolf must not be herald,
Never during all thy life-time, He would eat the gentle lambkins.
As thou lovest sister Aino. Who then tell the cruel story,
All the waters in the blue-sea Who will bear the evil tidings.
Shall be blood of Aino’s body; To the cottage of her sister?
All the fish that swim these waters ‘Will the fox repeat the story
Shall be Aino’s flesh forever; Tell the tidings to her sister?
The Kalevala
Nay, the fox must not be herald, Hie there, Big-eye, or we’ll stew thee,
He would eat the ducks and chickens. Roast thee for our lady’s breakfast,
Who then tell the cruel story, Stew thee for our master’s dinner,
Who will bear the evil tidings Make of thee a meal for Aino,
To the cottage of her brother, And her brother, Youkahainen!
Once the home of lovely Aino? Better therefore thou shouldst gallop
Shall the hare repeat the story, To thy burrow in the mountains,
Bear the sad news to her brother? Than be roasted for our dinners.”
Yea, the hare shall be the herald, Then the haughty hare made answer,
Tell to all the cruel story. Chanting thus the fate of Aino:
Thus the harmless hare makes answer: “Think ye not I journey hither,
“I will bear the evil tidings To be roasted in the skillet,
To the former home of Aino, To be stewed in yonder kettle
Tell the story to her kindred.” Let fell Lempo fill thy tables!
Swiftly flew the long-eared herald, I have come with evil tidings,
Like the winds be hastened onward, Come to tell the cruel story
Galloped swift as flight of eagles; Of the flight and death of Aino,
Neck awry he bounded forward Sister dear of Youkahainen.
Till he gained the wished-for cottage, With the stone of many colors
Once the home of lovely Aino. Sank poor Aino to the bottom
Silent was the home, and vacant; Of the deep and boundless waters,
So he hastened to the bath-house, Like a pretty song-bird perished;
Found therein a group of maidens, Hung her ribbons on the aspen,
Working each upon a birch-broom. Left her gold-cross on the sea-shore,
Sat the hare upon the threshold, Silken robes upon the alders,
And the maidens thus addressed him: On the rocks her silken stockings,
“Hie e there, Long-legs, or we’ll roast thee, On the grass her shoes of deer-skin,
The Kalevala
In the sand her shining necklace, Till they touch her shoes of deer-skin;
In the sand her rings and jewels; Then beneath her shoes of deer-skin,
In the waves, the lovely Aino, Flowing on and flowing ever,
Sleeping on the very bottom Part to earth as its possession,
Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Part to water as its portion.
In the caverns of the salmon, As the tear-drops fall and mingle,
There to be the whiting’s sister Form they streamlets three in number,
And the friend of nimble fishes.” And their source, the mother’s eyelids,
Sadly weeps the ancient mother Streamlets formed from pearly tear-drops,
From her blue-eyes bitter tear-drops, Flowing on like little rivers,
As in sad and wailing measures, And each streamlet larger growing,
Broken-hearted thus she answers: Soon becomes a rushing torrent
“Listen, all ye mothers, listen, In each rushing, roaring torrent
Learn from me a tale of wisdom: There a cataract is foaming,
Never urge unwilling daughters Foaming in the silver sunlight;
From the dwellings of their fathers, From the cataract’s commotion
To the bridegrooms that they love not, Rise three pillared rocks in grandeur;
Not as I, inhuman mother, From each rock, upon the summit,
Drove away my lovely Aino, Grow three hillocks clothed in verdure;
Fairest daughter of the Northland.” From each hillock, speckled birches,
Sadly weeps the gray-haired mother, Three in number, struggle skyward;
And the tears that fall are bitter, On the summit of each birch-tree
Flowing down her wrinkled visage, Sits a golden cuckoo calling,
Till they trickle on her bosom; And the three sing, all in concord:
Then across her heaving bosom, “Love! O Love! the first one calleth;
Till they reach her garment’s border; Sings the second, Suitor! Suitor!
Then adown her silken stockings, And the third one calls and echoes,
The Kalevala
“Consolation! Consolation!” RUNE V
He that “Love! O Love!” is calling,
Calls three moons and calls unceasing, WAINAVOINEN’S L
For the love-rejecting maiden
Sleeping in the deep sea-castles. Far and wide the tidings travelled,
He that “Suitor! Suitor!” singeth, Far away men heard the story
Sings six moons and sings unceasing Of the flight and death of Aino,
For the suitor that forever Sister dear of Youkahainen,
Sings and sues without a hearing. Fairest daughter of creation.
He that sadly sings and echoes,
Wainamoinen, brave and truthful,
“Consolation! Consolation!”
Straightway fell to bitter weeping,
Sings unceasing all his life long
Wept at morning, wept at evening,
For the broken-hearted mother
Sleepless, wept the dreary night long,
That must mourn and weep forever.
That his Aino had departed,
When the lone and wretched mother
Heard the sacred cuckoo singing, That the maiden thus had vanished,
Spake she thus, and sorely weeping: Thus had sunk upon the bottom
“When I hear the cuckoo calling, Of the blue-sea, deep and boundless.
Then my heart is filled with sorrow; Filled with grief, the ancient singer,
Tears unlock my heavy eyelids, Wainamoinen of the Northland,
Flow adown my, furrowed visage, Heavy-hearted, sorely weeping,
Tears as large as silver sea pearls; Hastened to the restless waters,
Older grow my wearied elbows, This the suitor’s prayer and question:
Weaker ply my aged fingers, “Tell, Untamo, tell me, dreamer,
Wearily, in all its members, Tell me, Indolence, thy visions,
Does my body shake in palsy, Where the water-gods may linger,
When I hear the cuckoo singing, Where may rest Wellamo’s maidens?”
Hear the sacred cuckoo calling.” Then Untamo, thus made answer,
The Kalevala
Lazily he told his dreamings: Trolls it quickly through the waters,
“Over there, the mermaid-dwellings, Turning on a copper swivel
Yonder live Wellamo’s maidens, Dangling from a silver fish-line,
On the headland robed in verdure, Golden is the hook he uses.
On the forest-covered island, Now he tries his silken fish-net,
In the deep, pellucid waters, Angles long, and angles longer,
On the purple-colored sea-shore; Angles one day, then a second,
Yonder is the home or sea-maids, In the morning, in the evening,
There the maidens of Wellamo, Angles at the hour of noontide,
Live there in their sea-side chambers, Many days and nights he angles,
Rest within their water-caverns, Till at last, one sunny morning,
On the rocks of rainbow colors, Strikes a fish of magic powers,
On the juttings of the sea-cliffs.” Plays like salmon on his fish-line,
Straightway hastens Wainamoinen Lashing waves across the waters,
To a boat-house on the sea-shore, Till at length the fish exhausted
Looks with care upon the fish-hooks, Falls a victim to the angler,
And the lines he well considers; Safely landed in the bottom
Lines, and hooks, and poles, arid fish-nets, Of the hero’s boat of copper.
Places in a boat of copper, Wainamoinen, proudly viewing,
Then begins he swiftly rowing Speaks these words in wonder guessing:
To the forest-covered island, “This the fairest of all sea-fish,
To the point enrobed In verdure, Never have I seen its equal,
To the purple-colored headland, Smoother surely than the salmon,
Where the sea-nymphs live and linger. Brighter-spotted than the trout is,
Hardly does he reach the island Grayer than the pike of Suomi,
Ere the minstrel starts to angle; Has less fins than any female,
Far away he throws his fish-hook, Not the fins of any male fish,
The Kalevala
Not the stripes of sea-born maidens, “Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
Not the belt of any mermaid, Do not think that I came hither
Not the ears of any song-bird, To be fished for as a salmon,
Somewhat like our Northland salmon Only to be chopped in pieces,
From the blue-sea’s deepest caverns.” Dressed and eaten like a whiting
In his belt the ancient hero Make for thee a dainty breakfast,
Wore a knife insheathed with silver; Make for thee a meal at midday,
From its case he drew the fish-knife, Make for thee a toothsome supper,
Thus to carve the fish in pieces, Make the fourth meal of the Northland.”
Dress the nameless fish for roasting, Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
Make of it a dainty breakfast, “Wherefore didst thou then come hither,
Make of it a meal at noon-day, If it be not for my dinner?”
Make for him a toothsome supper, Thus the nameless fish made answer:
Make the later meal at evening. “Hither have I come, O minstrel,
Straightway as the fish he touches, In thine arms to rest and linger,
Touches with his knife of silver, And thyself to love and cherish,
Quick it leaps upon the waters, At thy side a life-companion,
Dives beneath the sea’s smooth surface, And thy wife to be forever;
From the boat with copper bottom, Deck thy couch with snowy linen,
From the skiff of Wainamoinen. Smooth thy head upon the pillow,
In the waves at goodly distance, Sweep thy rooms and make them cheery,
Quickly from the sea it rises Keep thy dwelling-place in order,
On the sixth and seventh billows, Build a fire for thee when needed,
Lifts its head above the waters, Bake for thee the honey-biscuit,
Out of reach of fishing-tackle, Fill thy cup with barley-water,
Then addresses Wainamoinen, Do for thee whatever pleases.
Chiding thus the ancient hero: “I am not a scaly sea-fish,
The Kalevala
Not a trout of Northland rivers, From the surface of the billow
Not a whiting from the waters, To the many-colored pebbles,
Not a salmon of the North-seas, To the rainbow-tinted grottoes
I, a young and merry maiden, Where the mermaids live and linger.
Friend and sister of the fishes, Wainamoinen, not discouraged,
Youkahainen’s youngest sister, Thought afresh and well reflected,
I, the one that thou dost fish for, How to live, and work, and win her;
I am Aino whom thou lovest. Drew with care his silken fish-net,
“Once thou wert the wise-tongued hero, To and fro through foam and billow,
Now the foolish Wainamoinen, Through the bays and winding channels,
Scant of insight, scant of judgment, Drew it through the placid waters,
Didst not know enough to keep me, Drew it through the salmon-dwellings,
Cruel-hearted, bloody-handed, Through the homes of water-maidens,
Tried to kill me with thy fish-knife, Through the waters of Wainola,
So to roast me for thy dinner; Through the blue-back of the ocean,
I, a mermaid of Wellamo, Through the lakes of distant Lapland,
Once the fair and lovely Aino, Through the rivers of Youkola,
Sister dear of Youkahainen.” Through the seas of Kalevala,
Spake the ancient Wainamoinen, Hoping thus to find his Aino.
Filled with sorrow, much regretting: Many were the fish be landed,
“Since thou’rt Youkahainen’s sister, Every form of fish-like creatures,
Beauteous Aino of Pohyola, But be did not catch the sea-maid,
Come to me again I pray thee!” Not Wellamo’s water-maiden,
Thus the mermaid wisely answered; Fairest daughter of the Northland.
Nevermore will Aino’s spirit Finally the ancient minstrel,
Fly to thee and be ill-treated.” Mind depressed, and heart discouraged,
Quickly dived the water-maiden Spake these words, immersed in sorrow:
The Kalevala
“Fool am I, and great my folly, Straightway hastened to his country,
Having neither wit nor judgment; To his home in Kalevala,
Surely once I had some knowledge, Spake these words upon his journey:
Had some insight into wisdom, “What has happened to the cuckoo,
Had at least a bit of instinct; Once the cuckoo bringing gladness,
But my virtues all have left me In the morning, in the evening,
In these mournful days of evil, Often bringing joy at noontide?
Vanished with my youth and vigor, What has stilled the cuckoo’s singing,
Insight gone, and sense departed, What has changed the cuckoo’s calling?
All my prudence gone to others! Sorrow must have stilled his singing,
Aino, whom I love and cherish, And compassion changed his calling,
All these years have sought to honor, As I hear him sing no longer,
Aino, now Wellamo’s maiden, For my pleasure in the morning,
Promised friend of mine when needed, For my happiness at evening.
Promised bride of mine forever, Never shall I learn the secret,
Once I had within my power, How to live and how to prosper,
Caught her in Wellamo’s grottoes, How upon the earth to rest me,
Led her to my boat of copper, How upon the seas to wander!
With my fish-line made of silver; Only were my ancient mother
But alas! I could not keep her, Living on the face of Northland,
Did not know that I had caught her Surely she would well advise me,
Till too late to woo and win her; What my thought and what my action,
Let her slip between my fingers That this cup of grief might pass me,
To the home of water-maidens, That this sorrow might escape me,
To the kingdom of Wellamo.” And this darkened cloud pass over.”
Wainamoinen then departed, In the deep awoke his mother,
Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, From her tomb she spake as follows:
The Kalevala
“Only sleeping was thy mother, RUNE VI
Now awakes to give thee answer,
What thy thought and what thine action, WAINAMOINEN’S HAPLESS JOURNEY
That this cup of grief may pass thee,
That this sorrow may escape thee, Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
And this darkened cloud pass over. Now arranges for a journey
Hie thee straightway to the Northland, To the village of the Northland,
Visit thou the Suomi daughters; To the land of cruel winters,
Thou wilt find them wise and lovely, To the land of little sunshine,
Far more beautiful than Aino, To the land of worthy women;
Far more worthy of a husband, Takes his light-foot, royal racer,
Not such silly chatter-boxes, Then adjusts the golden bridle,
As the fickle Lapland maidens. Lays upon his back the saddle,
Take for thee a life-companion, Silver-buckled, copper-stirruped,
From the honest homes of Suomi, Seats himself upon his courser,
One of Northland’s honest daughters; And begins his journey northward;
She will charm thee with her sweetness, Plunges onward, onward, onward,
Make thee happy through her goodness, Galloping along the highway,
Form perfection, manners easy, In his saddle, gaily fashioned,
Every step and movement graceful, On his dappled steed of magic,
Full of wit and good behavior, Plunging through Wainola’s meadows,
Honor to thy home and kindred.” 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.
The Kalevala
But the evil Youkahainen As the rods and points are finished,
Nursed a grudge within his bosom, Then he feathers well his arrows
In his heart the worm of envy, From the plumage of the swallow,
Envy of this Wainamoinen, From the wing-quills of the sparrow;
Of this wonderful enchanter. Hardens well his feathered arrows,
He prepares a cruel cross-bow, And imparts to each new virtues,
Made of steel and other metals, Steeps them in the blood of serpents,
Paints the bow in many colors, In the virus of the adder.
Molds the top-piece out or copper, Ready now are all his arrows,
Trims his bow with snowy silver, Ready strung, his cruel cross-bow.
Gold he uses too in trimming, Waiting for wise Wainamoinen.
Then he hunts for strongest sinews, Youkahainen, Lapland’s minstrel,
Finds them in the stag of Hisi, Waits a long time, is not weary,
Interweaves the flax of Lempo. Hopes to spy the ancient singer;
Ready is the cruel cross-bow, Spies at day-dawn, spies at evening,
String, and shaft, and ends are finished, Spies he ceaselessly at noontide,
Beautiful the bow and mighty, Lies in wait for the magician,
Surely cost it not a trifle; Waits, and watches, as in envy;
On the back a painted courser, Sits he at the open window,
On each end a colt of beauty, Stands behind the hedge, and watches
Near the curve a maiden sleeping In the foot-path waits, and listens,
Near the notch a hare is bounding, Spies along the balks of meadows;
Wonderful the bow thus fashioned; On his back he hangs his quiver,
Cuts some arrows for his quiver, In his quiver, feathered arrows
Covers them with finest feathers, Dipped in virus of the viper,
From the oak the shafts be fashions, On his arm the mighty cross-bow,
Makes the tips of keenest metal. Waits, and watches, and unwearied,
The Kalevala
Listens from the boat-house window, For the death of Wainamoinen.
Lingers at the end of Fog-point, Quick his aged mother asked him,
By the river flowing seaward, Spake these words to Youkahainen:
Near the holy stream and whirlpool, “For whose slaughter is thy cross-bow,
Near the sacred river’s fire-fall. For whose heart thy poisoned arrows?”
Finally the Lapland minstrel, Youkahainen thus made answer:
Youkahainen of Pohyola, “I have made this mighty cross-bow,
At the breaking of the day-dawn, Fashioned bow and poisoned arrows
At the early hour of morning, For the death of Wainamoinen,
Fixed his gaze upon the North-east, Thus to slay the friend of waters;
Turned his eyes upon the sunrise, I must shoot the old magician,
Saw a black cloud on the ocean, The eternal bard and hero,
Something blue upon the waters, Through the heart, and through the liver,
And soliloquized as follows: Through the head, and through the shoulders,
“Are those clouds on the horizon, With this bow and feathered arrows
Or perchance the dawn of morning? Thus destroy my rival minstrel.”
Neither clouds on the horizon, Then the aged mother answered,
Nor the dawning of the morning; Thus reproving, thus forbidding.
It is ancient Wainamoinen, Do not slay good Wainamoinen,
The renowned and wise enchanter, Ancient hero of the Northland,
Riding on his way to Northland; From a noble tribe descended,
On his steed, the royal racer, He, my sister’s son, my nephew.
Magic courser of Wainola.” If thou slayest Wainamoinen,
Quickly now young Youkahainen, Ancient son of Kalevala,
Lapland’s vain and evil minstrel, Then alas! all joy will vanish,
Filled with envy, grasps his cross-bow, Perish all our wondrous singing;
Makes his bow and arrows ready Better on the earth the gladness,
The Kalevala
Better here the magic music, To the flaxen string he lays it,
Than within the nether regions, Holds the cross-bow to his shoulder,
In the kingdom of Tuoni, Aiming well along the margin,
In the realm of the departed, At the heart of Wainamoinen,
In the land of the hereafter.” Waiting till he gallops nearer;
Then the youthful Youkahainen In the shadow of a thicket,
Thought awhile and well considered, Speaks these words while he is waiting
Ere he made a final answer. “Be thou, flaxen string, elastic;
With one hand he raised the cross-bow Swiftly fly, thou feathered ash-wood,
But the other seemed to weaken, Swiftly speed, thou deadly missile,
As he drew the cruel bow-string. Quick as light, thou poisoned arrow,
Finally these words he uttered To the heart of Wainamoinen.
As his bosom swelled with envy: If my hand too low should hold thee,
“Let all joy forever vanish, May the gods direct thee higher;
Let earth’s pleasures quickly perish, If too high mine eye should aim thee,
Disappear earth’s sweetest music, May the gods direct thee lower.”
Happiness depart forever; Steady now he pulls the trigger;
Shoot I will this rival minstrel, Like the lightning flies the arrow
Little heeding what the end is.” O’er the head of Wainamoinen;
Quickly now he bends his fire-bow, To the upper sky it darteth,
On his left knee rests the weapon, And the highest clouds it pierces,
With his right foot firmly planted, Scatters all the flock of lamb-clouds,
Thus he strings his bow of envy; On its rapid journey skyward.
Takes three arrows from his quiver, Not discouraged, quick selecting,
Choosing well the best among them, Quick adjusting, Youkahainen,
Carefully adjusts the bow-string, Quickly aiming shoots a second.
Sets with care the feathered arrow, Speeds the arrow swift as lightning;
The Kalevala
Much too low he aimed the missile, While the golden moonlight glistens,
Into earth the arrow plunges, Nevermore wilt fix thy vision
Pierces to the lower regions, On the meadows of Wainola,
Splits in two the old Sand Mountain. On the plains of Kalevala;
Nothing daunted, Youkahainen, Full six years must swim the ocean,
Quick adjusting shoots a third one. Tread the waves for seven summers,
Swift as light it speeds its journey, Eight years ride the foamy billows,
Strikes the steed of Wainamoinen, In the broad expanse of water;
Strikes the light-foot, ocean-swimmer, Six long autumns as a fir-tree,
Strikes him near his golden girdle, Seven winters as a pebble;
Through the shoulder of the racer. Eight long summers as an aspen.”
Thereupon wise Wainamoinen Thereupon the Lapland minstrel
Headlong fell upon the waters, Hastened to his room delighting,
Plunged beneath the rolling billows, When his mother thus addressed him
From the saddle of the courser, “Hast thou slain good Wainamoinen,
From his dappled steed of magic. Slain the son of Kalevala?”
Then arose a mighty storm-wind, Youkahainen thus made answer:
Roaring wildly on the waters, “I have slain old Wainamoinen,
Bore away old Wainamoinen Slain the son of Kalevala,
Far from land upon the billows, That he now may plow the ocean,
On the high and rolling billows, That he now may sweep the waters,
On the broad sea’s great expanses. On the billows rock and slumber.
Boasted then young Youkahainen, In the salt-sea plunged he headlong,
Thinking Waino dead and buried, In the deep sank the magician,
These the boastful words be uttered: Sidewise turned he to the sea-shore
“Nevermore, old Wainamoinen, On his back to rock forever,
Nevermore in all thy life-time, Thus the boundless sea to travel,
The Kalevala
Thus to ride the rolling billows.” RUNE VII
This the answer of the mother:
“Woe to earth for this thine action, WAINIOINEN’S RESCUE
Gone forever, joy and singing,
Vanished is the wit of ages! Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
Thou hast slain good Wainamoinen. Swam through all the deep-sea waters,
Slain the ancient wisdom-singer, Floating like a branch of aspen,
Slain the pride of Suwantala, Like a withered twig of willow;
Slain the hero of Wainola, Swam six days in summer weather,
Slain the joy of Kalevala.” 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,
The Kalevala
In this cruel waste of waters, Looks before him, looks behind him,
Days and nights to swim and wander, There beholds brave Wainamoinen,
Here to struggle with the storm-winds, On the blue-back of the ocean,
To be tossed by heaving billows, And the eagle thus accosts him:
In this broad sea’s great expanses, “Wherefore art thou, ancient hero,
In this ocean vast and boundless. Swimming in the deep-sea billows?
“Cold my life and sad and dreary, Thus the water-minstrel answered:
Painful too for me to linger “I am ancient Wainamoinen,
Evermore within these waters, Friend and fellow of the waters
Thus to struggle for existence! I, the famous wisdom-singer;
Cannot know how I can prosper, Went to woo a Northland maiden,
How to find me food and shelter, Maiden from the dismal Darkland,
In these cold and lifeless waters, Quickly galloped on my journey,
In these days of dire misfortune. Riding on the plain of ocean.
Build I in the winds my dwelling? I arrived one morning early,
It will find no sure foundation. At the breaking of the day-dawn.
Build my home upon the billows? At the bay of Luotola,
Surely would the waves destroy it.” Near Youkola’s foaming river,
Comes a bird from far Pohyola, Where the evil Youkahainen
From the occident, an eagle, Slew my steed with bow and arrow,
Is not classed among the largest, Tried to slay me with his weapons.
Nor belongs he to the smallest; On the waters fell I headlong,
One wing touches on the waters, Plunged beneath the salt-sea’s surface,
While the other sweeps the heavens; From the saddle of the courser,
O’er the waves he wings his body, From my dappled steed of magic.
Strikes his beak upon the sea-cliffs, “Then arose a mighty storm-wind,
Flies about, then safely perches, From the East and West a whirlwind,
The Kalevala
Washed me seaward on the surges, Well do I the day remember
Seaward, seaward, further, further, Where thou didst the eagle service,
Where for many days I wandered, When thou didst the birds a favor.
Swam and rocked upon the billows, Thou didst leave the birch-tree standing,
Where as many nights I struggled, When were cleared the Osmo-forests,
In the dashing waves and sea-foam, From the lands of Kalevala,
With the angry winds and waters. As a home for weary song-birds,
“Woe is me, my life hard-fated! As a resting-place for eagles.”
Cannot solve this heavy problem, Then arises Wainamoinen,
How to live nor how to perish Lifts his head above the waters,
In this cruel salt-sea water. Boldly rises from the sea-waves,
Build I in the winds my dwelling? Lifts his body from the billows,
It will find no sure foundation. Seats himself upon the eagle,
Build my home upon the waters? On the eagle’s feathered shoulders.
Surely will the waves destroy it. Quick aloft the huge bird bears him,
Must I swim the sea forever, Bears the ancient Wainamoinen,
Must I live, or must I perish? Bears him on the path of zephyrs,
What will happen if I perish, Floating on the vernal breezes,
If I sink below the billows, To the distant shore of Northland,
Perish here from cold and hunger?” To the dismal Sariola,
Thus the bird of Ether answered Where the eagle leaves his burden,
“Be not in the least disheartened, Flies away to join his fellows.
Place thyself between my shoulders, Wainamoinen, lone and weary,
On my back be firmly seated, Straightway fell to bitter weeping,
I will lift thee from the waters, Wept and moaned in heavy accents,
Bear thee with my pinions upward, On the border of the blue-sea.
Bear thee wheresoe’er thou willest. On a cheerless promontory,
The Kalevala
With a hundred wounds tormented, Hence to make the softest raiment,
Made by cruel winds and waters, Ere the morning dawn had broken,
With his hair and beard dishevelled Ere the sleeping Sun had risen.
By the surging of the billows. When this task the maid had ended,
Three long days he wept disheartened Then she scrubbed the birchen tables,
Wept as many nights in anguish, Sweeps the ground-floor of the stable,
Did not know what way to journey, With a broom of leaves and branches
Could not find a woodland foot-print, From the birches of the Northland,
That would point him to the highway, Scrapes the sweepings well together
To his home in Kalevala, On a shovel made of copper,
To his much-loved home and kindred. Carries them beyond the stable,
Northland’s young and slender maiden, From the doorway to the meadow,
With complexion fair and lovely, To the meadow’s distant border,
With the Sun had laid a wager, Near the surges of the great-sea,
With the Sun and Moon a wager, Listens there and looks about her,
Which should rise before the other, Hears a wailing from the waters,
On the morning of the morrow. Hears a weeping from the sea-shore,
And the maiden rose in beauty, Hears a hero-voice lamenting.
Long before the Sun had risen, Thereupon she hastens homeward,
Long before the Moon bad wakened, Hastens to her mother’s dwelling,
From their beds beneath the ocean. These the words the maiden utters:
Ere the cock had crowed the day-break, “I have heard a wail from ocean,
Ere the Sun had broken slumber Heard a weeping from the sea-coast,
She had sheared six gentle lambkins, On the shore some one lamenting.”
Gathered from them six white fleeces, Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
Hence to make the rolls for spinning, Ancient, toothless dame of Northland,
Hence to form the threads for weaving, Hastens from her door and court-yard,
The Kalevala
Through the meadow to the sea-shore, Lifts aloft his bead and answers:
Listens well for sounds of weeping, “Well I know that it is folly
For the wail of one in sorrow; That has brought me all this trouble,
Hears the voice of one in trouble, Brought me to this land of strangers,
Hears a hero-cry of anguish. To these regions unbefitting
Thus the ancient Louhi answers: Happy was I with my kindred,
“This is not the wail of children, In my distant home and country,
These are not the tears of women, There my name was named in honor.”
In this way weep bearded heroes; Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
This the hero-cry of anguish.” Thus replied to Wainamoinen:
Quick she pushed her boat to water, “I would gain the information,
To the floods her goodly vessel, Should I be allowed to ask thee,
Straightway rows with lightning swiftness, Who thou art of ancient heroes,
To the weeping Wainamoinen; Who of all the host of heroes?
Gives the hero consolation, This is Wainamoinen’s answer:
Comfort gives she to the minstrel “Formerly my name was mentioned,
Wailing in a grove of willows, Often was I heard and honored,
In his piteous condition, As a minstrel and magician,
Mid the alder-trees and aspens, In the long and dreary winters,
On the border of the salt-sea, Called the ‘Singer of the Northland,
Visage trembling, locks dishevelled. In the valleys of Wainola,
Ears, and eyes, and lips of sadness. On the plains of Kalevala;
Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, No one thought that such misfortune
Thus addresses Wainamoinen: Could befall wise Wainamoinen.”
“Tell me what has been thy folly, Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
That thou art in this condition.” Thus replied in cheering accents
Old and truthful Wainamoinen “Rise, O hero, from discomfort,
The Kalevala
From thy bed among the willows; Had been buffeting the billows,
Enter now upon the new-way, In the far outstretching waters.
Come with me to yonder dwelling, This the reason for my weeping;
There relate thy strange adventures, I have lived in toil and torture,
Tell the tale of thy misfortunes.” Since I left my home and country,
Now she takes the hapless hero, Left my native land and kindred,
Lifts him from his bed of sorrow, Came to this the land of strangers,
In her boat she safely seats him, To these unfamiliar portals.
And begins at once her rowing, All thy trees have thorns to wound me,
Rows with steady hand and mighty All thy branches, spines to pierce me,
To her home upon the sea-shore, Even birches give me trouble,
To the dwellings of Pohyola. And the alders bring discomfort,
There she feeds the starving hero, My companions, winds and waters,
Rests the ancient Wainamoinen, Only does the Sun seem friendly,
Gives him warmth, and food, and shelter, In this cold and cruel country,
And the hero soon recovers. Near these unfamiliar portals.”
Then the hostess of Pohyola Louhi thereupon made answer,
Questioned thus the ancient singer: Weep no longer, Wainamoinen,
“Wherefore didst thou, Wainamoinen, Grieve no more, thou friend of waters,
Friend and fellow of the waters, Good for thee, that thou shouldst linger
Weep in sad and bitter accents, At our friendly homes and firesides;
On the border of the ocean, Thou shalt live with us and welcome,
Mid the aspens and the willows?” Thou shalt sit at all our tables,
This is Wainamoinen’s answer: Eat the salmon from our platters,
Had good reason for my weeping, Eat the sweetest of our bacon,
Cause enough for all my sorrow; Eat the whiting from our waters.”
Long indeed had I been swimming, Answers thus old Wainamoinen,
The Kalevala
Grateful for the invitation: To my home and distant country,
“Never do I court strange tables, To the borders of the Northland,
Though the food be rare and toothsome; There to hear the cuckoo singing,
One’s own country is the dearest, Hear the sacred cuckoo calling?
One’s own table is the sweetest, Shall I give thee golden treasures,
One’s own home, the most attractive. Fill thy cups with finest silver?”
Grant, kind Ukko, God above me, This is Louhi’s simple answer:
Thou Creator, full of mercy, “O thou ancient Wainamoinen,
Grant that I again may visit Only true and wise magician,
My beloved home and country. Never will I ask for riches,
Better dwell in one’s own country, Never ask for gold nor silver;
There to drink Its healthful waters Gold is for the children’s flowers,
From the simple cups of birch-wood, Silver for the stallion’s jewels.
Than in foreign lands to wander, Canst thou forge for me the Sampo,
There to drink the rarest liquors Hammer me the lid in colors,
From the golden bowls of strangers.” From the tips of white-swan feathers
Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, From the milk of greatest virtue,
Thus replied to the magician: From a single grain of barley,
“What reward wilt thou award me, From the finest wool of lambkins?
Should I take thee where thou willest, “I will give thee too my daughter,
To thy native land and kindred, Will reward thee through the maiden,
To thy much-loved home and fireside, Take thee to thy much-loved home-land,
To the meadows of Wainola, To the borders of Wainola,
To the plains of Kalevala?” There to hear the cuckoo singing,
These the words of Wainamoinen: Hear the sacred cuckoo calling.”
“What would be reward sufficient, Wainamoinen, much regretting,
Shouldst thou take me to my people, Gave this answer to her question:
The Kalevala
“Cannot forge for thee the Sampo, Made him ready for his journey;
Cannot make the lid in colors. Then addressed the ancient minstrel,
Take me to my distant country, These the words that Louhi uttered:
I will send thee Ilmarinen, “Do not raise thine eyes to heaven,
He will forge for thee the Sampo, Look not upward on thy journey,
Hammer thee the lid in colors, While thy steed is fresh and frisky,
He may win thy lovely maiden; While the day-star lights thy pathway,
Worthy smith is Ilmarinen, Ere the evening star has risen;
In this art is first and master; If thine eyes be lifted upward,
He, the one that forged the heavens. While the day-star lights thy pathway,
Forged the air a hollow cover; Dire misfortune will befall thee,
Nowhere see we hammer-traces, Some sad fate will overtake thee.”
Nowhere find a single tongs-mark.” Then the ancient Wainamoinen
Thus replied the hostess, Louhi: Fleetly drove upon his journey,
“Him alone I’ll give my daughter, Merrily he hastened homeward,
Promise him my child in marriage, Hastened homeward, happy-hearted
Who for me will forge the Sampo, From the ever-darksome Northland
Hammer me the lid in colors, From the dismal Sariola.
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,
The Kalevala
RUNE VIII As the maiden plied the shuttle.
Quick the thoughtless Wainamoinen
RAINBOW Lifts his eyes aloft in wonder,
Looks upon the vault of heaven,
Pohyola’s fair and winsome daughter, There beholds the bow of beauty,
Glory of the land and water, On the bow the maiden sitting,
Sat upon the bow of heaven, Beauteous Maiden of the Rainbow,
On its highest arch resplendent, Glory of the earth and ocean,
In a gown of richest fabric, Weaving there a golden fabric,
In a gold and silver air-gown, Working with the rustling silver.
Weaving webs of golden texture, Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
Interlacing threads of silver; Quickly checks his fleet-foot racer,
Weaving with a golden shuttle, Looks upon the charming maiden,
With a weaving-comb of silver; Then addresses her as follows:
Merrily flies the golden shuttle, “Come, fair maiden, to my snow-sledge,
From the maiden’s nimble fingers, By my side I wish thee seated.”
Briskly swings the lathe in weaving, Thus the Maid of Beauty answers:
Swiftly flies the comb of silver, “Tell me what thou wishest of me,
From the sky-born maiden’s fingers, Should I join thee in the snow-sledge.”
Weaving webs of wondrous beauty. Speaks the ancient Wainamoinen,
Came the ancient Wainamoinen, Answers thus the Maid of Beauty:
Driving down the highway homeward, “This the reason for thy coming:
From the ever sunless Northland, Thou shalt bake me honey-biscuit,
From the dismal Sariola; Shalt prepare me barley-water,
Few the furlongs he had driven, Thou shalt fill my foaming beer-cups,
Driven but a little distance, Thou shalt sing beside my table,
When he heard the sky-loom buzzing, Shalt rejoice within my portals,
The Kalevala
Walk a queen within my dwelling, Thus the lives of married women;
In the Wainola halls and chambers, Maidens living with their mothers
In the courts of Kalevala.” Are like ripe and ruddy berries;
Thus the Maid of Beauty answered Married women, far too many,
From her throne amid the heavens: Are like dogs enchained in kennel,
“Yesterday at hour of twilight, Rarely do they ask for favors,
Went I to the flowery meadows, Not to wives are favors given.’”
There to rock upon the common, Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
Where the Sun retires to slumber; Answers thus the Maid of Beauty:
There I heard a song-bird singing, “Foolish is the thrush thus singing,
Heard the thrush simple measures, Nonsense is the song-bird’s twitter;
Singing sweetly thoughts of maidens, Like to babes are maidens treated,
And the minds of anxious mothers. Wives are queens and highly honored.
“Then I asked the pretty songster, Come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge,
Asked the thrush this simple question: I am not despised as hero,
‘Sing to me, thou pretty song-bird, Not the meanest of magicians;
Sing that I may understand thee, Come with me and I will make thee
Sing to me in truthful accents, Wife and queen in Kalevala.”
How to live in greatest pleasure, Thus the Maid of Beauty answered—
And in happiness the sweetest, “Would consider thee a hero,
As a maiden with her father, Mighty hero, I would call thee,
Or as wife beside her husband.’ When a golden hair thou splittest,
“Thus the song-bird gave me answer, Using knives that have no edges;
Sang the thrush this information: When thou snarest me a bird’s egg
‘Bright and warm are days of summer, With a snare that I can see not.”
Warmer still is maiden-freedom; Wainamoinen, skilled and ancient,
Cold is iron in the winter, Split a golden hair exactly,
The Kalevala
Using knives that had no edges; Using not the knee to push it,
And he snared an egg as nicely Using not the arm to move it,
With a snare the maiden saw not. Using not the hand to touch it,
“Come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge, Using not the foot to turn it,
I have done what thou desirest.” Using nothing to propel it.”
Thus the maiden wisely answered: Spake the skilful Wainamoinen,
“Never enter I thy snow-sledge, These the words the hero uttered:
Till thou peelest me the sandstone, “There is no one in the Northland,
Till thou cuttest me a whip-stick No one under vault of heaven,
From the ice, and make no splinters, Who like me can build a vessel,
Losing not the smallest fragment.” From the fragments of the distaff,
Wainamoinen, true magician, From the splinters of the spindle.”
Nothing daunted, not discouraged, Then he took the distaff-fragments,
Deftly peeled the rounded sandstone, Took the splinters of the spindle,
Deftly cut from ice a whip-stick, Hastened off the boat to fashion,
Cutting not the finest splinter, Hastened to an iron mountain,
Losing not the smallest fragment. There to join the many fragments.
Then again be called the maiden, Full of zeal be plies the hammer,
To a seat within his snow-sledge. Swings the hammer and the hatchet;
But the Maid or Beauty answered, Nothing daunted, builds the vessel,
Answered thus the great magician: Works one day and then a second,
I will go with that one only Works with steady hand the third day;
That will make me ship or shallop, On the evening of the third day,
From the splinters of my spindle, Evil Hisi grasps the hatchet,
From the fragments of my distaff, Lempo takes the crooked handle,
In the waters launch the vessel, Turns aside the axe in falling,
Set the little ship a-floating, Strikes the rocks and breaks to pieces;
The Kalevala
From the rocks rebound the fragments, For the wounds the axe has given,
Pierce the flesh of the magician, That the hatchet has torn open.
Cut the knee of Wainamoinen. But the stream flows like a brooklet,
Lempo guides the sharpened hatchet, Rushing like a maddened torrent,
And the veins fell Hisi severs. Stains the herbs upon the meadows,
Quickly gushes forth a blood-stream, Scarcely is a bit of verdure
And the stream is crimson-colored. That the blood-stream does not cover
Wainamoinen, old and truthful, As it flows and rushes onward
The renowned and wise enchanter, From the knee of the magician,
Thus outspeaks in measured accents: From the veins of Wainamoinen.
“O thou keen and cruel hatchet, Now the wise and ancient minstrel
O thou axe of sharpened metal, Gathers lichens from the sandstone,
Thou shouldst cut the trees to fragments, Picks them from the trunks of birches,
Cut the pine-tree and the willow, Gathers moss within the marshes,
Cut the alder and the birch-tree, Pulls the grasses from the meadows,
Cut the juniper and aspen, Thus to stop the crimson streamlet,
Shouldst not cut my knee to pieces, Thus to close the wounds laid open;
Shouldst not tear my veins asunder.” But his work is unsuccessful,
Then the ancient Wainamoinen And the crimson stream flows onward.
Thus begins his incantations, Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
Thus begins his magic singing, Feeling pain and fearing languor,
Of the origin of evil; Falls to weeping, heavy-hearted;
Every word in perfect order, Quickly now his steed he hitches,
Makes no effort to remember, Hitches to the sledge of birch-wood,
Sings the origin of iron, Climbs with pain upon the cross-bench,
That a bolt he well may fashion, Strikes his steed in quick succession,
Thus prepare a look for surety, Snaps his whip above the racer,
The Kalevala
And the steed flies onward swiftly; Asks one standing on the threshold,
Like the winds he sweeps the highway, Questions all through open windows,
Till be nears a Northland village, These the words the hero uses:
Where the way is triple-parted. “Is there no one in this cabin,
Wainamoinen, old and truthful, That can know the pain I suffer,
Takes the lowest of the highways, That can heal this wound of hatchet,
Quickly nears a spacious cottage, That can check this crimson streamlet?”
Quickly asks before the doorway: On the floor a witch was lying,
“Is there any one here dwelling, Near the fire-place lay the beldame,
That can know the pain I suffer, Thus she spake to Wainamoinen,
That can heal this wound of hatchet. Through her rattling teeth she answered.
That can check this crimson streamlet?” “There is no one in this cabin
Sat a boy within a corner, That can know the pain thou feelest,
On a bench beside a baby, That can heal the wounds of hatchets,
And he answered thus the hero: That can check the crimson streamlet;
“There is no one in this dwelling Some one lives in yonder cottage,
That can know the pain thou feelest, That perchance can do thee service.”
That can heal the wounds of hatchet, Wainamoinen, nothing daunted,
That can check the crimson streamlet; Whips his racer to a gallop,
Some one lives in yonder cottage, Dashes on along the highway;
That perchance can do thee service.” Only drives a little distance,
Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, On the upper of the highways,
Whips his courser to a gallop, Gallops to a humble cottage,
Dashes on along the highway; Asks one standing near the penthouse,
Only drives a little distance, Sitting on the penthouse-doorsill:
On the middle of the highways, “Is there no one in this cottage,
To a cabin on the road-side, That can know the pain I suffer,
The Kalevala
That can heal this wound of hatchet, RUNE IX
That can check this crimson streamlet?”
Near the fireplace sat an old man, ORIGIN OF IRON
On the hearthstone sat the gray-beard,
Thus he answered Wainamoinen: Wainamoinen, thus encouraged,
“Greater things have been accomplished, Quickly rises in his snow-sledge,
Much more wondrous things effected, Asking no one for assistance,
Through but three words of the master; Straightway hastens to the cottage,
Through the telling of the causes, Takes a seat within the dwelling.
Streams and oceans have been tempered, Come two maids with silver pitchers,
River cataracts been lessened, Bringing also golden goblets;
Bays been made of promontories, Dip they up a very little,
Islands raised from deep sea-bottoms.” 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,
The Kalevala
How at first it was created.” To the earth, the valleys filling,
Then the ancient Wainamoinen To the slumber-calling waters.
Made this answer to the gray-beard: “Ukko’s eldest daughter sprinkled
“Know I well the source of metals, Black milk over river channels
Know the origin of iron; And the second daughter sprinkled
f can tell bow steel is fashioned. White milk over hills and mountains,
Of the mothers air is oldest, While the youngest daughter sprinkled
Water is the oldest brother, Red milk over seas and oceans.
And the fire is second brother, Whero the black milk had been sprinked,
And the youngest brother, iron; Grew the dark and ductile iron;
Ukko is the first creator. Where the white milk had been sprinkled.
Ukko, maker of the heavens, Grew the iron, lighter-colored;
Cut apart the air and water, Where the red milk had been sprinkled,
Ere was born the metal, iron. Grew the red and brittle iron.
Ukko, maker of the heavens, “After Time had gone a distance,
Firmly rubbed his hands together, Iron hastened Fire to visit,
Firmly pressed them on his knee-cap, His beloved elder brother,
Then arose three lovely maidens, Thus to know his brother better.
Three most beautiful of daughters; Straightway Fire began his roarings,
These were mothers of the iron, Labored to consume his brother,
And of steel of bright-blue color. His beloved younger brother.
Tremblingly they walked the heavens, Straightway Iron sees his danger,
Walked the clouds with silver linings, Saves himself by fleetly fleeing,
With their bosoms overflowing From the fiery flame’s advances,
With the milk of future iron, Fleeing hither, fleeing thither,
Flowing on and flowing ever, Fleeing still and taking shelter
From the bright rims of the cloudlets In the swamps and in the valleys,
The Kalevala
In the springs that loudly bubble, In the night was born the blacksmith,
By the rivers winding seaward, In the morn he built his smithy,
On the broad backs of the marshes, Sought with care a favored hillock,
Where the swans their nests have builded, Where the winds might fill his bellows;
Where the wild geese hatch their goslings. Found a hillock in the swamp-lands,
“Thus is iron in the swamp-lands, Where the iron hid abundant;
Stretching by the water-courses, There he built his smelting furnace,
Hidden well for many ages, There he laid his leathern bellows,
Hidden in the birchen forests, Hastened where the wolves had travelled,
But he could not hide forever Followed where the bears had trampled,
From the searchings of his brother; Found the iron’s young formations,
Here and there the fire has caught him, In the wolf-tracks of the marshes,
Caught and brought him to his furnace, In the foot-prints of the gray-bear.
That the spears, and swords, and axes, “Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Might be forged and duly hammered. ‘Thus addressed the sleeping iron:
In the swamps ran blackened waters, Thou most useful of the metals,
From the heath the bears came ambling, Thou art sleeping in the marshes,
And the wolves ran through the marshes. Thou art hid in low conditions,
Iron then made his appearance, Where the wolf treads in the swamp-lands,
Where the feet of wolves had trodden, Where the bear sleeps in the thickets.
Where the paws of bears had trampled. Hast thou thought and well considered,
“Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, What would be thy future station,
Came to earth to work the metal; Should I place thee in the furnace,
He was born upon the Coal-mount, Thus to make thee free and useful?’
Skilled and nurtured in the coal-fields; “Then was Iron sorely frightened,
In one hand, a copper hammer, Much distressed and filled with horror,
In the other, tongs of iron; When of Fire he heard the mention,
The Kalevala
Mention of his fell destroyer. From this fire and cruel torture.’
“Then again speaks Ilmarinen, “Ilmarinen thus made answer:
Thus the smith addresses Iron: ‘I will take thee from my furnace,
‘Be not frightened, useful metal, ‘Thou art but a little frightened,
Surely Fire will not consume thee, Thou shalt be a mighty power,
Will not burn his youngest brother, Thou shalt slay the best of heroes,
Will not harm his nearest kindred. Thou shalt wound thy dearest brother.’
Come thou to my room and furnace, “Straightway Iron made this promise,
Where the fire is freely burning, Vowed and swore in strongest accents,
Thou wilt live, and grow, and prosper, By the furnace, by the anvil,
Wilt become the swords of heroes, By the tongs, and by the hammer,
Buckles for the belts of women.’ These the words he vowed and uttered:
“Ere arose the star of evening, ‘Many trees that I shall injure,
Iron ore had left the marshes, Shall devour the hearts of mountains,
From the water-beds had risen, Shall not slay my nearest kindred,
Had been carried to the furnace, Shall not kill the best of heroes,
In the fire the smith had laid it, Shall not wound my dearest brother;
Laid it in his smelting furnace. Better live in civil freedom,
Ilmarinen starts the bellows, Happier would be my life-time,
Gives three motions of the handle, Should I serve my fellow-beings,
And the iron flows in streamlets Serve as tools for their convenience,
From the forge of the magician, Than as implements of warfare,
Soon becomes like baker’s leaven, Slay my friends and nearest. kindred,
Soft as dough for bread of barley. Wound the children of my mother.’
Then out-screamed the metal, Iron: “Now the master, Ilmarinen,
‘Wondrous blacksmith, Ilmarinen, The renowned and skilful blacksmith,
Take, O take me from thy furnace, From the fire removes the iron,
The Kalevala
Places it upon the anvil, “‘Thus the smith the bee addresses,
Hammers well until it softens, These the words of Ilmarinen:
Hammers many fine utensils, ‘Little bee, thou tiny birdling,
Hammers spears, and swords, and axes, Bring me honey on thy winglets,
Hammers knives, and forks, and hatchets, On thy tongue, I pray thee, bring me
Hammers tools of all descriptions. Sweetness from the fragrant meadows,
“Many things the blacksmith needed, From the little cups of flowers,
Many things he could not fashion, From the tips of seven petals,
Could not make the tongue of iron, That we thus may aid the water
Could not hammer steel from iron, To produce the steel from iron.’
Could not make the iron harden. “Evil Hisi’s bird, the hornet,
Well considered Ilmarinen, Heard these words of Ilmarinen,
Deeply thought and long reflected. Looking from the cottage gable,
Then he gathered birchen ashes, Flying to the bark of birch-trees,
Steeped the ashes in the water, While the iron bars were heating
Made a lye to harden iron, While the steel was being tempered;
Thus to form the steel most needful. Swiftly flew the stinging hornet,
With his tongue he tests the mixture, Scattered all the Hisi horrors,
Weighs it long and well considers, Brought the blessing of the serpent,
And the blacksmith speaks as follows: Brought the venom of the adder,
‘All this labor is for nothing, Brought the poison of the spider,
Will not fashion steel from iron, Brought the stings of all the insects,
Will not make the soft ore harden.’ Mixed them with the ore and water,
“Now a bee flies from the meadow, While the steel was being, tempered.
Blue-wing coming from the flowers, “Ilmarinen, skilful blacksmith,
Flies about, then safely settles First of all the iron-workers,
Near the furnace of the smithy. Thought the bee had surely brought him
The Kalevala
Honey from the fragrant meadows, “Now I know the source of iron,
From the little cups of flowers, Whence the steel and whence its evils;
From the tips of seven petals, Curses on thee, cruel iron,
And he spake the words that follow: Curses on the steel thou givest,
‘Welcome, welcome, is thy coming, Curses on thee, tongue of evil,
Honeyed sweetness from the flowers Cursed be thy life forever!
Thou hast brought to aid the water, Once thou wert of little value,
Thus to form the steel from iron!’ Having neither form nor beauty,
“Ilmarinen, ancient blacksmith, Neither strength nor great importance,
Dipped the iron into water, When in form of milk thou rested,
Water mixed with many poisons, When for ages thou wert hidden
Thought it but the wild bee’s honey; In the breasts of God’s three daughters,
Thus he formed the steel from iron. Hidden in their heaving bosoms,
When he plunged it into water, On the borders of the cloudlets,
Water mixed with many poisons, In the blue vault of the heavens.
When be placed it in the furnace, “Thou wert once of little value,
Angry grew the hardened iron, Having neither form nor beauty,
Broke the vow that he had taken, Neither strength nor great importance,
Ate his words like dogs and devils, When like water thou wert resting
Mercilessly cut his brother, On the broad back of the marshes,
Madly raged against his kindred, On the steep declines of mountains,
Caused the blood to flow in streamlets When thou wert but formless matter,
From the wounds of man and hero. Only dust of rusty color.
This, the origin of iron, “Surely thou wert void of greatness,
And of steel of light blue color.” Having neither strength nor beauty,
From the hearth arose the gray-beard, When the moose was trampling on thee,
Shook his heavy looks and answered: When the roebuck trod upon thee,
The Kalevala
When the tracks of wolves were in thee, Tell who gavest thee thine evil!
And the bear-paws scratched thy body. Did thy father, or thy mother,
Surely thou hadst little value Did the eldest of thy brothers,
When the skilful Ilmarinen, Did the youngest of thy sisters,
First of all the iron-workers, Did the worst of all thy kindred
Brought thee from the blackened swamp-lands, Give to thee thine evil nature?
Took thee to his ancient smithy, Not thy father, nor thy mother,
Placed thee in his fiery furnace. Not the eldest of thy brothers,
Truly thou hadst little vigor, Not the youngest of thy sisters,
Little strength, and little danger, Not the worst of all thy kindred,
When thou in the fire wert hissing, But thyself hast done this mischief,
Rolling forth like seething water, Thou the cause of all our trouble.
From the furnace of the smithy, Come and view thine evil doings,
When thou gavest oath the strongest, And amend this flood of damage,
By the furnace, by the anvil, Ere I tell thy gray-haired mother,
By the tongs, and by the hammer, Ere I tell thine aged father.
By the dwelling of the blacksmith, Great indeed a mother’s anguish,
By the fire within the furnace. Great indeed a father’s sorrow,
“Now forsooth thou hast grown mighty, When a son does something evil,
Thou canst rage in wildest fury; When a child runs wild and lawless.
Thou hast broken all thy pledges, “Crimson streamlet, cease thy flowing
All thy solemn vows hast broken, From the wounds of Wainamoinen;
Like the dogs thou shamest honor, Blood of ages, stop thy coursing
Shamest both thyself and kindred, From the veins of the magician;
Tainted all with breath of evil. Stand like heaven’s crystal pillars,
Tell who drove thee to this mischief, Stand like columns in the ocean,
Tell who taught thee all thy malice, Stand like birch-trees in the forest,
The Kalevala
Like the tall reeds in the marshes, “Cease thy flow, by word of magic,
Like the high-rocks on the sea-coast, Cease as did the falls of Tyrya,
Stand by power of mighty magic! As the rivers of Tuoni,
“Should perforce thy will impel thee, When the sky withheld her rain-drops,
Flow thou on thine endless circuit, When the sea gave up her waters,
Through the veins of Wainamoinen, In the famine of the seasons,
Through the bones, and through the muscles, In the years of fire and torture.
Through the lungs, and heart, and liver, If thou heedest not this order,
Of the mighty sage and singer; I shall offer other measures,
Better be the food of heroes, Know I well of other forces;
Than to waste thy strength and virtue I shall call the Hisi irons,
On the meadows and the woodlands, In them I shall boil and roast thee,
And be lost in dust and ashes. Thus to check thy crimson flowing,
Flow forever in thy circle; Thus to save the wounded hero.
Thou must cease this crimson out-flow; “If these means be inefficient,
Stain no more the grass and flowers, Should these measures prove unworthy,
Stain no more these golden hill-tops, I shall call omniscient Ukko,
Pride and beauty of our heroes. Mightiest of the creators,
In the veins of the magician, Stronger than all ancient heroes,
In the heart of Wainamoinen, Wiser than the world-magicians;
Is thy rightful home and storehouse. He will check the crimson out-flow,
Thither now withdraw thy forces, He will heal this wound of hatchet.
Thither hasten, swiftly flowing; “Ukko, God of love and mercy,
Flow no more as crimson currents, God and Master Of the heavens,
Fill no longer crimson lakelets, Come thou hither, thou art needed,
Must not rush like brooks in spring-tide, Come thou quickly I beseech thee,
Nor meander like the rivers. Lend thy hand to aid thy children,
The Kalevala
Touch this wound with healing fingers, Takes the youngest oak-tree branches,
Stop this hero’s streaming life-blood, Gathers many healing grasses,
Bind this wound with tender leaflets, Gathers many herbs and flowers,
Mingle with them healing flowers, Rarest herbs that grow in Northland,
Thus to check this crimson current, Places them within the furnace
Thus to save this great magician, In a kettle made of copper;
Save the life of Wainamoinen.” Lets them steep and boil together,
Thus at last the blood-stream ended, Bits of bark chipped from the oak-tree,
As the magic words were spoken. Many herbs of healing virtues;
Then the gray-beard, much rejoicing, Steeps them one day, then a second,
Sent his young son to the smithy, Three long days of summer weather,
There to make a healing balsam, Days and nights in quick succession;
From the herbs of tender fibre, Then he tries his magic balsam,
From the healing plants and flowers, Looks to see if it is ready,
From the stalks secreting honey, If his remedy is finished;
From the roots, and leaves, and blossoms. But the balsam is unworthy.
On the way he meets an oak-tree, Then he added other grasses,
And the oak the son addresses: Herbs of every healing virtue,
“Hast thou honey in thy branches, That were brought from distant nations,
Does thy sap run full of sweetness?” Many hundred leagues from Northland,
Thus the oak-tree wisely answers: Gathered by the wisest minstrels,
“Yea, but last night dripped the honey Thither brought by nine enchanters.
Down upon my spreading branches, Three days more be steeped the balsam,
And the clouds their fragrance sifted, Three nights more the fire be tended,
Sifted honey on my leaflets, Nine the days and nights be watched it,
From their home within the heavens.” Then again be tried the ointment,
Then the son takes oak-wood splinters, Viewed it carefully and tested,
The Kalevala
Found at last that it was ready, With the balsam he had finished,
Found the magic balm was finished. To the gray-beard gave the ointment,
Near by stood a branching birch-tree. And the boy these measures uttered
On the border of the meadow, “Here I bring the balm of healing,
Wickedly it had been broken, Wonderful the salve I bring thee;
Broken down by evil Hisi; It will join the broken granite,
Quick he takes his balm of healing, Make the fragments grow together,
And anoints the broken branches, Heat the fissures in the mountains,
Rubs the balsam in the fractures, And restore the injured birch-tree.”
Thus addresses then the birch-tree: With his tongue the old man tested,
“With this balsam I anoint thee, Tested thus the magic balsam,
With this salve thy wounds I cover, Found the remedy effective,
Cover well thine injured places; Found the balm had magic virtues;
Now the birch-tree shall recover, Then anointed he the minstrel,
Grow more beautiful than ever.” Touched the wounds of Wainamoinen,
True, the birch-tree soon recovered, Touched them with his magic balsam,
Grew more beautiful than ever, With the balm of many virtues;
Grew more uniform its branches, Speaking words of ancient wisdom,
And its bole more strong and stately. These the words the gray-beard uttered:
Thus it was be tried the balsam, “Do not walk in thine own virtue,
Thus the magic salve he tested, Do not work in thine own power,
Touched with it the splintered sandstone, Walk in strength of thy Creator;
Touched the broken blocks of granite, Do not speak in thine own wisdom,
Touched the fissures in the mountains, Speak with tongue of mighty Ukko.
And the broken parts united, In my mouth, if there be sweetness,
All the fragments grew together. It has come from my Creator;
Then the young boy quick returning If my bands are filled with beauty,
The Kalevala
All the beauty comes from Ukko.” These have served the wounded hero,
When the wounds had been anointed, Wrapped the wounds of the magician.
When the magic salve had touched them, Look upon us, God of mercy,
Straightway ancient Wainamoinen Come and guard us, kind Creator,
Suffered fearful pain and anguish, And protect us from all evil!
Sank upon the floor in torment, Guide our feet lest they may stumble,
Turning one way, then another, Guard our lives from every danger,
Sought for rest and found it nowhere, From the wicked wilds of Hisi.”
Till his pain the gray-beard banished, Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
Banished by the aid of magic, Felt the mighty aid of magic,
Drove away his killing torment Felt the help of gracious Ukko,
To the court of all our trouble, Straightway stronger grew in body,
To the highest hill of torture, Straightway were the wounds united,
To the distant rocks and ledges, Quick the fearful pain departed.
To the evil-bearing mountains, Strong and hardy grew the hero,
To the realm of wicked Hisi. Straightway walked in perfect freedom,
Then be took some silken fabric, Turned his knee in all directions,
Quick he tore the silk asunder, Knowing neither pain nor trouble.
Making equal strips for wrapping, Then the ancient Wainamoinen
Tied the ends with silken ribbons, Raised his eyes to high Jumala,
Making thus a healing bandage; Looked with gratitude to heaven,
Then he wrapped with skilful fingers Looked on high, in joy and gladness,
Wainamoinen’s knee and ankle, Then addressed omniscient Ukko,
Wrapped the wounds of the magician, This the prayer the minstrel uttered:
And this prayer the gray-beard uttered “O be praised, thou God of mercy,
“Ukko’s fabric is the bandage, Let me praise thee, my Creator,
Ukko’s science is the surgeon, Since thou gavest me assistance,
The Kalevala
And vouchsafed me thy protection, RUNE X
Healed my wounds and stilled mine anguish,
Banished all my pain and trouble, ILMARINEN FORGES THE SAMPO
Caused by Iron and by Hisi.
O, ye people of Wainola, Wainamoinen, the magician,
People of this generation, Takes his steed of copper color,
And the folk of future ages, Hitches quick his fleet-foot courser,
Fashion not in emulation, Puts his racer to the snow-sledge,
River boat, nor ocean shallop, Straightway springs upon the cross-seat,
Boasting of its fine appearance, Snaps his whip adorned with jewels.
God alone can work completion, Like the winds the steed flies onward,
Give to cause its perfect ending, Like a lightning flash, the racer
Never hand of man can find it, Makes the snow-sledge creak and rattle,
Never can the hero give it, Makes the highway quickly vanish,
Ukko is the only Master.” 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,
The Kalevala
May disease destroy the braggart, Ilmarinen, magic artist,
Him who said that I should never Thus to save his life from torture
See again my much-loved home-land, On the distant fields of Northland
Nevermore behold my kindred, In the dismal Sariola.
Never during all my life-time, When his stallion he had halted
Never while the sunshine brightens, On the Osmo-field and meadow,
Never while the moonlight glimmers Quickly rising in his snow-sledge,
On the meadows of Wainola, The magician heard one knocking,
On the plains of Kalevala.” Breaking coal within the smithy,
Then began old Wainamoinen, Beating with a heavy hammer.
Ancient bard and famous singer, Wainamoinen, famous minstrel,
To renew his incantations; Entering the smithy straightway,
Sang aloft a wondrous pine-tree, Found the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Till it pierced the clouds in growing Knocking with his copper hammer.
With its golden top and branches, Ilmarinen spake as follows:
Till it touched the very heavens, “Welcome, brother Wainamoinen,
Spread its branches in the ether, Old and worthy Wainamoinen!
In the ever-shining sunlight. Why so long hast thou been absent,
Now he sings again enchanting, Where hast thou so long been hiding?”
Sings the Moon to shine forever Wainamoinen then made answer,
In the fir-tree’s emerald branches; These the words of the magician:
In its top he sings the Great Bear. “Long indeed have I been living,
Then be quickly journeys homeward, Many dreary days have wandered,
Hastens to his golden portals, Many cheerless nights have lingered,
Head awry and visage wrinkled, Floating on the cruel ocean,
Crooked cap upon his forehead, Weeping in the fens and woodlands
Since as ransom he had promised Of the never-pleasant Northland,
The Kalevala
In the dismal Sariola; “Ilmarinen, worthy brother,
With the Laplanders I’ve wandered, Thou the only skilful blacksmith,
With the people filled with witchcraft.” Go and see her wondrous beauty,
Promptly answers Ilmarinen, See her gold and silver garments,
These the words the blacksmith uses: See her robed in finest raiment,
“O thou ancient Wainamoinen, See her sitting on the rainbow,
Famous and eternal singer, Walking on the clouds of purple.
Tell me of thy journey northward, Forge for her the magic Sampo,
Of thy wanderings in Lapland, Forge the lid in many colors,
Of thy dismal journey homeward.” Thy reward shall be the virgin,
Spake the minstrel, Wainamoinen: Thou shalt win this bride of beauty;
“I have much to tell thee, brother, Go and bring the lovely maiden
Listen to my wondrous story: To thy home in Kalevala.”
In the Northland lives a virgin, Spake the brother, Ilmarinen:
In a village there, a maiden, O thou cunning Wainamoinen,
That will not accept a lover, Thou hast promised me already
That a hero’s hand refuses, To the ever-darksome Northland,
That a wizard’s heart disdaineth; Thy devoted head to ransom,
All of Northland sings her praises, Thus to rescue thee from trouble.
Sings her worth and magic beauty, I shall never visit Northland,
Fairest maiden of Pohyola, Shall not go to see thy maiden,
Daughter of the earth and ocean. Do not love the Bride of Beauty;
From her temples beams the moonlight, Never while the moonlight glimmers,
From her breast, the gleam of sunshine, Shall I go to dreary Pohya,
From her forehead shines the rainbow, To the plains of Sariola,
On her neck, the seven starlets, Where the people eat each other,
And the Great Bear from her shoulder. Sink their heroes in the ocean,
The Kalevala
Not for all the maids of Lapland.” Sitting on its emerald branches,
Spake the brother, Wainamoinen: Spies the gleam of golden moonlight.
“I can tell thee greater wonders, Spake the ancient Wainamoinen,
Listen to my wondrous story: These the words the singer uttered:
I have seen the fir-tree blossom, Climb this tree, dear Ilmarinen,
Seen its flowers with emerald branches, And bring down the golden moonbeams,
On the Osmo-fields and woodlands; Bring the Moon and Bear down with thee
In its top, there shines the moonlight, From the fir-tree’s lofty branches.”
And the Bear lives in its branches.” Ilmarinen, full consenting,
Ilmarinen thus made answer: Straightway climbed the golden fir-tree,
“I cannot believe thy story, High upon the bow of heaven,
Cannot trust thy tale of wonder, Thence to bring the golden moonbeams,
Till I see the blooming fir-tree, Thence to bring the Bear of heaven,
With its many emerald branches, From the fir-tree’s topmost branches.
With its Bear and golden moonlight.” Thereupon the blooming fir-tree
This is Wainamoinen’s answer: Spake these words to Ilmarinen:
“Wilt thou not believe my story? “O thou senseless, thoughtless hero,
Come with me and I will show thee Thou hast neither wit nor instinct;
If my lips speak fact or fiction.” Thou dost climb my golden branches,
Quick they journey to discover, Like a thing of little judgment,
Haste to view the wondrous fir-tree; Thus to get my pictured moonbeams,
Wainamoinen leads the journey, Take away my silver starlight,
Ilmarinen closely follows. Steal my Bear and blooming branches.”
As they near the Osmo-borders, Quick as thought old Wainamoinen
Ilmarinen hastens forward Sang again in magic accents,
That be may behold the wonder, Sang a storm-wind in the heavens,
Spies the Bear Within the fir-top, Sang the wild winds into fury,
The Kalevala
And the singer spake as follows: Thus addresses Ilmarinen,
‘Take, O storm-wind, take the forgeman, As she spies the hero-stranger:
Carry him within thy vessel, “Who art thou of ancient heroes,
Quickly hence, and land the hero Who of all the host of heroes,
On the ever-darksome Northland, Coming here upon the storm-wind,
On the dismal Sariola.” O’er the sledge-path of the ether,
Now the storm-wind quickly darkens, Scented not by Pohya’s watch-dogs?
Quickly piles the air together, This is Ilmarinen’s answer:
Makes of air a sailing vessel, “I have surely not come hither
Takes the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, To be barked at by the watch-dogs,
Fleetly from the fir-tree branches, At these unfamiliar portals,
Toward the never-pleasant Northland, At the gates of Sariola.”
Toward the dismal Sariola. Thereupon the Northland hostess
Through the air sailed Ilmarinen, Asks again the hero-stranger:
Fast and far the hero travelled, “Hast thou ever been acquainted
Sweeping onward, sailing northward, With the blacksmith of Wainola,
Riding in the track of storm-winds, With the hero, Ilmarinen,
O’er the Moon, beneath the sunshine, With the skilful smith and artist?
On the broad back of the Great Bear, Long I’ve waited for his coming,
Till he neared Pohyola’s woodlands, Long this one has been expected,
Neared the homes of Sariola, On the borders of the Northland,
And alighted undiscovered, Here to forge for me the Sampo.”
Was Dot noticed by the hunters, Spake the hero, Ilmarinen:
Was not scented by the watch-dogs. “Well indeed am I acquainted
Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, With the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Ancient, toothless dame of Northland, I myself am Ilmarinen,
Standing in the open court-yard, I, the skilful smith and artist.”
The Kalevala
Louhi, hostess of the Northland, In her hair the threads of silver.
Toothless dame of Sariola, From her dressing-room she hastens,
Straightway rushes to her dwelling, To the hall she bastes and listens,
These the words that Louhi utters: Full of beauty, full of joyance,
“Come, thou youngest of my daughters, Ears erect and eyes bright-beaming,
Come, thou fairest of my maidens, Ruddy cheeks and charming visage,
Dress thyself in finest raiment, Waiting for the hero-stranger.
Deck thy hair with rarest jewels, Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
Pearls upon thy swelling bosom, Leads the hero, Ilmarinen,
On thy neck, a golden necklace, To her dwelling-rooms in Northland,
Bind thy head with silken ribbons, To her home in Sariola,
Make thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy, Seats him at her well-filled table,
And thy visage fair and winsome, Gives to him the finest viands,
Since the artist, Ilmarinen, Gives him every needed comfort,
Hither comes from Kalevala, Then addresses him as follows:
Here to forge for us the Sampo, “O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Hammer us the lid in colors.” Master of the forge and smithy,
Now the daughter of the Northland, Canst thou forge for me the Sampo,
Honored by the land and water, Hammer me the lid in colors,
Straightway takes her choicest raiment, From the tips of white-swan feathers,
Takes her dresses rich in beauty, From the milk of greatest virtue,
Finest of her silken wardrobe, From a single grain of barley,
Now adjusts her silken fillet, From the finest wool of lambkins?
On her brow a band of copper, Thou shalt have my fairest daughter,
Round her waist a golden girdle, Recompense for this thy service.”
Round her neck a pearly necklace, These the words of Ilmarinen:
Shining gold upon her bosom, “I will forge for thee the Sampo,
The Kalevala
Hammer thee the lid in colors, Searched one day, and then a second;
From the tips of white-swan feathers, Ere the evening of the third day,
From the milk of greatest virtue, Came a rock within his vision,
From a single grain of barley, Came a stone with rainbow-colors.
From the finest wool of lambkins? There the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Since I forged the arch of heaven, Set at work to build his smithy,
Forged the air a concave cover, Built a fire and raised a chimney;
Ere the earth had a beginning.” On the next day laid his bellows,
Thereupon the magic blacksmith On the third day built his furnace,
Went to forge the wondrous Sampo, And began to forge the Sampo.
Went to find a blacksmith’s workshop, The eternal magic artist,
Went to find the tools to work with; Ancient blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
But he found no place for forging, First of all the iron-workers,
Found no smithy, found no bellows, Mixed together certain metals,
Found no chimney, found no anvil, Put the mixture in the caldron,
Found no tongs, and found no hammer. Laid it deep within the furnace,
Then the-artist, Ilmarinen. Called the hirelings to the forging.
Spake these words, soliloquizing: Skilfully they work the bellows,
“Only women grow discouraged, Tend the fire and add the fuel,
Only knaves leave work unfinished, Three most lovely days of summer,
Not the devils, nor the heroes, Three short nights of bright midsummer,
Nor the Gods of greater knowledge.” Till the rocks begin to blossom,
Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, In the foot-prints of the workmen,
Sought a place to build a smithy, From the magic heat and furnace.
Sought a place to plant a bellows, On the first day, Ilmarinen
On the borders of the Northland, Downward bent and well examined,
On the Pohya-hills and meadows; On the bottom of his furnace,
The Kalevala
Thus to see what might be forming Hastes without a provocation
From the magic fire and metals. Into every evil combat.
From the fire arose a cross-bow, Ilmarinen, metal artist,
“With the brightness of the moonbeams, Is not pleased with this creation,
Golden bow with tips of silver; Breaks the skiff in many fragments,
On the shaft was shining copper, Throws them back within the furnace,
And the bow was strong and wondrous, Keeps the workmen at the bellows,
But alas! it was ill-natured, Thus to forge the magic Sampo.
Asking for a hero daily, On the third day, Ilmarinen,
Two the heads it asked on feast-days. First of all the metal-workers,
Ilmarinen, skilful artist, Downward bent and well examined,
Was not pleased with this creation, On the bottom of the furnace;
Broke the bow in many pieces, There be saw a heifer rising,
Threw them back within the furnace, Golden were the horns of Kimmo,
Kept the workmen at the bellows, On her head the Bear of heaven,
Tried to forge the magic Sampo. On her brow a disc of sunshine,
On the second day, the blacksmith Beautiful the cow of magic;
Downward bent and well examined, But alas! she is ill-tempered,
On the bottom of the furnace; Rushes headlong through the forest,
From the fire, a skiff of metals, Rushes through the swamps and meadows,
Came a boat of purple color, Wasting all her milk in running.
All the ribs were colored golden, Ilmarinen, the magician.
And the oars were forged from copper; Is not pleased with this creation,
Thus the skiff was full of beauty, Cuts the magic cow in pieces,
But alas! a thing of evil; Throws them in the fiery furnace,
Forth it rushes into trouble, Sets the workmen at the bellows,
Hastens into every quarrel, Thus to forge the magic Sampo.
The Kalevala
On the fourth day, Ilmarinen As the storm-winds ply the bellows.
Downward bent and well examined, On the third night Ilmarinen,
To the bottom of the furnace; Bending low to view his metals,
There beheld a plow in beauty On the bottom of the furnace,
Rising from the fire of metals, Sees the magic Sampo rising,
Golden was the point and plowshare, Sees the lid in many colors.
And the beam was forged from copper, Quick the artist of Wainola
And the handles, molten silver, Forges with the tongs and anvil,
Beautiful the plow and wondrous; Knocking with a heavy hammer,
But alas! it is ill-mannered, Forges skilfully the Sampo;
Plows up fields of corn and barley, On one side the flour is grinding,
Furrows through the richest meadows. On another salt is making,
Ilmarinen, metal artist, On a third is money forging,
Is not pleased with this creation, And the lid is many-colored.
Quickly breaks the plow in pieces, Well the Sampo grinds when finished,
Throws them back within the furnace, To and fro the lid in rocking,
Lets the winds attend the bellows, Grinds one measure at the day-break,
Lets the storm-winds fire the metals. Grinds a measure fit for eating,
Fiercely vie the winds of heaven, Grinds a second for the market,
East-wind rushing, West-wind roaring, Grinds a third one for the store-house.
South-wind crying, North-wind howling, Joyfully the dame of Northland,
Blow one day and then a second, Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
Blow the third from morn till even, Takes away the magic Sampo,
When the fire leaps through the windows, To the hills of Sariola,
Through the door the sparks fly upward, To the copper-bearing mountains,
Clouds of smoke arise to heaven; Puts nine locks upon the wonder,
With the clouds the black smoke mingles, Makes three strong roots creep around it;
The Kalevala
In the earth they grow nine fathoms, All the birds would leave the forest,
One large root beneath the mountain, Leave the summit of the mountain,
One beneath the sandy sea-bed, Leave my native fields and woodlands,
One beneath the mountain-dwelling. Never shall I, in my life-time,
Modestly pleads Ilmarinen Say farewell to maiden freedom,
For the maiden’s willing answer, Nor to summer cares and labors,
These the words of the magician: Lest the harvest be ungarnered,
“Wilt thou come with me, fair maiden, Lest the berries be ungathered,
Be my wife and queen forever? Lest the song-birds leave the forest,
I have forged for thee the Sampo, Lest the mermaids leave the waters,
Forged the lid in many colors.” Lest I sing with them no longer.”
Northland’s fair and lovely daughter Ilmarinen, the magician,
Answers thus the metal-worker: The eternal metal-forger,
“Who will in the coming spring-time, Cap awry and head dejected,
Who will in the second summer, Disappointed, heavy-hearted,
Guide the cuckoo’s song and echo? Empty-handed, well considers,
Who will listen to his calling, How to reach his distant country,
Who will sing with him in autumn, Reach his much-loved home and kinded,
Should I go to distant regions, Gain the meadows of Wainola,
Should this cheery maiden vanish From the never-pleasant Northland,
From the fields of Sariola, From the darksome Sariola.
From Pohyola’s fens and forests, Louhi thus addressed the suitor:
Where the cuckoo sings and echoes? “O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Should I leave my father’s dwelling, Why art thou so heavy-hearted,
Should my mother’s berry vanish, Why thy visage so dejected?
Should these mountains lose their cherry, Hast thou in thy mind to journey
Then the cuckoo too would vanish, From the vales and hills of Pohya,
The Kalevala
To the meadows of Wainola, Spake the brother, Ilmarinen,
To thy home in Kalevala? These the words the master uttered:
This is Ilmarinen’s answer: “Yea, I forged the magic Sampo,
“Thitherward my mind is tending, Forged the lid in many colors;
To my home-land let me journey, To and fro the lid in rocking
With my kindred let me linger, Grinds one measure at the day-dawn,
Be at rest in mine own country.” Grinds a measure fit for eating,
Straightway Louhi, dame of Northland, Grinds a second for the market,
Gave the hero every comfort, Grinds a third one for the store-house.
Gave him food and rarest viands, Louhi has the wondrous Sampo,
Placed him in a boat of copper, I have not the Bride of Beauty.”
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?”
The Kalevala
RUNE XI Lovely as a summer-flower,
From a kingly house descended,
LAMENT Grew to perfect form and beauty,
Living in her father’s cottage,
This the time to sing of Ahti, Home of many ancient heroes,
Son of Lempo, Kaukomieli, Beautiful was she and queenly,
Also known as Lemminkainen. Praised throughout the whole of Ehstland;
Ahti was the king of islands, From afar men came to woo her,
Grew amid the island-dwellings, To the birthplace of the virgin,
At the site of his dear mother, To the household of her mother.
On the borders of the ocean, For his son the Day-star wooes her,
On the points of promontories. But she will not go to Sun-land,
Ahti fed upon the salmon, Will not shine beside the Day-star,
Fed upon the ocean whiting, In his haste to bring the summer.
Thus became a mighty hero, For her son, the bright Moon wooes her,
In his veins the blood of ages, But she will not go to Moon-land,
Read erect and form commanding, By the bright Moon will not glimmer,
Growth of mind and body perfect Will not run through boundless ether.
But alas! he had his failings, For his son the Night-star wooes her,
Bad indeed his heart and morals, But she will not go to Star-land,
Roaming in unworthy places, Will not twinkle in the starlight,
Staying days and nights in sequences Through the dreary nights in winter.
At the homes of merry maidens, Lovers come from distant Ehstlaud,
At the dances of the virgins, Others come from far-off Ingern,
With the maids of braided tresses. But they cannot win the maiden,
Up in Sahri lived a maiden, This the answer that she gives them
Lived the fair and winsome Kulli, “Vainly are your praises lavished
The Kalevala
Vainly is your silver offered, With her lineage of Sahri.”
Wealth and praise are no temptation; Spake the hero, Lemminkainen,
Never shall I go to Ehstland, These the words of Kaukomieli:
Never shall I go a-rowing “Should I come from lowly station,
On the waters of the Ingern, Though my tribe is not the highest,
Shall not cross the Sahri-waters, I shall woo to please my fancy,
Never eat the fish of Ehstland, Woo the maiden fair and lovely,
Never taste the Ehstland viands. Choose a wife for worth and beauty.”
Ingerland shall never see me, This the anxious mother’s answer:
Will not row upon her rivers, “Lemminkainen, son beloved,
Will not step within her borders; Listen to advice maternal:
Hunger there, and fell starvation, Do not go to distant Sahri,
Wood is absent, fuel wanting, To her tribe of many branches;
Neither water, wheat, nor barley, All the maidens there will taunt thee,
Even rye is not abundant.” All the women will deride thee.”
Lemminkainen of the islands, Lemminkainen, little hearing,
Warlike hero, Kaukomieli, Answers thus his mother’s pleading:
Undertakes to win the maiden, “I will still the sneers of women,
Woo and win the Sahri-flower, Silence all the taunts of maidens,
Win a bride so highly honored, I will crush their haughty bosoms,
Win the maid with golden tresses, Smite the hands and cheeks of infants;
Win the Sahri maid of beauty; Surely this will check their insults,
But his mother gives him warning: Fitting ending to derision!”
“Nay,” replies his gray-haired mother, This the answer of ’ the mother:
“Do not woo, my son beloved, “Woe is me, my son beloved!
Maiden of a higher station; Woe is me, my life hard-fated!
She will never make thee happy Shouldst thou taunt the Sahri daughters.
The Kalevala
Or insult the maids of virtue, Never have I been derided,
Shouldst thou laugh them to derision, Never suffered sneers of women,
There will rise a great contention, Never suffered scorn of virgins,
Fierce the battle that will follow. Not in my immortal life-time.
All the hosts of Sahri-suitors, Is there any place befitting
Armed in thousands will attack thee, On the Sahri-plains and pastures,
And will slay thee for thy folly.” Where to join in songs and dances?
Nothing listing, Lemminkainen, Is there here a hall for pleasure,
Heeding not his mother’s warning, Where the Sahri-maidens linger,
Led his war-horse from the stables, Merry maids with braided tresses?”
Quickly hitched the fiery charger, Thereupon the Sahri-maidens
Fleetly drove upon his journey, Answered from their promontory.,
To the distant Sahri-village, “Room enough is there in Sahri,
There to woo the Sahri-flower, Room upon the Sahri-pastures,
There to win the Bride of Beauty. Room for pleasure-halls and dances;
All the aged Sahri-women, Sing and dance upon our meadows,
All the young and lovely maidens Be a shepherd on the mountains,
Laughed to scorn the coming stranger Shepherd-boys have room for dancing;
Driving careless through the alleys, Indolent the Sahri-children,
Wildly driving through the court-yard, But the colts are fat and frisky.”
Now upsetting in the gate-way, Little caring, Lemminkainen
Breaking shaft, and hame, and runner. Entered service there as shepherd,
Then the fearless Lemminkainen, In the daytime on the pastures,
Mouth awry and visage wrinkled, In the evening, making merry
Shook his sable locks and answered: At the games of lively maidens,
“Never in my recollection At the dances with the virgins,
Have I heard or seen such treatment, With the maids with braided tresses.
The Kalevala
Thus it was that Lemminkainen, Have no time to waste upon thee,
Thus the shepherd, Kaukomieli, Rather give this stone its polish,
Quickly hushed the women’s laughter, Rather would I turn the pestle
Quickly quenched the taunts of maidens, In the heavy sandstone mortar;
Quickly silenced their derision. Rather sit beside my mother
All the dames and Sahri-daughters In the dwellings of my father.
Soon were feasting Lemminkainen, Never shall I heed thy wooing,
At his side they danced and lingered. Neither wights nor whisks I care for,
Only was there one among them, Sooner have a slender husband
One among the Sahri-virgins, Since I have a slender body;
Harbored neither love nor wooers, Wish to have him fine of figure,
Favored neither gods nor heroes, Since perchance I am well-shapen;
This the lovely maid Kyllikki, Wish to have him tall and stately,
This the Sahri’s fairest flower. Since my form perchance is queenly;
Lemminkainen, full of pleasure, Never waste thy time in wooing
Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Saliri’s maid and favored flower.”
Rowed a hundred boats in pieces, Time had gone but little distance,
Pulled a thousand oars to fragments, Scarcely had a month passed over,
While he wooed the Maid of Beauty, When upon a merry evening,
Tried to win the fair Kyllikki. Where the maidens meet for dancing,
Finally the lovely maiden, In the glen beyond the meadow,
Fairest daughter of the Northland, On a level patch of verdure,
Thus addresses Lemminkainen: Came too soon the maid Kyllikki,
“Why dost linger here, thou weak one, Sahri’s pride, the Maid of Beauty;
Why dost murmur on these borders, Quickly followed Lemminkainen,
Why come wooing at my fireside, With his stallion proudly prancing,
Wooing me in belt of copper? Fleetest racer of the Northland,
The Kalevala
Fleetly drives beyond the meadow, “Give, O give me back my freedom,
Where the maidens meet for dancing, Free me from the throes of thralldom,
Snatches quick the maid Kyllikki, Let this maiden wander homeward,
On the settle seats the maiden, By some foot-path let me wander
Quickly draws the leathern cover, To my father who is grieving,
And adjusts the brichen cross-bar, To my mother who is weeping;
Whips his courser to a gallop. Let me go or I will curse thee!
With a rush, and roar, and rattle, If thou wilt not give me freedom,
Speeds he homeward like the storm-wind, Wilt not let me wander homeward,
Speaks these words to those that listen: Where my loved ones wait my coming,
“Never, never, anxious maidens, I have seven stalwart brothers,
Must ye give the information, Seven sons of father’s brother,
That I carried off Kyllikki Seven sons of mother’s sister,
To my distant home and kindred. Who pursue the tracks of red-deer,
If ye do not heed this order, Hunt the hare upon the heather;
Ye shall badly fare as maidens; They will follow thee and slay thee,
I shall sing to war your suitors, Thus I’ll gain my wished-for freedom.”
Sing them under spear and broadsword, Lemminkainen, little heeding,
That for months, and years, and ages, Would not grant the maiden’s wishes,
Never ye will see their faces, Would not heed her plea for mercy.
Never hear their merry voices, Spake again the waiting virgin,
Never will they tread these uplands, Pride and beauty of the Northland:
Never will they join these dances, “Joyful was I with my kindred,
Never will they drive these highways.” Joyful born and softly nurtured
Sad the wailing of Kyllikki, Merrily I spent my childhood,
Sad the weeping flower of Sahri! Happy I, in virgin-freedom,
Listen to her tearful pleading: In the dwelling of my father,
The Kalevala
By the bedside of my mother, I have home, and friends, and kindred,
With my lineage in Sahri; Kine upon the plains and uplands,
But alas! all joy has vanished, In the marshes berries plenty,
All my happiness departed, Strawberries upon the mountains
All my maiden beauty waneth I have kine that need no milking,
Since I met thine evil spirit, Handsome kine that need no feeding,
Shameless hero of dishonor, Beautiful if not well-tended;
Cruel fighter of the islands, Need not tie them up at evening,
Merciless in civil combat.” Need not free them in the morning,
Spake the hero, Lemminkainen, Need not hunt them, need not feed them,
These the words of Kaukomieli: Need not give them salt nor water.
“Dearest maiden, fair Kyllikki, “Thinkest thou my race is lowly,
My sweet strawberry of Pohya, Dost thou think me born ignoble,
Still thine anguish, cease thy weeping, Does my lineage agrieve thee?
Be thou free from care and sorrow, Was not born in lofty station,
Never shall I do thee evil, From a tribe of noble heroes,
Never will my hands maltreat thee, From a worthy race descended;
Never will mine arms abuse thee, But I have a sword of fervor,
Never will my tongue revile thee, And a spear yet filled with courage,
Never will my heart deceive thee. Surely these are well descended,
“Tell me why thou hast this anguish, These were born from hero-races,
Why thou hast this bitter sorrow, Sharpened by the mighty Hisi,
Why this sighing and lamenting, By the gods were forged and burnished;
Tell me why this wail of sadness? Therefore will I give thee greatness,
Banish all thy cares and sorrows, Greatness of my race and nation,
Dry thy tears and still thine anguish, With my broadsword filled with fervor,
I have cattle, food, and shelter, With my spear still filled with courage.”
The Kalevala
Anxiously the sighing maiden Whipped his racer to a gallop,
Thus addresses Lemminkainen: And these words the hero uttered:
“O thou Ahti, son of Lempo, “Fare ye well, ye Sahri-meadows,
Wilt thou take this trusting virgin, Roots of firs, and stumps of birch-trees.
As thy faithful life-companion, That I wandered through in summer,
Take me under thy protection, That I travelled o’er in winter,
Be to me a faithful husband, Where ofttimes in rainy seasons,
Swear to me an oath of honor, At the evening hour I lingered,
That thou wilt not go to battle, When I sought to win the virgin,
When for gold thou hast a longing, Sought to win the Maid of Beauty,
When thou wishest gold and silver?” Fairest of the Sahri-flowers.
This is Lemminkainen’s answer: Fare ye well, ye Sahri-woodlands,
I will swear an oath of honor, Seas and oceans, lakes and rivers,
That I’ll never go to battle, Vales and mountains, isles and inlets,
When for gold I feel a longing, Once the home of fair Kyllikki!”
When I wish for gold and silver. Quick the racer galloped homeward,
Swear thou also on thine honor, Galloped on along the highway,
Thou wilt go not to the village, Toward the meadows of Wainola,
When desire for dance impels thee, To the plains of Kalevala.
Wilt not visit village-dances.” As they neared the Ahti-dwellings,
Thus the two made oath together, Thus Kyllikki spake in sorrow:
Registered their vows in heaven, “Cold and drear is thy cottage,
Vowed before omniscient Ukko, Seeming like a place deserted;
Ne’er to go to war vowed Ahti, Who may own this dismal cabin,
Never to the dance, Kyllikki. Who the one so little honored?”
Lemminkainen, full of joyance, Spake the hero, Lemminkainen,
Snapped his whip above his courser, These the words that Ahti uttered:
The Kalevala
“Do not grieve about my cottage, Thus I paid the scornful maidens,
Have no care about my chambers; Paid them well for their derision.
I shall build thee other dwellings, “Cherished mother of my being,
I shall fashion them much better, I have found the long-sought jewel,
Beams, and posts, and sills, and rafters, I have won the Maid of Beauty.
Fashioned from the sacred birch-wood.” Spread our couch with finest linen,
Now they reach the home of Ahti, For our heads the softest pillows,
Lemminkainen’s home and birthplace, On our table rarest viands,
Enter they his mother’s cottage; So that I may dwell in pleasure
There they meet his aged mother, With my spouse, the bride of honor,
These the words the mother uses: With the pride of distant Sahri.”
“Long indeed hast thou been absent, This the answer of the mother:
Long in foreign lands hast wandered, “Be thou praised, O gracious Ukko,
Long in Sahri thou hast lingered!” Loudly praised, O thou Creator,
This is Lemminkainen’s answer: Since thou givest me a daughter,
“All the host of Sahri-women, Ahti’s bride, my second daughter,
All the chaste and lovely maidens, Who can stir the fire at evening,
All the maids with braided tresses, Who can weave me finest fabrics,
Well have paid for their derision, Who can twirl the useful spindle,
For their scorn and for their laughter, Who can rinse my silken ribbons,
That they basely heaped upon me. Who can full the richest garments.
I have brought the best among them “Son beloved, praise thy Maker,
In my sledge to this thy cottage; For the winning of this virgin,
Well I wrapped her in my fur-robes, Pride and joy of distant Sahri
Kept her warm enwrapped in bear-skin, Kind indeed is thy Creator,
Brought her to my mother’s dwelling, Wise the ever-knowing Ukko!
As my faithful life-companion; Pure the snow upon the mountains,
The Kalevala
Purer still thy Bride of Beauty; RUNE XII
White the foam upon the ocean,
Whiter still her virgin-spirit; KYLLIKKI’S BROKEN VOW
Graceful on the lakes, the white-swan,
Still more graceful, thy companion: Lemminkainen, artful husband,
Beautiful the stars in heaven, Reckless hero, Kaukomieli,
Still more beautiful, Kyllikki. Constantly beside his young wife.,
Larger make our humble cottage, Passed his life in sweet contentment,
Wider build the doors and windows, And the years rolled swiftly onward;
Fashion thou the ceilings higher, Ahti thought not of the battles,
Decorate the walls in beauty, Nor Kyllikki of the dances.
Now that thou a bride hast taken Once upon a time it happened
From a tribe of higher station, That the hero, Lemminkainen,
Purest maiden of creation, Went upon the lake a-fishing,
From the meadow-lands of Sahri, Was not home at early evening,
From the upper shores of Northland.” 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:
The Kalevala
“Ahti, my beloved brother, Flames arising, mounting skyward,
To the village went Kyllikki, From the windows of this dwelling,
To the hall of many strangers, From the summits of these rafters,
To the plays and village dances, Piercing through our upper chambers,
With the young men and the maidens, Roaring like the fall of waters,
With the maids of braided tresses, Leaping from the floor and ceiling,
To the halls of joy and pleasure.” Darting from the halls and doorways.”
Lemminkainen, much dejected, But the doubting Lemminkainen
Broken-hearted, flushed with anger, Makes this answer to Kyllikki:
Spake these words in measured accents: “I discredit dreams or women,
“Mother dear, my gray-haired mother, Have no faith in vows of maidens!
Wilt thou straightway wash my linen Faithful mother of my being,
In the blood of poison-serpents, Hither bring my mail of copper;
In the black blood of the adder? Strong desire is stirring in me
I must hasten to the combat, For the cup of deadly combat,
To the camp-fires of the Northland, For the mead of martial conquest.”
To the battle-fields of Lapland; This the pleading mother’s answer:
To the village went Kyllikki, “Lemminkainen, son beloved,
To the play of merry maidens, Do not go to war I pray thee;
To the games and village dances, We have foaming beer abundant,
With the maids of braided tresses.” In our vessels beer of barley,
Straightway speaks the wife, Kyllikki: Held in casks by oaken spigots;
“My beloved husband, Ahti, Drink this beer of peace and pleasure,
Do not go to war, I pray thee. Let us drink of it together.”
In the evening I lay sleeping, Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
Slumbering I saw in dream-land “I shall taste no more the viands,
Fire upshooting from the chimney, In the home of false Kyllikki;
The Kalevala
Rather would I drink the water From the wars I’ll earn my silver;
From the painted tips of birch-oars; Gold and silver from the combat
Sweeter far to me the water, Are to me of greater value
Than the beverage of dishonor, Than the wealth thou hast discovered.
At my mother’s home and fireside! Bring me now my heavy armor,
“Hither bring my martial doublet, Bring me too my spear and broadsword;
Bring me now the sword of battle, To the Northland I must hasten,
Bring my father’s sword of honor; To the bloody wars of Lapland,
I must go to upper Northland, Thither does my pride impel me,
To the battle-fields of Lapland, Thitherward my heart is turning.
There to win me gold and silver.” “I have heard a tale of Lapland,
This the anxious mother’s answer: Some believe the wondrous story,
“My beloved Kaukomieli, That a maid in Pimentola
We have gold in great abundance, Lives that does not care for suitors,
Gold and silver in the store-room; Does not care for bearded heroes.”
Recently upon the uplands, This the aged mother’s answer:
In the early hours of morning, “Warlike Athi, son beloved,
Toiled the workmen in the corn-fields, In thy home thou hast Kyllikki,
Plowed the meadows filled with serpents, Fairest wife of all the islands;
When the plowshare raised the cover Strange to see two wives abiding
From a chest of gold and silver, In the home of but one husband.”
Countless was the gold uncovered, Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
Hid beneath the grassy meadow; “To the village runs Kyllikki;
This the treasure I have brought thee, Let her run to village dances,
Take the countless gold in welcome.” Let her sleep in other dwellings,
Spake the hero, Lemminkainen: With the village youth find pleasure,
“Do not wish thy household silver, With the maids of braided tresses.”
The Kalevala
Seeks the mother to detain him, What the hatchet gains from flint-stone,
Thus the anxious mother answers: What the auger bores from granite,
“Do not go, my son beloved, What the heel chips from the iceberg,
Ignorant of Pohya-witchcraft, And what death purloins from tomb-stones.
To the distant homes of Northland “Horribly the wizards threatened,
Till thou hast the art of magic, Tried to sink me with their magic,
Till thou hast some little wisdom In the water of the marshes,
Do not go to fields of battle, In the mud and treacherous quicksand,
To the fires of Northland’s children, To my chin in mire and water;
To the slaughter-fields of Lapland, But I too was born a hero,
Till of magic thou art master. Born a hero and magician,
There the Lapland maids will charm thee, Was not troubled by their magic.
Turyalanders will bewitch thee, “Straightway I began my singing,
Sing thy visage into charcoal, Sang the archers with their arrows,
Head and shoulders to the furnace, Sang the spearmen with their weapons,
Into ashes sing thy fore-arm, Sang the swordsmen with their poniards,
Into fire direct thy footsteps.” Sang the singers with their singing,
Spake the warlike Lemminkainen: The enchanters with their magic,
Wizards often have bewitched me, To the rapids of the rivers,
And the fascinating serpents; To the highest fall of waters,
Lapland wizards, three in number, To the all-devouring whirlpool,
On an eve in time of summer, To the deepest depths of ocean,
Sitting on a rock at twilight, Where the wizards still are sleeping,
Not a garment to protect them, Sleeping till the grass shoots upward
Once bewitched me with their magic; Through the beards and wrinkled faces,
This much they have taken from me, Through the locks of the enchanters,
This the sum of all my losses: As they sleep beneath the billows.”
The Kalevala
Still entreats the anxious mother, Gives his mother final answer,
Still beseeches Lemminkainen, These the words that Ahti uses:
Trying to restrain the hero, “Dire misfortune will befall me,
While Kyllikki begs forgiveness; Some sad fate will overtake me,
This the language of the mother: Evil come to Lemminkainen,
“Do not go, my son beloved, When the blood flows from that hair-brush,
To the villages of Northland, When blood oozes from those bristles.”
Nor to Lapland’s frigid borders; Thus the warlike Lemminkainen
Dire misfortune will befall thee, Goes to never-pleasant Lapland,
Star of evil settle o’er thee, Heeding not his mother’s warning,
Lemminkainen’s end, destruction. Heeding not her prohibition.
“Couldst thou speak in tongues a hundred, Thus the hero, Kaukomieli,
I could not believe thee able, Quick equips himself for warfare,
Through the magic of thy singing, On his head a copper helmet,
To enchant the sons of Lapland On his shoulders caps of copper,
To the bottom of the ocean, On his body iron armor,
Dost not know the Tury-language, Steel, the belt around his body;
Canst but speak the tongue of Suomi, As he girds himself for battle,
Canst not win by witless magic.” Ahti thus soliloquizing:
Lemminkainen, reckless hero, “Strong the hero in his armor,
Also known as Kaukomieli, Strong indeed in copper helmet,
Stood beside his mother, combing Powerful in mail of iron,
Out his sable locks and musing, Stronger far than any hero
Brushing down his beard, debating, On the dismal shores of Lapland,
Steadfast still in his decision, Need not fear their wise enchanters,
Quickly hurls his brush in anger, Need not fear their strongest foemen,
Hurls it to the wall opposing, Need not fear a war with wizards.”
The Kalevala
Grasped he then the sword of battle, “Rise ye heroes of the broadsword,
Firmly grasped the heavy broadsword Ye, the earth’s eternal heroes,
That Tuoni had been grinding, From the deeps, ye sickle-bearers,
That the gods had brightly burnished, From the brooks, ye crossbow-shooters,
Thrust it in the leathern scabbard, Come, thou forest, with thine archers,
Tied the scabbard to his armor. Come, ye thickets, with your armies,
How do heroes guard from danger, Mountain spirits, with your powers,
Where protect themselves from evil? Come, fell Hisi, with thy horrors,
Heroes guard their homes and firesides, Water-mother, with thy dangers,
Guard their doors, and roofs, and windows, Come, Wellamo, with thy mermaids,
Guard the posts that bold the torch-lights, Come, ye maidens from the valleys,
Guard the highways to the court-yard, Come, ye nymphs from winding rivers,
Guard the ends of all the gate-ways. Be protection to this hero,
Heroes guard themselves from women, Be his day-and-night companions,
Carefully from merry maidens; Body-guard to Lemminkainen,
If in this their strength be wanting, Thus to blunt the spears of wizards,
Easy fall the heroes, victims Thus to dull their pointed arrows,
To the snares of the enchanters. That the spears of the enchanters,
Furthermore are heroes watchful That the arrows of the archers,
Of the tribes of warlike giants, That the weapons of the foemen,
Where the highway doubly branches, May not harm this bearded hero.
On the borders of the blue-rock, “Should this force be insufficient,
On the marshes filled with evil, I can call on other powers,
Near the mighty fall of waters, I can call the gods above me,
Near the circling of the whirlpool, Call the great god of the heavens,
Near the fiery springs and rapids. Him who gives the clouds their courses,
Spake the stout-heart, Lemminkainen: Him who rules through boundless ether,
The Kalevala
Who directs the march of storm-winds. Called his brown steed from the pasture,
“Ukko, thou O God above me, Threw the harness on the courser,
Thou the father of creation, Hitched the fleet-foot to the snow-sledge,
Thou that speakest through the thunder, Leaped upon the highest cross-bench,
Thou whose weapon is the lightning, Cracked his whip above the racer,
Thou whose voice is borne by ether, And the steed flies onward swiftly,
Grant me now thy mighty fire-sword, Bounds the sleigh upon its journey,
Give me here thy burning arrows, And the golden plain re-echoes;
Lightning arrows for my quiver, Travels one day, then a second,
Thus protect me from all danger, Travels all the next day northward,
Guard me from the wiles of witches, Till the third day evening brings him
Guide my feet from every evil, To a sorry Northland village,
Help me conquer the enchanters, On the dismal shores of Lapland.
Help me drive them from the Northland; Here the hero, Lemminkainen,
Those that stand in front of battle, Drove along the lowest highway,
Those that fill the ranks behind me, Through the streets along the border,
Those around me, those above me, To a court-yard in the hamlet,
Those beneath me, help me banish,. Asked one standing in the doorway:
With their knives, and swords, and cross-bows, “Is there one within this dwelling,
With their spears of keenest temper, That can loose my stallion’s breastplate,
With their tongues of evil magic; That can lift his heavy collar,
Help me drive these Lapland wizards That these shafts can rightly lower?”
To the deepest depths of ocean, On the floor a babe was playing,
There to wrestle with Wellamo.” And the young child gave this answer:
Then the reckless Lemminkainen “There is no one in this dwelling
Whistled loudly for his stallion, That can loose thy stallion’s breastplate,
Called the racer from the hurdles, That can lift his heavy collar,
The Kalevala
That the shafts can rightly lower.” To the dairy or thy sister,
Lemminkainen, not discouraged, Ere the evening star has risen,
Whips his racer to a gallop, Ere the sun retires to slumber.”
Rushes forward through the village, Lemminkainen, little fearing,
On the middle of the highways, Gives this answer to the wizard:
To the court-yard in the centre, “I should slay thee for thy pertness,
Asks one standing in the threshold, That thy clatter might be silenced.”
Leaning on the penthouse door-posts: Then he whipped his fiery charger,
“Is there any one here dwelling And the steed flew onward swiftly,
That can slip my stallion’s bridle, On the upper of the highways,
That can loose his leathern breast-straps, To the court-yard on the summit.
That can tend my royal racer?” When the reckless Lemminkainen
From the fire-place spake a wizard, Had approached the upper court-yard,
From her bench the witch made answer: Uttered he the words that follow:
“Thou canst find one in this dwelling, “O thou Hisi, stuff this watch-dog,
That can slip thy courser’s bridle, Lempo, stuff his throat and nostrils,
That can loose his heavy breastplate, Close the mouth of this wild barker,
That can tend thy royal racer. Bridle well the vicious canine,
There are here a thousand heroes That the watcher may be silent
That can make thee hasten homeward, While the hero passes by him.”
That can give thee fleet-foot stallions, Then he stepped within the court-room,
That can chase thee to thy country, With his whip he struck the flooring,
Reckless rascal and magician, From the floor arose a vapor,
To thy home and fellow minstrels, In the fog appeared a pigmy,
To the uplands of thy father, Who unhitched the royal racer,
To the cabins of thy mother, From his back removed the harness,
To the work-bench of thy brother, Gave the weary steed attention.
The Kalevala
Then the hero, Lemminkainen, Fleetly rushing through the door-way,
Carefully advanced and listened. To the centre of the court-room,
No one saw the strange magician, And addresses thus the stranger:
No one heard his cautious footsteps; Formerly a dog lay watching,
Heard he songs within the dwelling, Was a cur of iron-color,
Through the moss-stuffed chinks heard voices. Fond of flesh, a bone-devourer,
Through the walls he beard them singing, Loved to lick the blood of strangers.
Through the doors the peals of laughter. Who then art thou of the heroes,
Then he spied within the court-rooms, Who of all the host of heroes,
Lurking slyly in the hall-ways, That thou art within my court-rooms,
Found the court-rooms filled with singers, That thou comest to my dwelling,
By the walls were players seated, Was not seen without my portals,
Near the doors the wise men hovered, Was not scented by my watch-dogs?
Skilful ones upon the benches, Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
Near the fires the wicked wizards; “Do not think that I come hither
All were singing songs of Lapland, Having neither wit nor wisdom,
Singing songs of evil Hisi. Having neither art nor power,
Now the minstrel, Lemminkainen, Wanting in ancestral knowledge,
Changes both his form and stature, Lacking prudence of the fathers,
Passes through the inner door-ways, That thy watch-dogs may devour me.
Enters he the spacious court-hall, “My devoted mother washed me,
And these words the hero utters: When a frail and tender baby,
“Fine the singing quickly ending, Three times in the nights of summer,
Good the song that quickly ceases; Nine times in the nights of autumn,
Better far to keep thy wisdom That upon my journeys northward
Than to sing it on the house-tops.” I might sing the ancient wisdom,
Comes the hostess of Pohyola, Thus protect myself from danger;
The Kalevala
When at home I sing as wisely Then the hero, Lemminkainen,
As the minstrels of thy hamlet.” Sang the foemen with their broadswords?
Then the singer, Lemminkainen, Sang the heroes with their weapons,
Ancient hero, Kaukomieli, Sang the eldest, sang the youngest,
Quick began his incantations, Sang the middle-aged, enchanted;
Straightway sang the songs of witchcraft, Only one he left his senses,
From his fur-robe darts the lightning, He a poor, defenseless shepherd,
Flames outshooting from his eye-balls, Old and sightless, halt and wretched,
From the magic of his singing And the old man’s name was Nasshut.
From his wonderful enchantment. Spake the miserable shepherd:
Sang the very best of singers “Thou hast old and young enchanted,
To the very worst of minstrels, Thou hast banished all our heroes,
Filled their mouths with dust and ashes, Why hast spared this wretched shepherd?”
Piled the rocks upon their shoulders, This is Lemminkainen’s answer:
Stilled the best of Lapland witches, “Therefore have I not bewitched thee:
Stilled the sorcerers and wizards. Thou art old, and blind, and wretched
Then he banished all their heroes, Feeble-minded thou, and harmless,
Banished all their proudest minstrels, Loathsome now without my magic.
This one hither, that one thither, Thou didst, in thy better life-time,
To the lowlands poor in verdure, When a shepherd filled with malice,
To the unproductive uplands, Ruin all thy mother’s berries,
To the oceans wanting whiting, Make thy sister, too unworthy,
To the waterfalls of Rutya, Ruin all thy brother’s cattle,
To the whirlpool hot and flaming, Drive to death thy father’s stallions,
To the waters decked with sea-foam, Through the marshes, o’er the meadows,
Into fires and boiling waters, Through the lowlands, o’er the mountains,
Into everlasting torment. Heeding not thy mother’s counsel.”
The Kalevala
Thereupon the wretched Nasshut, RUNE XIII
Angry grew and swore for vengeance,
Straightway limping through the door-way, LEMMINIKAINEN’S SECOND WOOING
Hobbled on beyond the court-yard,
O’er the meadow-lands and pastures, Spake the ancient Lemminkainen
To the river of the death-land, To the hostess of Pohyola:
To the holy stream and whirlpool, “Give to me thy lovely daughter,
To the kingdom of Tuoni, Bring me now thy winsome maiden,
To the islands of Manala; Bring the best of Lapland virgins,
Waited there for Kaukomieli, Fairest virgin of the Northland.”
Listened long for Lemminkainen, Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
Thinking he must pass this river Answered thus the wild magician:
On his journey to his country, “I shall never give my daughter,
On. the highway to the islands, Never give my fairest maiden,
From the upper shores of Pohya, Not the best one, nor the worst one,
From the dreary Sariola. 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.”
The Kalevala
Spake the hostess of Pohyola: Make me quick two worthy snow-shoes,
“Never will I give my daughter Smooth them well and make them hardy,
To a hero false and worthless, That in Tapio the wild-moose,
To a minstrel vain and evil; Roaming through the Hisi-forests,
Therefore, pray thou for my maiden, I may catch and bring to Louhi,
Therefore, woo the sweet-faced flower, As a dowry for her daughter.”
When thou bringest me the wild-moose Then Lylikki thus made answer,
From the Hisi fields and forests.” Kauppi gave this prompt decision:
Then the artful Lemminkainen “Lemminkainen, reckless minstrel,
Deftly whittled out his javelins, Thou wilt hunt in vain the wild-moose,
Quickly made his leathern bow-string, Thou wilt catch but pain and torture,
And prepared his bow and arrows, In the Hisi fens and forests.”
And soliloquized as follows: Little heeding, Lemminkainen
“Now my javelins are made ready, Spake these measures to Lylikki
All my arrows too are ready, “Make for me the worthy snow-shoes,
And my oaken cross-bow bended, Quickly work and make them ready;
But my snow-shoes are not builded, Go I will and catch the blue-moose
Who will make me worthy snow-shoes?” Where in Tapio it browses,
Lemminkainen, grave and thoughtful, In the Hisi woods and snow-fields.”
Long reflected, well considered, Then Lylikki, snow-shoe-maker,
Where the snow-shoes could be fashioned, Ancient Kauppi, master artist,
Who the artist that could make them; Whittled in the fall his show-shoes,
Hastened to the Kauppi-smithy, Smoothed them in the winter evenings,
To the smithy of Lylikki, One day working on the runners,
Thus addressed the snow-shoe artist: All the next day making stick-rings,
“O thou skilful Woyalander, Till at last the shoes were finished,
Kauppi, ablest smith of Lapland, And the workmanship was perfect.
The Kalevala
Then he fastened well the shoe-straps, That could not be overtaken
Smooth as adder’s skin the woodwork, With the snow-shoes of Lylikki,
Soft as fox-fur were the stick-rings; With the strides of Lemminkainen.”
Oiled he well his wondrous snow-shoes Wicked Hisi heard these measures,
With the tallow of the reindeer; Juntas listened to their echoes;
When he thus soliloquizes, Straightway Hisi called the wild-moose,
These the accents of Lylikki: Juutas fashioned soon a reindeer,
“Is there any youth in Lapland, And the head was made of punk-wood,
Any in this generation, Horns of naked willow branches,
That can travel in these snow-shoes, Feet were furnished by the rushes,
That can move the lower sections?” And the legs, by reeds aquatic,
Spake the reckless Lemminkainen, Veins were made of withered grasses,
Full of hope, and life, and vigor: Eyes, from daisies of the meadows,
Surely there is one in Lapland. Ears were formed of water-flowers,
In this rising generation, And the skin of tawny fir-bark,
That can travel in these snow-shoes, Out of sappy wood, the muscles,
That the right and left can manage.” Fair and fleet, the magic reindeer.
To his back he tied the quiver, Juutas thus instructs the wild-moose,
Placed the bow upon his shoulder, These the words of wicked Hisi:
With both hands he grasped his snow-cane, Flee away, thou moose of Juutas,
Speaking meanwhile words as follow: Flee away, thou Hisi-reindeer,
“There is nothing in the woodlands, Like the winds, thou rapid courser,
Nothing in the world of Ukko, To the snow-homes of the ranger,
Nothing underneath the heavens, To the ridges of the mountains,
In the uplands, in the lowlands, To the snow-capped hills of Lapland,
Nothing in the snow-fields running, That thy hunter may be worn out,
Not a fleet deer of the forest, Thy pursuer be tormented,
The Kalevala
Lemminkainen be exhausted.” Glided over lakes and rivers,
Thereupon the Hisi-reindeer, Over lands beyond the smooth-sea,
Juutas-moose with branching antlers, Through the desert plains of Hisi,
Fleetly ran through fen and forest, Glided o’er the plains of Kalma,
Over Lapland’s hills and valleys, Through the kingdom of Tuoni,
Through the open fields and court-yards, To the end of Kalma’s empire,
Through the penthouse doors and gate-ways, Where the jaws of Death stand open,
Turning over tubs of water, Where the head of Kalma lowers,
Threw the kettles from the fire-pole, Ready to devour the stranger,
And upset the dishes cooking. To devour wild Lemminkainen;
Then arose a fearful uproar, But Tuoni cannot reach him,
In the court-yards of Pohyola, Kalma cannot overtake him.
Lapland-dogs began their barking, Distant woods are yet untraveled,
Lapland-children cried in terror, Far away a woodland corner
Lapland-women roared with laughter, Stands unsearched by Kaukomieli,
And the Lapland-heroes shouted. In the North’s extensive, borders,
Fleetly followed Lemminkainen, In the realm of dreary Lapland.
Followed fast, and followed faster, Now the hero, on his snow-shoes,
Hastened on behind the wild-moose, Hastens to the distant woodlands,
Over swamps and through the woodlands, There to hunt the moose of Piru.
Over snow-fields vast and pathless, As he nears the woodland corner,
Over high uprising mountains, There he bears a frightful uproar,
Fire out-shooting from his runners, From the Northland’s distant borders,
Smoke arising from his snow-cane: From the dreary fields of Lapland,
Could not hear the wild-moose bounding, Hears the dogs as they are barking,
Could not sight the flying fleet-foot; Hears the children loudly screaming,
Glided on through field and forest, Hears the laughter or the women,
The Kalevala
Hears the shouting of the heroes. Swift as adders in the stubble,
Thereupon wild Lemminkainen Levelled bushes in the marshes,
Hastens forward on his snow-shoes, Like the swift and fiery serpents,
To the place where dogs are barking, Spake these words of magic import,
To the distant woods of Lapland. Keeping balance with his snow-staff:
When the reckless Kaukomieli Come thou might of Lapland heroes,
Had approached this Hisi corner, Bring to me the moose of Juutas;
Straightway he began to question: Come thou strength of Lapland-women,
“Why this laughter or the women, And prepare the boiling caldron;
Why the screaming of the children, Come, thou might of Lapland children,
Why the shouting of the heroes, Bring together fire and fuel;
Why this barking of the watch-dogs? Come, thou strength of Lapland-kettles,
This reply was promptly given: Help to boil the Hisi wild-moose.”
“This the reason for this uproar, Then with mighty force and courage,
Women laughing, children screaming, Lemminkainen hastened onward,
Heroes shouting, watch-dogs barking Striking backward, shooting forward;
Hisi’s moose came running hither, With a long sweep of his snow-shoe,
Hither came the Piru-Reindeer, Disappeared from view the hero;
Hither came with hoofs of silver, With the second, shooting further,
Through the open fields and court-yards, Was the hunter out of hearing,
Through the penthouse doors and gate-ways, With the third the hero glided
Turning over tubs or water, On the shoulders of the wild-moose;
Threw the kettles from the fire-pole, Took a pole of stoutest oak-wood,
And upset the dishes cooking.” Took some bark-strings from the willow,
Then the hero, Lemminkainen, Wherewithal to bind the moose-deer,
Straightway summoned all his courage, Bind him to his oaken hurdle.
Pushed ahead his mighty snow-shoes, To the moose he spake as follows:
The Kalevala
“Here remain, thou moose of Juutas Nor the hero’s ear detect him.
Skip about, my bounding courser, Thereupon the mighty hunter
In my hurdle jump and frolic, Angry grows, and much disheartened,
Captive from the fields of Piru, Starts again the moose to capture,
From the Hisi glens and mountains.” Gliding off behind the courser.
Then he stroked the captured wild-moose, With his might he plunges forward;
Patted him upon his forehead, At the instep breaks his snow-shoe,
Spake again in measured accents: Breaks the runners into fragments,
“I would like awhile to linger, On the mountings breaks his javelins,
I would love to rest a moment In the centre breaks his snow-staff,
In the cottage of my maiden, And the moose bounds on before him,
With my virgin, young and lovely.” Through the Hisi-woods and snow-fields,
Then the Hisi-moose grew angry, Out of reach of Lemminkainen.
Stamped his feet and shook his antlers, Then the reckless Kaukomieli
Spake these words to Lemminkainen: Looked with bended head, ill-humored,
“Surely Lempo soon will got thee, One by one upon the fragments,
Shouldst thou sit beside the maiden, Speaking words of ancient wisdom:
Shouldst thou linger by the virgin.” “Northland hunters, never, never,
Now the wild-moose stamps and rushes, Go defiant to thy forests,
Tears in two the bands of willow, In the Hisi vales and mountains,
Breaks the oak-wood pole in pieces, There to hunt the moose of Juutas,
And upturns the hunter’s hurdle, Like this senseless, reckless hero;
Quickly leaping from his captor, I have wrecked my magic snow-shoes,
Bounds away with strength of freedom, Ruined too my useful snow-staff,
Over hills and over lowlands, And my javelins I have broken,
Over swamps and over snow-fields, While the wild-moose runs in safety
Over mountains clothed in heather, Through the Hisi fields and forests.”
That the eye may not behold him,
The Kalevala
RUNE XIV Through the paths of Lempo’s wild-moose,
To the forest hills of Juutas.
DEATH To the snow-fields shall I journey,
Leave the heroes to the woodlands,
Lemminkainen, much disheartened, On the way to Tapiola,
Deeply thought and long considered, Into Tapio’s wild dwellings.
What to do, what course to follow, “Greeting bring I to the mountains,
Whether best to leave the wild-moose Greeting to the vales and uplands,
In the fastnesses of Hisi, Greet ye, heights with forests covered,
And return to Kalevala, Greet ye, ever-verdant fir-trees,
Or a third time hunt the ranger, Greet ye, groves of whitened aspen,
Hoping thus to bring him captive, Greetings bring to those that greet you,
Thus return at last a victor Fields, and streams, and woods of Lapland.
To the forest home of Louhi, Bring me favor, mountain-woodlands,
To the joy of all her daughters, Lapland-deserts, show me kindness,
To the wood-nymph’s happy fireside. Mighty Tapio, be gracious,
Taking courage Lemminkainen Let me wander through thy forests,
Spake these words in supplication: Let me glide along thy rivers,
“Ukko, thou O God above me, Let this hunter search thy snow-fields,
Thou Creator of the heavens, Where the wild-moose herds in numbers
Put my snow-shoes well in order, Where the bounding reindeer lingers.
And endow them both with swiftness, “O Nyrikki, mountain hero,
That I rapidly may journey Son of Tapio of forests,
Over marshes, over snow-fields, Hero with the scarlet head-gear,
Over lowlands, over highlands, Notches make along the pathway,
Through the realms of wicked Hisi, Landmarks upward to the mountains,
Through the distant plains of Lapland, That this hunter may not wander,
The Kalevala
May not fall, and falling perish Tapio’s beloved daughter,
In the snow-fields of thy kingdom, Blow thou now thy honey flute-notes,
Hunting for the moose of Hisi, Play upon thy forest-whistle,
Dowry for the pride of Northland. For the hearing of thy mistress,
“Mistress of the woods, Mielikki, For thy charming woodland-mistress,
Forest-mother, formed in beauty, Make her hear thy sweet-toned playing,
Let thy gold flow out abundant, That she may arise from slumber.
Let thy silver onward wander, Should thy mistress not awaken
For the hero that is seeking At the calling of thy flute-notes,
For the wild-moose of thy kingdom; Play again, and play unceasing,
Bring me here thy keys of silver, Make the golden tongue re-echo.”
From the golden girdle round thee; Wild and daring Lemminkainen
Open Tapio’s rich chambers, Steadfast prays upon his journey,
And unlock the forest fortress, Calling on the gods for succor,
While I here await the booty, Hastens off through fields and moorlands,
While I hunt the moose of Lempo. Passes on through cruel brush-wood,
“Should this service be too menial To the colliery of Hisi,
Give the order to thy servants, To the burning fields of Lempo;
Send at once thy servant-maidens, Glided one day, then a second,
And command it to thy people. Glided all the next day onward,
Thou wilt never seem a hostess, Till he came to Big-stone mountain,
If thou hast not in thy service, Climbed upon its rocky summit,
Maidens ready by the hundreds, Turned his glances to the north-west,
Thousands that await thy bidding, Toward the Northland moors and marshes;
Who thy herds may watch and nurture, There appeared the Tapio-mansion.
Tend the game of thy dominions. All the doors were golden-colored,
“Tall and slender forest-virgin, Shining in the gleam of sunlight
The Kalevala
Through the thickets on the mountains, Six the windows in each castle,
Through the distant fields of Northland. Through these windows I discovered
Lemminkainen, much encouraged, All the host of Tapio’s mansion,
Hastens onward from his station Saw its fair and stately hostess;
Through the lowlands, o’er the uplands, Saw great Tapio’s lovely daughter,
Over snow-fields vast and vacant, Saw Tellervo in her beauty,
Under snow-robed firs and aspens, With her train of charming maidens;
Hastens forward, happy-hearted, All were dressed in golden raiment,
Quickly reaches Tapio’s court-yards, Rustled all in gold and silver.
Halts without at Tapio’s windows, Then the forest’s queenly hostess,
Slyly looks into her mansion, Still the hostess of these woodlands,
Spies within some kindly women, On her arms wore golden bracelets,
Forest-dames outstretched before him, Golden rings upon her fingers,
All are clad in scanty raiment, In her hair were sparkling, jewels,
Dressed in soiled and ragged linens. On her bead were golden fillets,
Spake the stranger Lemminkainen: In her ears were golden ear-rings,
“Wherefore sit ye, forest-mothers, On her neck a pearly necklace,
In your old and simple garments, And her braidlets, silver-tinselled.
In your soiled and ragged linen? “Lovely hostess of the forest,
Ye, forsooth! are too untidy, Metsola’s enchanting mistress,
Too unsightly your appearance Fling aside thine ugly straw-shoes,
In your tattered gowns appareled. Cast away the shoes of birch-bark,
When I lived within the forest, Doff thy soiled and ragged linen,
There were then three mountain castles, Doff thy gown of shabby fabric,
One of horn and one of ivory, Don the bright and festive raiment,
And the third of wood constructed; Don the gown of merry-making,
In their walls were golden windows, While I stay within thy borders,
The Kalevala
While I seek my forest-booty, Spices in the meadow-borders,
Hunt the moose of evil Hisi. Oil out-pouring from the lowlands.
Here my visit will be irksome, “Forest daughter, lovely virgin,
Here thy guest will be ill-humored, Golden maiden, fair Tulikki,
Waiting in thy fields and woodlands, Second of the Tapio-daughters,
Hunting here the moose of Lempo, Drive the game within these borders,
Finding not the Hisi-ranger, To these far-extending snow-fields.
Shouldst thou give me no enjoyment, Should the reindeer be too sluggish,
Should I find no joy, nor respite. Should the moose-deer move too slowly
Long the eve that gives no pleasure, Cut a birch-rod from the thicket,
Long the day that brings no guerdon! Whip them hither in their beauty,
“Sable-bearded god of forests, Drive the wild-moose to my hurdle,
In thy hat and coat of ermine, Hither drive the long-sought booty
Robe thy trees in finest fibers, To the hunter who is watching,
Deck thy groves in richest fabrics, Waiting in the Hisi-forests.
Give the fir-trees shining silver, “When the game has started hither,
Deck with gold the slender balsams, Keep them in the proper highway,
Give the spruces copper belting, Hold thy magic hands before them,
And the pine-trees silver girdles, Guard them well on either road-side,
Give the birches golden flowers, That the elk may not escape thee,
Deck their stems with silver fret-work, May not dart adown some by-path.
This their garb in former ages, Should, perchance, the moose-deer wander
When the days and nights were brighter, Through some by-way of the forest,
When the fir-trees shone like sunlight, Take him by the ears and antlers,
And the birches like the moonbeams; Hither lead the pride of Lempo.
Honey breathed throughout the forest, “If the path be filled with brush-wood
Settled in the glens and highlands Cast the brush-wood to the road-side;
The Kalevala
If the branches cross his pathway, In the heat and pain of battle;
Break the branches into fragments; It will rust within my pouches,
Should a fence of fir or alder Soon will wear away and perish,
Cross the way that leads him hither. If it be not used in trading.”
Make an opening within it, Long the hunter, Lemminkainen,
Open nine obstructing fences; Glided through the fen and forest,
If the way be crossed by streamlets, Sang his songs throughout the woodlands,
If the path be stopped by rivers, Through three mountain glens be sang them,
Make a bridge of silken fabric, Sang the forest hostess friendly,
Weaving webs of scarlet color, Sang he, also, Tapio friendly,
Drive the deer-herd gently over, Friendly, all the forest virgins,
Lead them gently o’er the waters, All of Metsola’s fair daughters.
O’er the rivers of thy forests, Now they start the herds of Lempo,
O’er the streams of thy dominions. Start the wild-moose from his shelter,
“Thou, the host of Tapio’s mansion, In the realms of evil Hisi,
Gracious host of Tapiola, Tapio’s highest mountain-region;
Sable-bearded god of woodlands, Now they drive the ranger homeward,
Golden lord of Northland forests, To the open courts of Piru,
Thou, O Tapio’s worthy hostess, To the hero that is waiting,
Queen of snowy woods, Mimerkki, Hunting for the moose of Juutas.
Ancient dame in sky-blue vesture, When the herd had reached the castle,
Fenland-queen in scarlet ribbons, Lemminkainen threw his lasso
Come I to exchange my silver, O’er the antlers of the blue-moose,
To exchange my gold and silver; Settled on the neck and shoulders
Gold I have, as old as moonlight, Of the mighty moose of Hisi.
Silver of the age of sunshine, Then the hunter, Kaukomieli,
In the first of years was gathered, Stroked his captive’s neck in safety,
The Kalevala
For the moose was well-imprisoned. When for me thou’lt put a bridle
Thereupon gay Lemminkainen On the flaming horse of Hisi,
Filled with joyance spake as follows: Rapid messenger of Lempo,
“Pride of forests, queen of woodlands, On the Hisi-plains and pastures.”
Metsola’s enchanted hostess, Nothing daunted, Lemminkainen
Lovely forest dame, Mielikki, Hastened forward to accomplish
Mother-donor of the mountains, Louhi’s second test of heroes,
Take the gold that I have promised, On the cultivated lowlands,
Come and take away the silver; On the sacred fields and forests.
Spread thy kerchief well before me, Everywhere he sought the racer,
Spread out here thy silken neck-wrap, Sought the fire-expiring stallion,
Underneath the golden treasure, Fire out-shooting from his nostrils.
Underneath the shining silver, Lemminkainen, fearless hunter,
that to earth it may not settle, Bearing in his belt his bridle,
Scattered on the snows of winter.” On his shoulders, reins and halter,
Then the hero went a victor Sought one day, and then a second,
To the dwellings of Pohyola, Finally, upon the third day,
And addressed these words to Louhi: Went he to the Hisi-mountain,
“I have caught the moose of Hisi, Climbed, and struggled to the summit;
In the Metsola-dominions, To the east he turned his glances,
Give, O hostess, give thy daughter, Cast his eyes upon the sunrise,
Give to me thy fairest virgin, There beheld the flaming courser,
Bride of mine to be hereafter.” On the heath among the far-trees.
Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Lempo’s fire-expiring stallion
Gave this answer to the suitor: Fire and mingled smoke, out-shooting
“I will give to thee my daughter, From his mouth, and eyes, and nostrils.
For thy wife my fairest maiden, Spake the daring Lemminkainen,
The Kalevala
This the hero’s supplication: In this silver-mounted bridle.
“Ukko, thou O God above me, I shall never harshly treat thee,
Thou that rulest all the storm-clouds, Never make thee fly too fleetly,
Open thou the vault of heaven, On the way to Sariola,
Open windows through the ether, On the tracks of long duration,
Let the icy rain come falling, To the hostess of Pohyola,
Lot the heavy hailstones shower To her magic courts and stables,
On the flaming horse of Hisi, Will not lash thee on thy journey;
On the fire-expiring stallion.” I shall lead thee gently forward,
Ukko, the benign Creator, Drive thee with the reins of kindness,
Heard the prayer of Lemminkainen, Cover thee with silken blankets.”
Broke apart the dome of heaven, Then the fire-haired steed of Juutas,
Rent the heights of heaven asunder, Flaming horse of mighty Hisi,
Sent the iron-hail in showers, Put his bead of shining silver,
Smaller than the heads of horses, In the bright and golden bead-stall,
Larger than the heads of heroes, In the silver-mounted bridle.
On the flaming steed of Lempo, Thus the hero, Lemminkainen,
On the fire-expiring stallion, Easy bridles Lempo’s stallion,
On the terror of the Northland. Flaming horse of evil Piru;
Lemminkainen, drawing nearer, Lays the bits within his fire-mouth,
Looked with care upon the courser, On his silver head, the halter,
Then he spake the words that follow: Mounts the fire-expiring courser,
“Wonder-steed of mighty Hisi, Brandishes his whip of willow,
Flaming horse of Lempo’s mountain, Hastens forward on his journey,
Bring thy mouth of gold, assenting, Bounding o’er the hills and mountains,
Gently place thy head of silver Dashing through the valleys northward,
In this bright and golden halter, O’er the snow-capped hills of Lapland,
The Kalevala
To the courts of Sariola. Braved the third test of the hero,
Then the hero, quick dismounting, Started out to hunt the wild-swan,
Stepped within the court of Louhi, Hunt the long-necked, graceful swimmer,
Thus addressed the Northland hostess: In Tuoni’s coal-black river,
“I have bridled Lempo’s fire-horse, In Manala’s lower regions.
I have caught the Hisi-racer, Quick the daring hunter journeyed,
Caught the fire-expiring stallion, Hastened off with fearless footsteps,
In the Piru plains and pastures, To the river of Tuoni,
Ridden him within thy borders; To the sacred stream and whirlpool,
I have caught the moose of Lempo, With his bow upon his shoulder,
I have done what thou demandest; With his quiver and one arrow.
Give, I pray thee, now thy daughter, Nasshut, blind and crippled shepherd,
Give to me thy fairest maiden, Wretched shepherd of Pohyola,
Bride of mine to be forever.” Stood beside the death-land river,
Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Near the sacred stream and whirlpool,
Made this answer to the suitor: Guarding Tuonela’s waters,
“I will only give my daughter, Waiting there for Lemminkainen,
Give to thee my fairest virgin, Listening there for Kaukomieli,
Bride of thine to be forever, Waiting long the hero’s coming.
When for me the swan thou killest Finally he hears the footsteps
In the river of Tuoni, Of the hero on his journey,
Swimming in the black death-river, Hears the tread of Lemminkainen,
In the sacred stream and whirlpool; As he journeys nearer, nearer,
Thou canst try one cross-bow only, To the river of Tuoni,
But one arrow from thy quiver.” To the cataract of death-land,
Then the reckless Lemminkainen, To the sacred stream and whirlpool.
Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Quick the wretched shepherd, Nasshut,
The Kalevala
From the death-stream sends a serpent, From the sacred stream and whirlpool.”
Like an arrow from a cross-bow, Northland’s old and wretched shepherd,
To the heart of Lemminkainen, Nasshut, the despised protector
Through the vitals of the hero. Of the flocks of Sariola,
Lemminkainen, little conscious, Throws the dying Lemminkainen,
Hardly knew that be was injured, Throws the hero of the islands,
Spake these measures as he perished. Into Tuonela’s river,
“Ah! unworthy is my conduct, To the blackest stream of death-land,
Ah! unwisely have I acted, To the worst of fatal whirlpools.
That I did not heed my mother, Lemminkainen, wild and daring,
Did not take her goodly counsel, Helpless falls upon the waters,
Did not learn her words of magic. Floating down the coal-black current,
Oh I for three words with my mother, Through the cataract and rapids
How to live, and bow to suffer, To the tombs of Tuonela.
In this time of dire misfortune, There the blood-stained son of death-land,
How to bear the stings of serpents, There Tuoni’s son and hero,
Tortures of the reed of waters, Cuts in pieces Lemminkainen,
From the stream of Tuonela! Chops him with his mighty hatchet,
“Ancient mother who hast borne me, Till the sharpened axe strikes flint-sparks
Who hast trained me from my childhood, From the rocks within his chamber,
Learn, I pray thee, where I linger, Chops the hero into fragments,
Where alas! thy son is lying, Into five unequal portions,
Where thy reckless hero suffers. Throws each portion to Tuoni,
Come, I pray thee, faithful mother, In Manala’s lowest kingdom,
Come thou quickly, thou art needed, Speaks these words when he has ended:
Come deliver me from torture, “Swim thou there, wild Lemminkainen,
From the death-jaws of Tuoni, Flow thou onward in this river,
The Kalevala
Hunt forever in these waters, RUNE XV
With thy cross-bow and thine arrow,
Shoot the swan within this empire, LEMMINKAINEN’S RESTORA
Shoot our water-birds in welcome!”
Thus the hero, Lemminkainen, Lemminkainen’s aged mother
Thus the handsome Kaukomieli, Anxious roams about the islands,
The untiring suitor, dieth Anxious wonders in her chambers,
In the river of Tuoni, What the fate of Lemminkainen,
In the death-realm of Manala. 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;
The Kalevala
Looks at evening, looks at morning, Quick her garment’s hem she clutches,
Looks, perchance, upon his hair-brush, On her arm she throws her long-robes,
Sees alas! the blood-drops oozing, Fleetly flies upon her journey;
Oozing from the golden bristles, With her might she hastens northward,
And the blood-drops, scarlet-colored. Mountains tremble from her footsteps,
Then the beauteous wife, Kyllikki, Valleys rise and heights are lowered,
Spake these words in deeps of anguish: Highlands soon become as lowlands,
“Dead or wounded is my husband, All the hills and valleys levelled.
Or at best is filled with trouble, Soon she gains the Northland village,
Lost perhaps in Northland forests, Quickly asks about her hero,
In some glen unknown to heroes, These the words the mother utters:
Since alas! the blood is flowing “O thou hostess of Pohyola,
From the brush of Lemminkainen, Where hast thou my Lemminkainen?
Red drops oozing from the bristles.” Tell me of my son and hero!”
Thereupon the anxious mother Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
Looks upon the bleeding hair-brush Gives this answer to the mother:
And begins this wail of anguish: “Nothing know I of thy hero,
“Woe is me, my life hard-fated, Of the hero of the islands;
Woe is me, all joy departed! Where thy son may be I know not,
For alas! my son and hero, Cannot lend the information;
Valiant hero of the islands, Once I gave thy son a courser,
Son of trouble and misfortune! Hitched the racer to his snow-sledge,
Some sad fate has overtaken This the last of Lemminkainen;
My ill-fated Lemminkainen! May perchance be drowned in Wuhne,
Blood is flowing from his hair-brush, Frozen In the icy ocean,
Oozing from its golden bristles, Fallen prey to wolves in hunger,
And the drops are scarlet-colored.” In a bear’s den may have perished.”
The Kalevala
Lemminkainen’s mother answers: Thou again art speaking falsely;
“Thou art only speaking falsehoods, Tell me now the truth I pray thee,
Northland wolves cannot devour us, Make an end of thy deception,
Nor the bears kill Kaukomieli; Where is now my Lemminkainen,
He can slay the wolves of Pohya Whither hast thou sent my hero,
With the fingers of his left hand; Young and daring son of Kalew?
Bears of Northland he would silence If a third time thou deceivest,
With the magic of his singing. I will send thee plagues, unnumbered,
“Hostess of Pohyola, tell me I will send thee fell destruction,
Whither thou hast sent my hero; Certain death will overtake thee.”
I shall burst thy many garners, Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
Shall destroy the magic Sampo, “This the third time that I answer,
If thou dost not tell me truly This the truth that I shall tell thee:
Where to find my Lemminkainen.” I have sent the Kalew-hero
Spake the hostess of Pohyola: To the Hisi-fields and forests,
“I have well thy hero treated, There to hunt the moose of Lempo;
Well my court has entertained him, Sent him then to catch the fire-horse,
Gave him of my rarest viands, Catch the fire-expiring stallion,
Fed him at my well-filled tables, On the distant plains of Juutas,
Placed him in a boat of copper, In the realm of cruel Hisi.
Thus to float adown the current, Then I sent him to the Death-stream,
This the last of Lemminkainen; In the kingdom of Tuoni,
Cannot tell where he has wandered. With his bow and but one arrow,
Whether in the foam of waters, There to shoot the swan as dowry
Whether in the boiling torrent, For my best and fairest daughter;
Whether in the drowning whirlpool.” Have not heard about thy hero
Lemminkainen’s mother answers: Since he left for Tuonela;
The Kalevala
May in misery have fallen, No one cares how much we suffer.”
May have perished in Manala; Now again the mother wanders,
Has not come to ask my daughter, Seeks again her long-lost hero,
Has not come to woo the maiden, Seeks, and seeks, and does not find him.
Since he left to hunt the death-swan.” Paths arise and come to meet her,
Now the mother seeks her lost one, And she questions thus the pathways:
For her son she weeps and trembles, “Paths of hope that God has fashioned,
Like the wolf she bounds through fenlands, Have ye seen my Lemminkainen,
Like the bear, through forest thickets, Has my son and golden hero
Like the wild-boar, through the marshes, Travelled through thy many kingdoms?”
Like the hare, along the sea-coast, Sad, the many pathways answer:
To the sea-point, like the hedgehog “We ourselves have cares sufficient,
Like the wild-duck swims the waters, Cannot watch thy son and hero,
Casts the rubbish from her pathway, Wretched are the lives of pathways,
Tramples down opposing brush-wood, Deep indeed our own misfortunes;
Stops at nothing in her journey We are trodden by, the red-deer,
Seeks a long time for her hero, By the wolves, and bears, and roebucks,
Seeks, and seeks, and does not find him. Driven o’er by heavy cart-wheels,
Now she asks the trees the question, By the feet of dogs are trodden,
And the forest gives this answer: Trodden under foot of heroes,
“We have care enough already, Foot-paths for contending armies.”
Cannot think about thy matters; Seeks again the frantic mother,
Cruel fates have we to battle, Seeks her long-lost son and hero,
Pitiful our own misfortunes! Seeks, and seeks, and does not find him;
We are felled and chopped in pieces, Finds the Moon within her orbit,
Cut in blocks for hero-fancy, Asks the Moon in pleading measures:
We are burned to death as fuel, “Golden Moon, whom God has stationed
The Kalevala
In the heavens, the Sun’s companion, In Tuoni’s fatal river,
Hast thou seen my Kaukomieli, In the waters of Manala,
Hast thou seen my silver apple, In the sacred stream and whirlpool,
Anywhere in thy dominions? “ In the cataract and rapids,
Thus the golden Moon makes answer: Sank within the drowning current
“I have trouble all-sufficient, To the realm of Tuonela,
Cannot watch thy daring hero; To Manala’s lower regions.”
Long the journey I must travel, Lemminkainen’s mother weeping,
Sad the fate to me befallen, Wailing in the deeps of anguish,
Pitiful mine own misfortunes, Mourns the fate of Kaukomieli,
All alone the nights to wander, Hastens to the Northland smithy,
Shine alone without a respite, To the forge of Ilmarinen,
In the winter ever watching, These the words the mother utters:
In the summer sink and perish.” “Ilmarinen, metal-artist,
Still the mother seeks, and wanders, Thou that long ago wert forging,
Seeks, and does not find her hero, Forging earth a concave cover,
Sees the Sun in the horizon, Yesterday wert forging wonders,
And the mother thus entreats him: Forge thou now, immortal blacksmith,
Silver Sun, whom God has fashioned, Forge a rake with shaft of copper,
Thou that giveth warmth and comfort, Forge the teeth of strongest metal,
Hast thou lately seen my hero, Teeth in length a hundred fathoms,
Hast thou seen my Lemminkainen, And five hundred long the handle.”
Wandering in thy dominions?” Ilmarinen does as bidden,
Thus the Sun in kindness answers: Makes the rake in full perfection.
“Surely has thy hero perished, Lemminkainen’s anxious mother
To ingratitude a victim; Takes the magic rake and hastens
Lemminkainen died and vanished To the river of Tuoni,
The Kalevala
Praying to the Sun as follows: Lemminkainen’s faithful mother
“Thou, O Sun, by God created, Takes the rake of magic metals,
Thou that shinest on thy Maker, Rakes the Tuoni river bottoms,
Shine for me in heat of magic, Rakes the cataract and whirlpool,
Give me warmth, and strength, and courage, Rakes the swift and boiling current
Shine a third time full of power, Of the sacred stream of death-land,
Lull to sleep the wicked people, In the Manala home and kingdom.
Still the people of Manala, Searching for her long-lost hero,
Quiet all Tuoni’s empire.” Rakes a long time, finding nothing;
Thereupon the sun of Ukko, Now she wades the river deeper,
Dearest child of the Creator, To her belt in mud and water,
Flying through the groves of Northland, Deeper, deeper, rakes the death-stream,
Sitting on a curving birch-tree, Rakes the river’s deepest caverns,
Shines a little while in ardor, Raking up and down the current,
Shines again in greater fervor, Till at last she finds his tunic,
Shines a third time full of power, Heavy-hearted, finds his jacket;
Lulls to sleep the wicked people Rakes again and rakes unceasing,
In the Manala home and kingdom, Finds the hero’s shoes and stockings,
Still the heroes with their broadswords, Sorely troubled, finds these relies;
Makes the lancers halt and totter, Now she wades the river deeper,
Stills the stoutest of the spearmen, Rakes the Manala shoals and shallows,
Quiets Tuoni’s ghastly empire. Rakes the deeps at every angle;
Now the Sun retires in magic, As she draws the rake the third time
Hovers here and there a moment From the Tuoni shores and waters,
Over Tuoni’s hapless sleepers, In the rake she finds the body
Hastens upward to his station, Of her long-lost Lemminkainen,
To his Jumala home and kingdom. In the metal teeth entangled,
The Kalevala
In the rake with copper handle. Rakes the river lengthwise, crosswise,
Thus the reckless Lemminkainen, Through the Manala pools and caverns,
Thus the son of Kalevala, Rakes up half the head, a fore-arm,
Was recovered from the bottom Finds a hand and half the back-bone,
Of the Manala lake and river. Many other smaller portions;
There were wanting many fragments, Shapes her son from all the fragments,
Half the head, a hand, a fore-arm, Shapes anew her Lemminkainen,
Many other smaller portions, Flesh to flesh with skill she places,
Life, above all else, was missing. Gives the bones their proper stations,
Then the mother, well reflecting, Binds one member to the other,
Spake these words in bitter weeping: Joins the ends of severed vessels,
“From these fragments, with my magic, Counts the threads of all the venules,
I will bring to life my hero.” Knits the parts in apposition;
Hearing this, the raven answered, Then this prayer the mother offers:
Spake these measures to the mother: “Suonetar, thou slender virgin,
“There is not in these a hero, Goddess of the veins of heroes,
Thou canst not revive these fragments; Skilful spinner of the vessels,
Eels have fed upon his body, With thy slender, silver spindle,
On his eyes have fed the whiting; With thy spinning-wheel of copper,
Cast the dead upon the waters, Set in frame of molten silver,
On the streams of Tuonela, Come thou hither, thou art needed;
Let him there become a walrus, Bring the instruments for mending,
Or a seal, or whale, or porpoise.” Firmly knit the veins together,
Lemminkainen’s mother does not At the end join well the venules,
Cast the dead upon the waters, In the wounds that still are open,
On the streams of Tuonela, In the members that are injured.
She again with hope and courage, “Should this aid be inefficient;
The Kalevala
There is living in the ether, Drive thy courser through each vessel,
In a boat enriched with silver, Bind the flesh and bones securely,
In a copper boat, a maiden, In the joints put finest silver,
That can bring to thee assistance. Purest gold in all the fissures.
Come, O maiden, from the ether, “Where the skin is broken open,
Virgin from the belt of heaven, Where the veins are torn asunder,
Row throughout these veins, O maiden, Mend these injuries with magic;
Row through all these lifeless members, Where the blood has left the body,
Through the channels of the long-bones, There make new blood flow abundant;
Row through every form of tissue. Where the bones are rudely broken,
Set the vessels in their places, Set the parts in full perfection;
Lay the heart in right position, Where the flesh is bruised and loosened,
Make the pulses beat together, Touch the wounds with magic balsam,
Join the smallest of the veinlets, Do not leave a part imperfect;
And unite with skill the sinews. Bone, and vein, and nerve, and sinew,
Take thou now a slender needle, Heart, and brain, and gland, and vessel,
Silken thread within its eyelet, Heal as Thou alone canst heal them.”
Ply the silver needle gently, These the means the mother uses,
Sew with care the wounds together. Thus she joins the lifeless members,
“Should this aid be inefficient, Thus she heals the death-like tissues,
Thou, O God, that knowest all things, Thus restores her son and hero
Come and give us thine assistance, To his former life and likeness;
Harness thou thy fleetest racer All his veins are knit together,
Call to aid thy strongest courser, All their ends are firmly fastened,
In thy scarlet sledge come swiftly, All the parts in apposition,
Drive through all the bones and channels, Life returns, but speech is wanting,
Drive throughout these lifeless tissues, Deaf and dumb, and blind, and senseless.
The Kalevala
Now the mother speaks as follows: Quick from Metsola returning,
“Where may I procure the balsam, Flying, humming darting onward,
Where the drops of magic honey, With his winglets honey-laden,
To anoint my son and hero, With the store of sweetest odors,
Thus to heal my Lemminkainen, To the mother brings the balsam.
That again his month may open, Lemminkainen’s anxious mother
May again begin his singing, Takes the balm of magic virtues,
Speak again in words of wonder, And anoints the injured hero,
Sing again his incantations? Heals his wounds and stills his anguish;
“Tiny bee, thou honey-birdling, But the balm is inefficient,
Lord of all the forest flowers, For her son is deaf and speechless.
Fly away and gather honey, Then again out-speaks the mother:
Bring to me the forest-sweetness, Lemminkainen’s Restoration.
Found in Metsola’s rich gardens, “Little bee, my honey-birdling,
And in Tapio’s fragrant meadows, Fly away in one direction,
From the petals of the flowers, Fly across the seven oceans,
From the blooming herbs and grasses, In the eighth, a magic island,
Thus to heal my hero’s anguish, Where the honey is enchanted,
Thus to heal his wounds of evil.” To the distant Turi-castles,
Thereupon the honey-birdling To the chambers of Palwoinen;
Flies away on wings of swiftness, There the honey is effective,
Into Metsola’s rich gardens, There, the wonder-working balsam,
Into Tapio’s flowery meadows, This may heal the wounded hero;
Gathers sweetness from the meadows, Bring me of this magic ointment,
With the tongue distills the honey That I may anoint his eyelids,
From the cups of seven flowers, May restore his injured senses.”
From the bloom of countless grasses; Thereupon the honey-birdling
The Kalevala
Flew away o’er seven oceans, With the balm of magic virtues.
To the old enchanted island; Lemminkainen’s tireless mother
Flies one day, and then a second, Quick anoints her speechless hero,
On the verdure does not settle, With the magic Turi-balsam,
Does not rest upon the flowers; With the balm of seven virtues;
Flies a third day, fleetly onward, Nine the times that she anoints him
Till a third day evening brings him With the honey of Palwoinen,
To the island in the ocean, With the wonder-working balsam;
To the meadows rich in honey, But the balm is inefficient,
To the cataract and fire-flow, For the hero still is speechless.
To the sacred stream and whirlpool. Then again out-speaks the mother:
There the honey was preparing, “Honey-bee, thou ether birdling,
There the magic balm distilling Fly a third time on thy journey,
In the tiny earthen vessels, Fly away to high Jumala,
In the burnished copper kettles, Fly thou to the seventh heaven,
Smaller than a maiden’s thimble, Honey there thou’lt find abundant,
Smaller than the tips of fingers. Balsam of the highest virtue,
Faithfully the busy insect Only used by the Creator,
Gathers the enchanted honey Only made from the breath of Ukko.
From the magic Turi-cuplets God anoints his faithful children,
In the chambers of Palwoinen. With the honey of his wisdom,
Time had gone but little distance, When they feel the pangs of sorrow,
Ere the bee came loudly humming When they meet the powers of evil.
Flying fleetly, honey-laden; Dip thy winglets in this honey,
In his arms were seven vessels, Steep thy plumage in His sweetness,
Seven, the vessels on each shoulder; Hither bring the all-sufficient
All were filled with honey-balsam, Balsam of the great Creator;
The Kalevala
This will still my hero’s anguish, To the dwellings of the blessed.”
This will heal his wounded tissues, Thereupon the bee arising,
This restore his long-lost vision, From the earth flies swiftly upward,
Make the Northland hills re-echo Hastens on with graceful motion,
With the magic of his singing, By his tiny wings borne heavenward,
With his wonderful enchantment.” In the paths of golden moonbeams,
Thus the honey-bee made answer: Touches on the Moon’s bright borders,
“I can never fly to heaven, Fans the brow of Kootamoinen,
To the seventh of the heavens, Rests upon Otava’s shoulders,
To the distant home of Ukko, Hastens to the seven starlets.,
With these wings of little virtue.” To the heads of Hetewanè,
Lemminkainen’s mother answered: Flies to the Creator’s castle,
“Thou canst surely fly to heaven, To the home of generous Ukko,
To the seventh of the heavens, Finds the remedy preparing,
O’er the Moon, beneath the sunshine, Finds the balm of life distilling,
Through the dim and distant starlight. In the silver-tinted caldrons,
On the first day, flying upward, In the purest golden kettles;
Thou wilt near the Moon in heaven, On one side, heart-easing honey,
Fan the brow of Kootamoinen; On a second, balm of joyance,
On the second thou canst rest thee On the third, life-giving balsam.
On the shoulders of Otava; Here the magic bee, selecting,
On the third day, flying higher, Culls the sweet, life-giving balsam,
Rest upon the seven starlets, Gathers too, heart-easing honey,
On the heads of Hetewanè; Heavy-laden hastens homeward.
Short the journey that is left thee, Time had traveled little distance,
Inconsiderable the distance Ere the busy bee came humming
To the home of mighty Ukko, To the anxious mother waiting,
The Kalevala
In his arms a hundred cuplets, Speaks again in magic accents,
And a thousand other vessels, These the first words of the singer:
Filled with honey, filled with balsam, “Long, indeed, have I been sleeping,
Filled with the balm of the Creator. Long unconscious of existence,
Lemminkainen’s mother quickly But my sleep was full of sweetness,
Takes them on her, tongue and tests them, Sweet the sleep in Tuonela,
Finds a balsam all-sufficient. Knowing neither joy nor sorrow!”
Then the mother spake as follows: This the answer of his mother:
“I have found the long-sought balsam, “Longer still thou wouldst have slumbered,
Found the remedy of Ukko, Were it not for me, thy, mother;
Where-with God anoints his people, Tell me now, my son beloved,
Gives them life, and faith, and wisdom, Tell me that I well may hear thee,
Heals their wounds and stills their anguish, Who enticed thee to Manala,
Makes them strong against temptation, To the river of Tuoni,
Guards them from the evil-doers.” To the fatal stream and whirlpool?”
Now the mother well anointing, Then the hero, Lemminkainen,
Heals her son, the magic singer, Gave this answer to his mother:
Eyes, and ears, and tongue, and temples, “Nasshut, the decrepit shepherd
Breaks, and cuts, and seams, anointing, Of the flocks of Sariola,
Touching well the life-blood centres, Blind, and halt, and poor, and wretched,
Speaks these words of magic import And to whom I did a favor;
To the sleeping Lemminkainen: From the slumber-land of envy
“Wake, arise from out thy slumber, Nasshut sent me to Manala,
From the worst of low conditions, To the river of Tuoni;
From thy state of dire misfortune!” Sent a serpent from the waters,
Slowly wakes the son and hero, Sent an adder from the death-stream,
Rises from the depths of slumber, Through the heart of Lemminkainen;
The Kalevala
Did not recognize the serpent, Thus the serpent, thing of evil,
Could not speak the serpent-language, Filling all the world with trouble,
Did not know the sting of adders.” Was created in the waters
Spake again the ancient mother: Born from Suoyatar, its maker.”
“O thou son of little insight, Then the mother of the hero
Senseless hero, fool-magician, Rocked her son to rest and comfort,
Thou didst boast betimes thy magic Rocked him to his former being,
To enchant the wise enchanters, To his former life and spirit,
On the dismal shores of Lapland, Into greater magic powers;
Thou didst think to banish heroes, Wiser, handsomer than ever
From the borders of Pohyola; Grew the hero of the islands;
Didst not know the sting of serpents, But his heart was full of trouble,
Didst not know the reed of waters, And his mother, ever watchful,
Nor the magic word-protector! Asked the cause of his dejection.
Learn the origin of serpents, This is Lemminkainen’s answer:
Whence the poison of the adder. “This the cause of all my sorrow;
“In the floods was born the serpent, Far away my heart is roaming,
From the marrow of the gray-duck, All my thoughts forever wander
From the brain of ocean-swallows; To the Northland’s blooming virgins,
Suoyatar had made saliva, To the maids of braided tresses.
Cast it on the waves of ocean, Northland’s ugly hostess, Louhi,
Currents drove it outward, onward, Will not give to me her daughter,
Softly shone the sun upon it, Fairest maiden of Pohyola,
By the winds ’twas gently cradled, Till I kill the swan of Mana,
Gently nursed by winds and waters, With my bow and but one arrow,
By the waves was driven shoreward, In the river of Tuoni.
Landed by the surging billows. Lemminkainen’s mother answers,
The Kalevala
In the sacred stream and whirlpool. With his fond and faithful mother,
“Let the swan swim on in safety, Hastened straightway on his journey
Give the water-bird his freedom, To his distant home and kindred,
In the river of Manala, To the Wainola fields and meadows,
In the whirlpool of Tuoni; To the plains of Kalevala.
Leave the maiden in the Northland., * * *
With her charms and fading beauty; Here I leave my Kaukomieli,
With thy fond and faithful mother, Leave my hero Lemminkainen,
Go at once to Kalevala, Long I leave him from my singing,
To thy native fields and fallows. Turn my song to other heroes,
Praise thy fortune, all sufficient, Send it forth on other pathways,
Praise, above all else, thy Maker. Sing some other golden legend.
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,
The Kalevala
RUNE XVI To a third he hastens, searching,
Golden axe upon his shoulder,
-BUILDING In his hand a copper hatchet.
Comes an aspen-tree to meet him
Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Of the height of seven fathoms.
The eternal wisdom-singer, Sampsa takes his axe of copper,
For his boat was working lumber, Starts to fell the stately aspen,
Working long upon his vessel, But the aspen quickly halting,
On a fog-point jutting seaward, Speaks these words to Pellerwoinen:
On an island, forest-covered; “Tell me, hero, what thou wishest,
But the lumber failed the master, What the service thou art needing?”
Beams were wanting for his vessel, Sampsa Pellerwoinen answers:
Beams and scantling, ribs and flooring. “This indeed, the needed service
Who will find for him the lumber, That I ask of thee, O aspen:
Who procure the timber needed Need thy lumber for a vessel,
For the boat of Wainamoinen, For the boat of Wainamoinen,
For the bottom of his vessel? Wisest of the wisdom-singers.”
Pellerwoinen of the prairies, Quick and wisely speaks the aspen,
Sampsa, slender-grown and ancient, Thus its hundred branches answer:
He will seek the needful timber, “All the boats that have been fashioned
He procure the beams of oak-wood From my wood have proved but failures;
For the boat of Wainamoinen, Such a vessel floats a distance,
For the bottom of his vessel. Then it sinks upon the bottom
Soon he starts upon his journey Of the waters it should travel.
To the eastern fields and forests, All my trunk is filled with hollows,
Hunts throughout the Northland mountain Three times in the summer seasons
To a second mountain wanders, Worms devour my stem and branches,
The Kalevala
Feed upon my heart and tissues.” “Ancient oak-tree, will thy body
Pellerwoinen leaves the aspen, Furnish wood to build a vessel,
Hunts again through all the forest, Build a boat for Wainamoinen,
Wanders through the woods of Northland, Master-boat for the magician,
Where a pine-tree comes to meet him, Wisest of the wisdom-singers?”
Of the height of fourteen fathoms. Thus the oak replies to Sampsa:
With his axe he chops the pine-tree, “I for thee will gladly furnish
Strikes it with his axe of copper, Wood to build the hero’s vessel;
As he asks the pine this question: I am tall, and sound, and hardy,
“Will thy trunk give worthy timber Have no flaws within my body;
For the boat of Wainamoinen, Three times in the months of summer,
Wisest of the wisdom-singers?” In the warmest of the seasons,
Loudly does the pine-tree answer: Does the sun dwell in my tree-top,
“All the ships that have been fashioned On my trunk the moonlight glimmers,
From my body are unworthy; In my branches sings the cuckoo,
I am full of imperfections, In my top her nestlings slumber.”
Cannot give thee needed timber Now the ancient Pellerwoinen
Wherewithal to build thy vessel; Takes the hatchet from his shoulder,
Ravens live within ray branches, Takes his axe with copper handle,
Build their nests and hatch their younglings Chops the body of the oak-tree;
Three times in my trunk in summer.” Well he knows the art of chopping.
Sampsa leaves the lofty pine-tree, Soon he fells the tree majestic,
Wanders onward, onward, onward, Fells the mighty forest-monarch,
To the woods of gladsome summer, With his magic axe and power.
Where an oak-tree comes to meet him, From the stems he lops the branches,
In circumference, three fathoms, Splits the trunk in many pieces,
And the oak he thus addresses: Fashions lumber for the bottom,
The Kalevala
Countless boards, and ribs, and braces, Never ride the rough sea-billows.”
For the singer’s magic vessel, Then he thought and long considered,
For the boat of the magician. Where to find these words of magic,
Wainamoinen, old and skilful, Find the lost-words of the Master:
The eternal wonder-worker, “From the brains of countless swallows,
Builds his vessel with enchantment, From the heads of swans in dying,
Builds his boat by art of magic, From the plumage of the gray-duck?”
From the timber of the oak-tree, For these words the hero searches,
From its posts, and planks, and flooring. Kills of swans a goodly number,
Sings a song, and joins the frame-work; Kills a flock of fattened gray-duck,
Sings a second, sets the siding; Kills of swallows countless numbers,
Sings a third time, sets the row-locks; Cannot find the words of magic,
Fashions oars, and ribs, and rudder, Not the lost-words of the Master.
Joins the sides and ribs together. Wainamoinen, wisdom-singer,
When the ribs were firmly fastened, Still reflected and debated:
When the sides were tightly jointed, “I perchance may find the lost-words
Then alas! three words were wanting, On the tongue of summer-reindeer,
Lost the words of master-magic, In the mouth of the white squirrel.”
How to fasten in the ledges, Now again he hunts the lost-words,
How the stern should be completed, Hastes to find the magic sayings,
How complete the boat’s forecastle. Kills a countless host of reindeer,
Then the ancient Wainamoinen, Kills a rafterful of squirrels,
Wise and wonderful enchanter, Finds of words a goodly number,
Heavy-hearted spake as follows: But they are of little value,
“Woe is me, my life hard-fated! Cannot find the magic lost-word.
Never will this magic vessel Long he thought and well considered:
Pass in safety o’er the water, “I can find of words a hundred
The Kalevala
In the dwellings of Tuoni, At the river of Tuoni,
In the Manala fields and castles.” In Manala’s ancient castles,
Wainamoinen quickly journeys Speaks these words to Wainamoinen,
To the kingdom of Tuoni, Gives this answer to his calling:
There to find the ancient wisdom, “Straightway will I bring the row-boat,
There to learn the secret doctrine; When the reasons thou hast given
Hastens on through fen and forest, Why thou comest to Manala
Over meads and over marshes, In a hale and active body.”
Through the ever-rising woodlands, Wainamoinen, old and artful.,
Journeys one week through the brambles, Gives this answer to the maiden:
And a second through the hazels, “I was brought here by Tuoni,
Through the junipers the third week, Mana raised me from the coffin.”
When appear Tuoni’s islands, Speaks the maiden of Manala:
And the Manala fields and castles. “This a tale of wretched liars;
Wainamoinen, brave and ancient, Had Tuoni brought thee hither,
Calls aloud in tones of thunder, Mana raised thee from the coffin,
To the Tuonela deeps and dungeons, Then Tuoni would be with thee,
And to Manala’s magic castle: Manalainen too would lead thee,
“Bring a boat, Tuoni’s daughter, With Tuoni’s hat upon thee,
Bring a ferry-boat, O maiden, On thy hands, the gloves of Mana;
That may bear me o’er this channel, Tell the truth now, Wainamoinen,
O’er this black and fatal river.” What has brought thee to Manala?”
Quick the daughter of Tuoni, Wainamoinen, artful hero,
Magic maid of little stature, Gives this answer, still finessing:
Tiny virgin of Manala, “Iron brought me to Manala,
Tiny washer of the linen, To the kingdom of Tuoni.”
Tiny cleaner of the dresses, Speaks the virgin of the death-land,
The Kalevala
Mana’s wise and tiny daughter: If the fire had brought thee hither,
“Well I know that this is falsehood, Brought thee to Tuoni’s empire,
Had the iron brought thee hither, Singed would be thy locks and eyebrows,
Brought thee to Tuoni’s kingdom, And thy beard be crisped and tangled.
Blood would trickle from thy vesture, O, thou foolish Wainamoinen,
And the blood-drops, scarlet-colored. If I row thee o’er the ferry,
Speak the truth now, Wainamoinen, Thou must speak the truth in answer,
This the third time that I ask thee.” This the last time I will ask thee;
Wainamoinen, little heeding, Make an end of thy deception.
Still finesses to the daughter: What has brought thee to Manala,
“Water brought me to Manala, Still unharmed by pain or sickness,
To the kingdom of Tuoui.” Still untouched by Death’s dark angel
This the tiny maiden’s answer: Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
“Well I know thou speakest falsely; “At the first I spake, not truly,
If the waters of Manala, Now I give thee rightful answer:
If the cataract and whirlpool, I a boat with ancient wisdom,
Or the waves had brought thee hither, Fashioned with my powers of magic,
From thy robes the drops would trickle, Sang one day and then a second,
Water drip from all thy raiment. Sang the third day until evening,
Tell the truth and I will serve thee, When I broke the magic main-spring,
What has brought thee to Manala?” Broke my magic sledge in pieces,
Then the wilful Wainamoinen Of my song the fleetest runners;
Told this falsehood to the maiden: Then I come to Mana’s kingdom,
“Fire has brought me to Manala, Came to borrow here a hatchet,
To the kingdom of Tuoni.” Thus to mend my sledge of magic,
Spake again Tuoni’s daughter: Thus to join the parts together.
“Well I know the voice of falsehood. Send the boat now quickly over,
The Kalevala
Send me, quick, Tuoni’s row-boat, “Woe to thee! O Wainamoinen!
Help me cross this fatal river, Wonderful indeed, thy magic,
Cross the channel of Manala.” Since thou comest to Manala,
Spake the daughter of Tuoni, Comest neither dead nor dying.”
Mana’s maiden thus replying: Tuonetar, the death-land hostess,
“Thou art sure a stupid fellow, Ancient hostess of Tuoni,
Foresight wanting, judgment lacking, Brings him pitchers filled with strong-beer,
Having neither wit nor wisdom, Fills her massive golden goblets,
Coming here without a reason, Speaks these measures to the stranger:
Coming to Tuoni’s empire; “Drink, thou ancient Wainamoinen,
Better far if thou shouldst journey Drink the beer of king Tuoni!”
To thy distant home and kindred; Wainamoinen, wise and cautious,
Man they that visit Mana, Carefully inspects the liquor,
Few return from Maria’s kingdom.” Looks a long time in the pitchers,
Spake the good old Wainamoinen: Sees the spawning of the black-frogs,
“Women old retreat from danger, Sees the young of poison-serpents,
Not a man of any courage, Lizards, worms, and writhing adders,
Not the weakest of the heroes. Thus addresses Tuonetar:
Bring thy boat, Tuoni’s daughter, “Have not come with this intention,
Tiny maiden of Manala, Have not come to drink thy poisons,
Come and row me o’er the ferry.” Drink the beer of Tuonela;
Mana’s daughter does as bidden, Those that drink Tuoni’s liquors,
Brings her boat to Wainamoinen, Those that sip the cups of Mana,
Quickly rows him through the channel, Court the Devil and destruction,
O’er the black and fatal river, End their lives in want and ruin.”
To the kingdom of Manala, Tuonetar makes this answer:
Speaks these words to the magician: “Ancient minstrel, Wainamoinen,
The Kalevala
Tell me what has brought thee hither, Quick the hostess, Tuonetar,
Brought thee to the, realm of Mana, Waves her magic wand of slumber
To the courts of Tuonela, O’er the head of Wainamoinen,
Ere Tuoni sent his angels Puts to rest the wisdom-hero,
To thy home in Kalevala, Lays him on the couch of Mana,
There to cut thy magic life-thread.” In the robes of living heroes,
Spake the singer, Wainamoinen: Deep the sleep that settles o’er him.
“I was building me a vessel, In Manala lived a woman,
At my craft was working, singing, In the kingdom of Tuoni,
Needed three words of the Master, Evil witch and toothless wizard,
How to fasten in the ledges, Spinner of the threads of iron,
How the stern should be completed, Moulder of the bands of copper,
How complete the boat’s forecastle. Weaver of a hundred fish-nets,
This the reason of my coming Of a thousand nets of copper,
To the empire of Tuoni, Spinning in the days of summer,
To the castles of Manala: Weaving in the winter evenings,
Came to learn these magic sayings, Seated on a rock in water.
Learn the lost-words of the Master.” In the kingdom of Tuoni
Spake the hostess, Tuonetar: Lived a man, a wicked wizard,
“Mana never gives these sayings, Three the fingers of the hero,
Canst not learn them from Tuoni, Spinner he of iron meshes,
Not the lost-words of the Master; Maker too of nets of copper,
Thou shalt never leave this kingdom, Countless were his nets of metal,
Never in thy magic life-time, Moulded on a rock in water,
Never go to Kalevala, Through the many days of summer.
To Wainola’s peaceful meadows. Mana’s son with crooked fingers,
To thy distant home and country.” Iron-pointed, copper fingers,
The Kalevala
Pulls of nets, at least a thousand, Through a thousand nets of copper
Through the river of Tuoni, Interlaced with threads of iron,
Sets them lengthwise, sets them crosswise, From the kingdom of Tuoni,
In the fatal, darksome river, From the castles of Manala.
That the sleeping Wainamomen, Mana’s son, the wicked wizard,
Friend and brother of the waters, With his iron-pointed fingers,
May not leave the isle of Mana, In the early morning hastens
Never in the course of ages, To his thousand nets of copper,
Never leave the death-land castles, Set within the Tuoni river,
Never while the moonlight glimmers Finds therein a countless number
On the empire of Tuoni. Of the death-stream fish and serpents;
Wainamoinen, wise and wary, Does not find old Wainamoinen,
Rising from his couch of slumber, Wainamoinen, wise and wary,
Speaks these words as he is waking: Friend and fellow of the waters.
“Is there not some mischief brewing, When the wonder-working hero
Am I not at last in danger, Had escaped from Tuonela,
In the chambers of Tuoni, Spake he thus in supplication:
In the Manala home and household?” “Gratitude to thee, O Ukko,
Quick he changes his complexion, Do I bring for thy protection!
Changes too his form and feature, Never suffer other heroes,
Slips into another body; Of thy heroes not the wisest,
Like a serpent in a circle, To transgress the laws of nature;
Rolls black-dyed upon the waters; Never let another singer,
Like a snake among the willows, While he lives within the body,
Crawls he like a worm of magic, Cross the river of Tuoni,
Like an adder through the grasses, As thou lovest thy creations.
Through the coal-black stream of death-land, Many heroes cross the channel,
The Kalevala
Cross the fatal stream of Mana, Vipers green their writhing covers,
Few return to tell the story, For their drink the blood of adders,
Few return from Tuonela, For their food the pangs of hunger,
From Manala’s courts and castles.” Pain and agony their solace;
Wainamoinen calls his people, If thou wishest joy eternal,
On the plains of Kalevala, Shun the kingdom of Tuoui!”
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,
The Kalevala
RUNE XVII Well considered all these journeys,
Travelled to the forge and smithy,
-WORD Thus addressed the metal-worker:
“Ilmarinen, worthy blacksmith,
Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Make a shoe for me of iron,
Did not learn the words of magic Forge me gloves of burnished copper,
In Tuoni’s gloomy regions, Mold a staff of strongest metal,
In the kingdom of Manala. Lay the steel upon the inside,
Thereupon he long debated, Forge within the might of magic;
Well considered, long reflected, I am going on a journey
Where to find the magic sayings; To procure the magic sayings,
When a shepherd came to meet him, Find the lost-words of the Master,
Speaking thus to Wainamoinen: From the mouth of the magician,
“Thou canst find of words a hundred, From the tongue of wise Wipunen.”
Find a thousand wisdom-sayings, Spake the artist, Ilmarinen:
In the mouth of wise Wipunen, “Long ago died wise Wipunen,
In the body of the hero; Disappeared these many ages,
To the spot I know the foot-path, Lays no more his snares of copper,
To his tomb the magic highway, Sets no longer traps of iron,
Trodden by a host of heroes; Cannot learn from him the wisdom,
Long the distance thou must travel, Cannot find in him the lost-words.”
On the sharpened points of needles; Wainamoinen, old and hopeful,
Then a long way thou must journey Little heeding, not discouraged,
On the edges of the broadswords; In his metal shoes and armor,
Thirdly thou must travel farther Hastens forward on his journey,
On the edges of the hatchets.” Runs the first day fleetly onward,
Wainamoinen, old and trustful, On the sharpened points of needles;
The Kalevala
‘Wearily he strides the second, “Rise, thou master of magicians,
On the edges of the broadswords From the sleep of Tuonela,
Swings himself the third day forward, From thine everlasting slumber!”
On the edges of the hatchets. Wise Wipunen, ancient singer,
Wise Wipunen, wisdom-singer, Quickly wakens from his sleeping,
Ancient bard, and great magician, Keenly feels the pangs of torture,
With his magic songs lay yonder, From the cruel staff of iron;
Stretched beside him, lay his sayings, Bites with mighty force the metal,
On his shoulder grew the aspen, Bites in twain the softer iron,
On each temple grew the birch-tree, Cannot bite the steel asunder,
On his mighty chin the alder, Opens wide his mouth in anguish.
From his beard grew willow-bushes, Wainamoinen of Wainola,
From his mouth the dark green fir-tree, In his iron-shoes and armor,
And the oak-tree from his forehead. Careless walking, headlong stumbles
Wainamoinen, coming closer, In the spacious mouth and fauces
Draws his sword, lays bare his hatchet Of the magic bard, Wipunen.
From his magic leathern scabbard, Wise Wipunen, full of song-charms,
Fells the aspen from his shoulder, Opens wide his mouth and swallows
Fells the birch-tree from his temples, Wainamoinen and his magic,
From his chin he fells the alder, Shoes, and staff, and iron armor.
From his beard, the branching willows, Then outspeaks the wise Wipunen:
From his mouth the dark-green fir-tree, “Many things before I’ve eaten,
Fells the oak-tree from his forehead. Dined on goat, and sheep, and reindeer,
Now he thrusts his staff of iron Bear, and ox, and wolf, and wild-boar,
Through the mouth of wise Wipunen, Never in my recollection,
Pries his mighty jaws asunder, Have I tasted sweeter morsels!”
Speaks these words of master-magic: Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
The Kalevala
“Now I see the evil symbols, Like the storm-wind roars the bellows,
See misfortune hanging o’er me, Like the thunder rings the anvil;
In the darksome Hisi-hurdles, Forges one day, then a second,
In the catacombs of Kalma.” Forges till the third day closes,
Wainamoinen long considered In the body of Wipunen,
How to live and how to prosper, In the sorcerer’s abdomen.
How to conquer this condition. Old Wipunen, full of magic,
In his belt he wore a poniard, Speaks these words in wonder, guessing:
With a handle hewn from birch-wood, “Who art thou of ancient heroes,
From the handle builds a vessel, Who of all the host of heroes?
Builds a boat through magic science; Many heroes I have eaten,
In this vessel rows he swiftly And of men a countless number,
Through the entrails of the hero, Have not eaten such as thou art;
Rows through every gland and vessel Smoke arises from my nostrils,
Of the wisest of magicians. From my mouth the fire is streaming,
Old Wipunen, master-singer, In my throat are iron-clinkers.
Barely feels the hero’s presence, “Go, thou monster, hence to wander,
Gives no heed to Wainamoinen. Flee this place, thou plague of Northland,
Then the artist of Wainola Ere I go to seek thy mother,
Straightway sets himself to forging, Tell the ancient dame thy mischief;
Sets at work to hammer metals; She shall bear thine evil conduct,
Makes a smithy from his armor, Great the burden she shall carry;
Of his sleeves he makes the bellows, Great a mother’s pain and anguish,
Makes the air-valve from his fur-coat, When her child runs wild and lawless;
From his stockings, makes the muzzle, Cannot comprehend the meaning,
Uses knees instead of anvil, Nor this mystery unravel,
Makes a hammer of his fore-arm; Why thou camest here, O monster,
The Kalevala
Camest here to give me torture. From Ingratitude’s dominions,
Art thou Hisi sent from heaven, From the rocky shoals and quicksands,
Some calamity from Ukko? From the marshes filled with danger,
Art, perchance, some new creation, From the cataract’s commotion,
Ordered here to do me evil? From the bear-caves in the mountains,
If thou art some evil genius, From the wolves within the thickets,
Some calamity from Ukko, From the roarings of the pine-tree,
Sent to me by my Creator, From the burrows of the fox-dog,
Then am I resigned to suffer From the woodlands of the reindeer,
God does not forsake the worthy, From the eaves and Hisi-hurdles,
Does not ruin those that trust him, From the battles of the giants,
Never are the good forsaken. From uncultivated pastures,
If by man thou wert created, From the billows of the oceans,
If some hero sent thee hither, From the streams of boiling waters,
I shall learn thy race of evil, From the waterfalls of Rutya,
Shall destroy thy wicked tribe-folk. From the limits of the storm-clouds,
“Thence arose the violation, From the pathways of the thunders,
Thence arose the first destruction, From the flashings of the lightnings,
Thence came all the evil-doings: From the distant plains of Pohya,
From the neighborhood of wizards, From the fatal stream and whirlpool,
From the homes of the magicians, From the birthplace of Tuoni.
From the eaves of vicious spirits, “Art thou coming from these places?
From the haunts of fortune-tellers, Hast thou, evil, hastened hither,
From the cabins of the witches, To the heart of sinless hero,
From the castles of Tuoni, To devour my guiltless body,
From the bottom of Manala, To destroy this wisdom-singer?
From the ground with envy swollen, Get thee hence, thou dog of Lempo,
The Kalevala
Leave, thou monster from Manala, Come and kill this evil monster.
Flee from mine immortal body, “If this call is inefficient,
Leave my liver, thing of evil, Does not drive thee from my vitals,
In my body cease thy forging, Rise, thou ancient water-mother,
Cease this torture of my vitals, With thy blue-cap from the ocean,
Let me rest in peace and slumber. From the seas, the lakes, the rivers,
“Should I want in means efficient, Bring protection to thy hero,
Should I lack the magic power Comfort bring and full assistance,
To outroot thine evil genius, That I guiltless may not suffer,
I shall call a better hero, May not perish prematurely.
Call upon a higher power, “Shouldst thou brave this invocation,
To remove this dire misfortune, Kapè, daughter of Creation,
To annihilate this monster. Come, thou beauteous, golden maiden,
I shall call the will of woman, Oldest of the race of women,
From the fields, the old-time heroes? Come and witness my misfortunes,
Mounted heroes from the sand-hills, Come and turn away this evil,
Thus to rescue me from danger, Come, remove this biting torment,
From these pains and ceaseless tortures. Take away this plague of Piru.
“If this force prove inefficient, “If this call be disregarded,
Should not drive thee from my body, If thou wilt not leave me guiltless,
Come, thou forest, with thy heroes, Ukko, on the arch of heaven,
Come, ye junipers and pine-trees, In the thunder-cloud dominions,
With your messengers of power, Come thou quickly, thou art needed,
Come, ye mountains, with your wood-nymphs, Come, protect thy tortured hero,
Come, ye lakes, with all your mermaids, Drive away this magic demon,
Come, ye hundred ocean-spearmen, Banish ever his enchantment,
Come, torment this son of Hisi, With his sword and flaming furnace,
The Kalevala
With his fire-enkindling bellows. Twist their tails, and horns, and forelocks,
“Go, thou demon, hence to wander, Hurl their carcasses to Lempo.
Flee, thou plague of Northland heroes; “If some scourge the winds have sent me,
Never come again for shelter, Sent me on the air of spring-tide,
Nevermore build thou thy dwelling Brought me by the frosts of winter,
In the body of Wipunen; Quickly journey whence thou camest,
Take at once thy habitation On the air-path of the heavens,
To the regions of thy kindred, Perching not upon some aspen,
To thy distant fields and firesides; Resting not upon the birch-tree;
When thy journey thou hast ended, Fly away to copper mountains,
Gained the borders of thy country, That the copper-winds may nurse thee,
Gained the meads of thy Creator, Waves of ether, thy protection.
Give a signal of thy coming, “Didst those come from high Jumala,
Rumble like the peals of thunder, From the hems of ragged snow-clouds,
Glisten like the gleam of lightning, Quick ascend beyond the cloud-space,
Knock upon the outer portals, Quickly journey whence thou camest,
Enter through the open windows, To the snow-clouds, crystal-sprinkled,
Glide about the many chambers, To the twinkling stars of heaven
Seize the host and seize the hostess, There thy fire may burn forever,
Knock their evil beads together, There may flash thy forked lightnings,
Wring their necks and hurl their bodies In the Sun’s undying furnace.
To the black-dogs of the forest. “Wert thou sent here by the spring-floods,
“Should this prove of little value, Driven here by river-torrents?
Hover like the bird of battle, Quickly journey whence thou camest,
O’er the dwellings of the master, Quickly hasten to the waters,
Scare the horses from the mangers, To the borders of the rivers,
From the troughs affright the cattle, To the ancient water-mountain,
The Kalevala
That the floods again may rock thee, To the sacred stream and whirlpool.
And thy water-mother nurse thee. “Shouldst thou find no place of resting,
“Didst thou come from Kalma’s kingdom, I will banish thee still farther,
From the castles of the death-land? To the Northland’s distant borders,
Haste thou back to thine own country, To the broad expanse of Lapland,
To the Kalma-halls and castles, To the ever-lifeless deserts,
To the fields with envy swollen, To the unproductive prairies,
Where contending armies perish. Sunless, moonless, starless, lifeless,
“Art thou from the Hisi-woodlands, In the dark abyss of Northland;
From ravines in Lempo’s forest, This for thee, a place befitting,
From the thickets of the pine-wood, Pitch thy tents and feast forever
From the dwellings of the fir-glen? On the dead plains of Pohyola.
Quick retrace thine evil footsteps “Shouldst thou find no means of living,
To the dwellings of thy master, I will banish thee still farther,
To the thickets of thy kindred; To the cataract of Rutya,
There thou mayest dwell at pleasure, To the fire-emitting whirlpool,
Till thy house decays about thee, Where the firs are ever falling,
Till thy walls shall mould and crumble. To the windfalls of the forest;
Evil genius, thee I banish, Swim hereafter in the waters
Got thee hence, thou horrid monster, Of the fire-emitting whirlpool,
To the caverns of the white-bear, Whirl thou ever in the current
To the deep abysm of serpents, Of the cataract’s commotion,
To the vales, and swamps, and fenlands, In its foam and boiling waters.
To the ever-silent waters, Should this place be unbefitting,
To the hot-springs of the mountains, I will drive thee farther onward,
To the dead-seas of the Northland, To Tuoni’s coal-black river,
To the lifeless lakes and rivers, To the endless stream of Mana,
The Kalevala
Where thou shalt forever linger; Give to thee the staff of Piru,
Thou canst never leave Manala, That with these thou mayest journey
Should I not thy head deliver, Into Hisi’s courts and castles,
Should I never pay thy ransom; To the woods and fields of Juutas;
Thou canst never safely journey If the rocks should rise before thee,
Through nine brother-rams abutting, Dash the flinty rocks in pieces,
Through nine brother-bulls opposing Hurl the fragments to the heavens;
Through nine brother-stallions thwarting, If the branches cross thy pathway,
Thou canst not re-cross Death-river Make them turn aside in greeting;
Thickly set with iron netting, If some mighty hero hail thee,
Interlaced with threads of copper. Hurl him headlong to the woodlands.
“Shouldst thou ask for steeds for saddle, “Hasten hence, thou thing of evil,
Shouldst thou need a fleet-foot courser, Heinous monster, leave my body,
I will give thee worthy racers, Ere the breaking of the morning
I will give thee saddle-horses; Ere the Sun awakes from slumber,
Evil Hisi has a charger, Ere the sinning of the cuckoo;
Crimson mane, and tail, and foretop, Haste away, thou plague of Northland,
Fire emitting from his nostrils, Haste along the track of ’ moonbeams,
As he prances through his pastures; Wander hence, forever wander,
Hoofs are made of strongest iron, To the darksome fields or Pohya.
Legs are made of steel and copper, “If at once thou dost not leave me,
Quickly scales the highest mountains, I will send the eagle’s talons,
Darts like lightning through the valleys, Send to thee the beaks of vultures,
When a skilful master rides him. To devour thine evil body,
“Should this steed be insufficient, Hurl thy skeleton to Hisi.
I will give thee Lempo’s snow-shoes, Much more quickly cruel Lempo
Give thee Hisi’s shoes of elm-wood, Left my vitals when commanded,
The Kalevala
When I called the aid of Ukko, Though the wisdom-singers perish.”
Called the help of my Creator. Old Wipunen, wise magician,
Flee, thou motherless offendant, Ancient prophet, filled with power,
Flee, thou fiend of Sariola, Opens fall his store of knowledge,
Flee, thou hound without a master, Lifts the covers from his cases,
Ere the morning sun arises, Filled with old-time incantations,
Ere the Moon withdraws to slumber!” Filled with songs of times primeval,
Wainamoinen, ancient hero, Filled with ancient wit and wisdom;
Speaks at last to old Wipunen: Sings the very oldest folk-songs,
“Satisfied am I to linger Sings the origin of witchcraft,
In these old and spacious caverns, Sings of Earth and its beginning
Pleasant here my home and dwelling; Sings the first of all creations,
For my meat I have thy tissues, Sings the source of good and evil
Have thy heart, and spleen, and liver, Sung alas! by youth no longer,
For my drink the blood of ages, Only sung in part by heroes
Goodly home for Wainamoinen. In these days of sin and sorrow.
“I shall set my forge and bellows Evil days our land befallen.
Deeper, deeper in thy vitals; Sings the orders of enchantment.
I shall swing my heavy hammer, How, upon the will of Ukko,
Swing it with a greater power By command of the Creator,
On thy heart, and lungs, and liver; How the air was first divided,
I shall never, never leave thee How the water came from ether,
Till I learn thine incantations, How the earth arose from water,
Learn thy many wisdom-sayings, How from earth came vegetation,
Learn the lost-words of the Master; Fish, and fowl, and man, and hero.
Never must these words be bidden, Sings again the wise Wipunen,
Earth must never lose this wisdom, How the Moon was first created,
The Kalevala
How the Sun was set in heaven, Well had learned the secret doctrine,
Whence the colors of the rainbow, He prepared to leave the body
Whence the ether’s crystal pillars, Of the wisdom-bard, Wipunen,
How the skies with stars were sprinkled. Leave the bosom of the master,
Then again sings wise Wipunen, Leave the wonderful enchanter.
Sings in miracles of concord, Spake the hero, Wainamoinen:
Sings in magic tones of wisdom, “O, thou Antero Wipunen,
Never was there heard such singing; Open wide thy mouth and fauces,
Songs he sings in countless numbers, I have found the magic lost-words,
Swift his notes as tongues of serpents, I will leave thee now forever,
All the distant hills re-echo; Leave thee and thy wondrous singing,
Sings one day, and then a second, Will return to Kalevala,
Sings a third from dawn till evening, To Wainola’s fields and firesides.”
Sings from evening till the morning; Thus Wipunen spake in answer:
Listen all the stars of heaven, “Many are the things I’ve eaten,
And the Moon stands still and listens Eaten bear, and elk, and reindeer,
Fall the waves upon the deep-sea, Eaten ox, and wolf, and wild-boar,
In the bay the tides cease rising, Eaten man, and eaten hero,
Stop the rivers in their courses, Never, never have I eaten
Stops the waterfall of Rutya, Such a thing as Wainamoinen;
Even Jordan ceases flowing, Thou hast found what thou desirest,
And the Wuoksen stops and listens. Found the three words of the Master;
When the ancient Wainamoinen Go in peace, and ne’er returning,
Well had learned the magic sayings, Take my blessing on thy going.”
Learned the ancient songs and legends, Thereupon the bard Wipunen
Learned the words of ancient wisdom, Opens wide his mouth, and wider;
Learned the lost-words of the Master, And the good, old Wainamoinen
The Kalevala
Straightway leaves the wise enchanter, Quickly fastens in the ledges,
Leaves Wipunen’s great abdomen; Firmly binds the stern together
From the mouth he glides and journeys And completes the boat’s forecastle.
O’er the hills and vales of Northland, Thus the ancient Wainamoinen
Swift as red-deer or the forest, Built the boat with magic only,
Swift as yellow-breasted marten, And with magic launched his vessel,
To the firesides of Wainola, Using not the hand to touch it,
To the plains of Kalevala. Using not the foot to move it,
Straightway hastes he to the smithy Using not the knee to turn it,
Of his brother, Ilmarinen, Using nothing to propel it.
Thus the iron-artist greets him: Thus the third task was completed,
Hast thou found the long-lost wisdom, For the hostess of Pohyola,
Hast thou heard the secret doctrine, Dowry for the Maid of Beauty
Hast thou learned the master magic, Sitting on the arch of heaven,
How to fasten in the ledges, On the bow of many colors.
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,
The Kalevala
RUNE XVIII Sailing to the dark Pohyola:
“Come aboard my ship, O Ukko,
SUITORS Come with me, thou God of mercy,
To protect thine ancient hero,
Wainamoinen, old and truthful, To support thy trusting servant,
Long considered, long debated, On the breasts of raging billows,
How to woo and win the daughter On the far out-stretching waters.
Of the hostess of Pohyola, “Rock, O winds, this wondrous vessel,
How to lead the Bride of Beauty, Causing not a single ripple;
Fairy maiden of the rainbow, Rolling waves, bear ye me northward,
To the meadows of Wainola, That the oar may not be needed
From the dismal Sariola. In my journey to Pohyola,
Now he decks his magic vessel, O’er this mighty waste of waters.”
Paints the boat in blue and scarlet, Ilmarinen’s beauteous sister,
Trims in gold the ship’s forecastle, Fair and goodly maid, Annikki,
Decks the prow in molten silver; Of the Night and Dawn, the daughter,
Sings his magic ship down gliding, Who awakes each morning early,
On the cylinders of fir-tree: Rises long before the daylight,
Now erects the masts of pine-wood, Stood one morning on the sea-shore,
On each mast the sails of linen, Washing in the foam her dresses,
Sails of blue, and white, and scarlet, Rinsing out her silken ribbons,
Woven into finest fabric. On the bridge of scarlet color,
Wainamoinen, the magician, On the border of the highway,
Steps aboard his wondrous vessel, On a headland jutting seaward,
Steers the bark across the waters, On the forest-covered island.
On the blue back of the broad-sea, Here Annikki, looking round her,
Speaks these words in sailing northward, Looking through the fog and ether,
The Kalevala
Looking through the clouds of heaven, Break thee to a thousand fragments.”
Gazing far out on the blue-sea, Wainamoinen, sailing northward,
Sees the morning sun arising, Steers his wondrous ship of magic
Glimmering along the billows, Toward the headland jutting seaward,
Looks with eyes of distant vision Toward the island forest-covered.
Toward the sunrise on the waters, Now Annikki, goodly maiden,
Toward the winding streams of Suomi, Sees it is the magic vessel
Where the Wina-waves were flowing. Of a wonderful enchanter,
There she sees, on the horizon, Of a mighty bard and hero,
Something darkle in the sunlight, And she asks this simple question:
Something blue upon the billows, “Art thou then my father’s vessel,
Speaks these words in wonder guessing: Or my brother’s ship of magic?
What is this upon the surges, Haste away then to thy harbor,
What this blue upon the waters, To thy refuge in Wainola.
What this darkling in the sunlight? Hast thou come a goodly distance?
’Tis perhaps a flock of wild-geese, Sail then farther on thy journey,
Or perchance the blue-duck flying; Point thy prow to other waters.”
Then upon thy wings arising, It was not her father’s vessel,
Fly away to highest heaven. Not a sail-boat from the distance,
“Art thou then a shoal of sea-trout, ’Twas the ship of Wainamoinen,
Or perchance a school of salmon? Bark of the eternal singer;
Dive then to the deep sea-bottom, Sails within a hailing distance,
In the waters swim and frolic. Swims still nearer o’er the waters,
“Art thou then a cliff of granite, Brings one word and takes another,
Or perchance a mighty oak-tree, Brings a third of magic import.
Floating on the rough sea-billows? Speaks the goodly maid, Annikki,
May the floods then wash and beat thee Of the Night and Dawn, the daughter,
The Kalevala
To the sailor of the vessel: In the Sachsensund dominions.”
“Whither sailest, Wainamoinen, Good Annikki gives this answer:
Whither bound, thou friend of waters, “Know I well a truthful speaker,
Pride and joy of Kalevala?” Easily detect a falsehood;
From the vessel Wainamomen Formerly my aged father
Gives this answer to the maiden: Often came a-hunting hither,
“I have come to catch some sea-trout, Came to hunt the hissing wild-geese,
Catch the young and toothsome whiting, Hunt the red-bill of these waters.
Hiding in tbese-reeds and rushes.” Very well do I remember
This the answer of Annikki: How the hunter rigs his vessel,
“Do not speak to me in falsehood, Bows, and arrows, knives, and quiver,
Know I well the times of fishing; Dogs enchained within the vessel,
Long ago my honored father Pointers hunting on the sea-shore,
Was a fisherman in Northland, Setters seeking in the marshes,
Came to catch the trout and whiting, Tell the truth now Wainamoinen,
Fished within these seas and rivers. Whither is thy vessel sailing?”
Very well do I remember Spake the hero of the Northland:
How the fisherman disposes, “To the wars my ship is sailing,
How he rigs his fishing vessel, To the bloody fields of battle,
Lines, and gaffs, and poles, and fish-nets; Where the streams run scarlet-colored,
Hast not come a-fishing hither. Where the paths are paved with bodies!’
Whither goest, Wainamoinen, These the words of fair Annikki:
Whither sailest, friend of waters? “Know I well the paths to battle.
Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: Formerly my aged father
“I have come to catch some wild-geese, Often sounded war’s alarum,
Catch the hissing birds of Suomi, Often led the hosts to conquest;
In these far-extending borders, In each ship a hundred rowers,
The Kalevala
And in arms a thousand heroes, Where they drown the worthy heroes,
Oil the prow a thousand cross-bows, There to woo the Maid of Beauty
Swords, and spears, and battle-axes; Sitting on the bow of heaven,
Know I well the ship of battle. Woo and win the fairy virgin,
Speak Do longer fruitless falsehoods, Bring her to my home and kindred,
Whither sailest, Wainamoinen, To the firesides of Walnola.”
Whither steerest, friend of waters? Then Aunikki, graceful maiden,
These the words of Wainamoinen: Of the Night and Dawn, the daughter,
“Come, O maiden, to my vessel, As she heard the rightful answer,
In my magic ship be seated, Knew the truth was fully spoken,
Then I’ll give thee truthful answer.” Straightway left her coats unbeaten,
Thus Annikki, silver-tinselled, Left unwashed her linen garments,
Answers ancient Wainamoinen: Left unrinsed her silks and ribbons
“With the winds I’ll fill thy vessel, On the highway by the sea-shore,
To thy bark I’ll send the storm-winds On the bridge of scarlet color
And capsize thy ship of magic, On her arm she threw her long-robes,
Break in pieces its forecastle, Hastened off with speed of roebuck
If the truth thou dost not tell me, To the shops of Ilmarinen,
If thou dost not cease thy falsehoods, To the iron-forger’s furnace,
If thou dost not tell me truly To the blacksmith’s home and smithy,
Whither sails thy magic vessel.” Here she found the hero-artist,
These the words of Wainamoinen: Forging out a bench of iron,
“Now I make thee truthful answer, And adorning it with silver.
Though at first I spake deception: Soot lay thick upon his forehead,
I am sailing to the Northland Soot and coal upon his shoulders.
To the dismal Sariola, On the threshold speaks Annikki,
Where the ogres live and flourish, These the words his sister uses:
The Kalevala
“Ilmarinen, dearest brother, Dost thou ever think to marry
Thou eternal artist-forger, Her already thine affianced,
Forge me now a loom of silver, Beauteous Maiden of the Rainbow,
Golden rings to grace my fingers, Fairest virgin of the Northland,
Forge me gold and silver ear-rings, Chosen bride of Sariola?
Six or seven golden girdles, Shouldst thou wish the Maid of Beauty,
Golden crosslets for my bosom, Thou must forge, and forge unceasing,
For my head forge golden trinkets, Hammering the days and nights through;
And I’ll tell a tale surprising, Forge the summer hoofs for horses,
Tell a story that concerns thee Forge them iron hoofs for winter,
Truthfully I’ll tell the story.” In the long nights forge the snow-sledge,
Then the blacksmith Ilmarinen Gaily trim it in the daytime,
Spake and these the words he uttered: Haste thou then upon thy journey
“If thou’lt tell the tale sincerely, To thy wooing in the Northland,
I will forge the loom of silver, To the dismal Sariola;
Golden rings to grace thy fingers, Thither journeys one more clever,
Forge thee gold and silver ear-rings, Sails another now before thee,
Six or seven golden girdles, There to woo thy bride affianced,
Golden crosslets for thy bosom, Thence to lead thy chosen virgin,
For thy head forge golden trinkets; Woo and win the Maid of Beauty;
But if thou shouldst tell me falsely, Three long years thou hast been wooing.
I shall break thy beauteous jewels, Wainamoinen now is sailing
Break thine ornaments in pieces, On the blue back of the waters,
Hurl them to the fire and furnace, Sitting at his helm of copper;
Never forge thee other trinkets.” On the prow are golden carvings,
This the answer of Annikki: Beautiful his boat of magic,
“Ancient blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Sailing fleetly o’er the billows,
The Kalevala
To the never-pleasant Northland, That the thunder-winds had broken;
To the dismal Sariola.” Gathered pebbles from the fire-stream,
Ilmarinen stood in wonder, Threw them in the heating waters;
Stood a statue at the story; Broke the tassels from the birch-trees,
Silent grief had settled o’er him, Steeped the foliage in honey,
Settled o’er the iron-artist; Made a lye from milk and ashes,
From one hand the tongs descended, Made of these a strong decoction,
From the other fell the hammer, Mixed it with the fat and marrow
As the blacksmith made this answer: Of the reindeer of the mountains,
“Good Annikki, worthy sister, Made a soap of magic virtue,
I shall forge the loom of silver, Thus to cleanse the iron-artist,
Golden rings to grace thy fingers, Thus to beautify the suitor,
Forge thee gold and silver ear-rings, Thus to make the hero worthy.
Six or seven golden girdles, Ilmarinen, ancient blacksmith,
Golden crosslets for thy bosom; The eternal metal-worker,
Go and heat for me the bath-room, Forged the wishes of his sister,
Fill with heat the honey-chambers, Ornaments for fair Annikki,
Lay the faggots on the fire-place, Rings, and bracelets, pins and ear-drops,
Lay the smaller woods around them, Forged for her six golden girdles,
Pour some water through the ashes, Forged a weaving loom of silver,
Make a soap of magic virtue, While the maid prepared the bath-room,
Thus to cleanse my blackened visage, Set his toilet-room in order.
Thus to cleanse the blacksmith’s body, To the maid he gave the trinkets,
Thus remove the soot and ashes.” Gave the loom of molten silver,
Then Annikki, kindly sister, And the sister thus made answer:
Quickly warmed her brother’s bath-room, “I have heated well thy bath-room,
Warmed it with the knots of fir-trees, Have thy toilet-things in order,
The Kalevala
Everything as thou desirest; Brought him scarlet-colored trousers,
Go prepare thyself for wooing, Brought a coat with scarlet trimming,
Lave thy bead to flaxen whiteness, Brought a red shawl trimmed in ermine
Make thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy, Fourfold wrapped about his body;
Lave thyself in Love’s aroma, Brought a fur-coat made of seal-skin,
That thy wooing prove successful.” Fastened with a thousand bottons,
Ilmarinen, magic artist, And adorned with countless jewels;
Quick repairing to his bath-room, Brought for him his magic girdle,
Bathed his head to flaxen whiteness, Fastened well with golden buckles,
Made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy, That his artist-mother fashioned;
Laved his eyes until they sparkled Brought him gloves with golden wristlets,
Like the moonlight on the waters; That the Laplanders had woven
Wondrous were his form and features, For a head of many ringlets;
And his cheeks like ruddy berries. Brought the finest cap in Northland,
These the words of Ilmarinen: That his ancient father purchased
“Fair Annikki, lovely sister, When he first began his wooing.
Bring me now my silken raiment, Ilmarinen, blacksmith-artist,
Bring my best and richest vesture, Clad himself to look his finest,
Bring me now my softest linen, When he thus addressed a servant:
That my wooing prove successful.” “Hitch for me a fleet-foot racer,
Straightway did the helpful sister Hitch him to my willing snow-sledge,
Bring the finest of his raiment, For I start upon a journey
Bring the softest of his linen, To the distant shores of Pohya,
Raiment fashioned by his mother; To the dismal Sariola.”
Brought to him his silken stockings, Spake the servant thus in answer:
Brought him shoes of marten-leather, “Thou hast seven fleet-foot racers,
Brought a vest of sky-blue color, Munching grain within their mangers,
The Kalevala
Which of these shall I make ready?” Earnestly entreated Ukko:
Spake the blacksmith, Ilmarinen: “Send thy snow-flakes, Ukko, father,
“Take the fleetest of my coursers, Let them gently fall from heaven,
Put the gray steed in the harness, Let them cover all the heather,
Hitch him to my sledge of magic; Let them hide the berry-bushes,
Place six cuckoos on the break-board, That my sledge may glide in freedom
Seven bluebirds on the cross-bars, O’er the hills to Sariola!”
Thus to charm the Northland maidens, Ukko sent the snow from heaven,
Thus to make them look and listen, Gently dropped the crystal snow-flakes,
As the cuckoos call and echo. Lending thus his kind assistance
Bring me too my largest bear-skin, To the hero, Ilmarinen,
Fold it warm about the cross-bench; On his journey to the Northland.
Bring me then my marten fur-robes, Reins in hand, the ancient artist
As a cover and protection.” Seats him in his metal snow-sledge,
Straightway then the trusty servant And beseeches thus his Master:
Of the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, “Good luck to my reins and traces,
Put the gray steed in the harness, Good luck to my shafts and runners!
Hitched the racer to the snow-sledge, God protect my magic snow-sledge,
Placed six cuckoos on the break-board, Be my safeguard on my journey
Seven bluebirds on the cross-bars, To the dismal Sariola!”
On the front to sing and twitter; Now the ancient Ilmarinen
Then he brought the largest bear-skin, Draws the reins upon the racer,
Folded it upon the cross-bench; Snaps his whip above the courser,
Brought the finest robes of marten, To the gray steed gives this order,
Warm protection for the master. And the charger plunges northward:
Ilmarinen, forger-artist, “Haste away, my flaxen stallion,
The eternal metal-worker, Haste thee onward, noble white-face,
The Kalevala
To the never-pleasant Pohya, Him selecting, let her follow.”
To the dreary Sariola!” Wainamoinen thus makes answer:
Fast and faster flies the fleet-foot, “I agree to thy proposal,
On the curving snow-capped sea-coast, Let us woo in peace the maiden,
On the borders of the lowlands, Not by force, nor faithless measures,
O’er the alder-hills and mountains. Shall we woo the Maid of Beauty,
Merrily the steed flies onward, Let her follow him she chooses;
Bluebirds singing, cuckoos calling, Let the unsuccessful suitor
On the sea-shore looking northward, Harbor neither wrath nor envy
Through the sand and falling snow-flakes For the hero that she follows.”
Blinding winds, and snow, and sea-foam, Thus agreeing, on they journey,
Cloud the hero, Ilmarinen, Each according to his pleasure;
As he glides upon his journey, Fleetly does the steed fly onward,
Looking seaward for the vessel Quickly flies the magic vessel,
Of the ancient Wainamoinen; Sailing on the broad-sea northward;
Travels one day, then a second, Ilmarinen’s fleet-foot racer
Travels all the next day northward, Makes the hills of Northland tremble,
Till the third day Ilmarinen As he gallops on his journey
Overtakes old Wainamoinen, To the dismal Sariola.
Rails him in his magic vessel, Wainamoinen calls the South-winds,
And addresses thus the minstrel: And they fly to his assistance;
“O thou ancient Wainamoinen, Swiftly sails his ship of beauty,
Let us woo in peace the maiden, Swiftly plows the rough sea-billows
Fairest daughter or the Northland, In her pathway to Pohyola.
Sitting on the bow of heaven, Time had gone but little distance,
Let each labor long to win her, Scarce a moment had passed over,
Let her wed the one she chooses, Ere the dogs began their barking,
The Kalevala
In the mansions of the Northland, I must feed my hungry household,
In the courts of Sariola, Must prepare a worthy dinner,
Watch-dogs of the court of Louhi; I must bake the toothsome biscuit,
Never had they growled so fiercely, Knead the dough till it is ready,
Never had they barked so loudly, Only have I strength for kneading.”
Never with their tails had beaten Spake the master of Pohyola:
Northland into such an uproar. “Dames are always in a hurry,
Spake the master of Pohyola: Maidens too are ever busy,
“Go and learn, my worthy daughter, Whether warming at the oven,
Why the watch-dogs have been barking, Or asleep upon their couches;
Why the black-dog signals danger.” Go my son, and learn the danger,
Quickly does the daughter answer: Why the black-dog growls displeasure,”
“I am occupied, dear father, Quickly does the son give answer:
I have work of more importance, “Have no time, nor inclination,
I must tend my flock of lambkins, Am in haste to grind my hatchet;
I must turn the nether millstone, I must chop this log to cordwood,
Grind to flour the grains of barley, For the fire must cut the faggots,
Run the grindings through the sifter, I must split the wood in fragments,
Only have I time for grinding.” Large the pile and small the fire-wood,
Lowly growls the faithful watch-dog, Only have I strength for chopping.”
Seldom does he growl so strangely. Still the watch-dog growls in anger,
Spake the master of Pohyola: Growl the whelps within the mansion,
“Go and learn, my trusted consort, Growl the dogs chained in the kennel,
Why the Northland dogs are barking, Growls the black-dog on the hill-top,
Why the black-dog signals danger.” Setting Northland in an uproar.
Thus his aged wife makes answer; Spake the master of Pohyola:
“Have no time, nor inclination, “Never, never does my black-dog
The Kalevala
Growl like this without a reason; These the accents of the master:
Never does he bark for nothing, “Often strangers journey hither,
Does not growl at angry billows, On the blue back of the ocean,
Nor the sighing of the pine-trees.” Sailing in a scarlet vessel,
Then the master of Pohyola Rocking in the bay of Lempo;
Went himself to learn the reason Often strangers come in sledges
For the barking of the watch-dogs; To the honey-lands of Louhi.”
Strode he through the spacious court-yard, Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
Through the open fields beyond it, How shall we obtain a token
To the summit of the uplands. Why these strangers journey hither?
Looking toward his black-dog barking, My beloved, faithful daughter,
He beholds the muzzle pointed Lay a branch upon the fire-place,
To a distant, stormy hill-top, Let it burn with fire of magic
To a mound with alders covered; If it trickle drops of scarlet,
There he learned the rightful reason, War and bloodshed do they bring us;
Why his dogs had barked so loudly, If it trickle drops of water,
Why had growled the wool-tail bearer, Peace and plenty bring the strangers.”
Why his whelps had signalled danger. Northland’s fair and slender maiden,
At full sail, he saw a vessel, Beautiful and modest daughter,
And the ship was scarlet-colored, Lays a sorb-branch on the fire-place,
Entering the bay of Lempo; Lights it with the fire of magic;
Saw a sledge of magic colors, Does not trickle drops of scarlet,
Gliding up the curving sea-shore, Trickles neither blood, nor water,
O’er the snow-fields of Pohyola. From the wand come drops of honey.
Then the master of the Northland From the corner spake Suowakko,
Hastened straightway to his dwelling, This the language of the wizard:
Hastened forward to his court-room, “If the wand is dripping honey,
The Kalevala
Then the strangers that are coming Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
Are but worthy friends and suitors.” “Dearest daughter, winsome maiden,
Then the hostess of the Northland, Dost thou wish a noble suitor?
With the daughter of the hostess, Should these heroes come to woo thee,
Straightway left their work, and hastened Wouldst thou leave thy home and country,
From their dwelling to the court-yard; Be the bride of him that pleases,
Looked about in all directions, Be his faithful life-companion?
Turned their eyes upon the waters, “He that comes upon the waters,
Saw a magic-colored vessel Sailing in a magic vessel,
Rocking slowly in the harbor, Having sailed the bay of Lempo,
Having sailed the bay of Lempo, Is the good, old Wainamoinen;
Triple sails, and masts, and rigging, In his ship are countless treasures,
Sable was the nether portion, Richest presents from Wainola.
And the upper, scarlet-colored, “He that rides here in his snow-sledge
At the helm an ancient hero In his sledge of magic beauty,
Leaning on his oars of copper; With the cuckoos and the bluebirds,
Saw a fleet-foot racer running, Is the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Saw a red sledge lightly follow, Cometh hither empty-handed,
Saw the magic sledge emblazoned, Only brings some wisdom-sayings.
Guided toward the courts of Louhi; When they come within the dwelling,
Saw and heard six golden cuckoos Bring a bowl of honeyed viands,
Sitting on the break-board, calling, Bring a pitcher with two handles,
Seven bluebirds richly colored Give to him that thou wouldst follow
Singing from the yoke and cross-bar; Give it to old Wainamoinen,
In the sledge a magic hero, Him that brings thee countless treasures,
Young, and strong, and proud, and handsome, Costly presents in his vessel,
Holding reins upon the courser. Priceless gems from Kalevala.”
The Kalevala
Spake the Northland’s lovely daughter, Wed the ancient Wainamoinen
This the language of the maiden With his gold and priceless jewels;
“Good, indeed, advice maternal, Never will I be a helpmate
But I will not wed for riches, To a hero in his dotage,
Wed no man for countless treasures; Little thanks my compensation.”
For his worth I’ll choose a husband, Wainamoinen, safely landing
For his youth and fine appearance, In advance of Ilmarinen,
For his noble form and features; Pulls his gaily-covered vessel
In the olden times the maidens From the waves upon the sea-beach,
Were not sold by anxious mothers On the cylinders of birch-wood,
To the suitors that they loved not. On the rollers copper-banded,
I shall choose without his treasures Straightway hastens to the guest-room
Ilmarinen for his wisdom, Of the hostess of Pohyola,
For his worth and good behavior, Of the master of the Northland,
Him that forged the wondrous Sampo, Speaks these words upon the threshold
Hammered thee the lid in colors.” To the famous Maid of Beauty:
Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “Come with me, thou lovely virgin,
“Senseless daughter, child of folly, Be my bride and life-companion,
Thus to choose the ancient blacksmith, Share with me my joys and sorrows,
From whose brow drips perspiration, Be my honored wife hereafter!”
Evermore to rinse his linen, This the answer of the maiden:
Lave his hands, and eyes, and forehead, “Hast thou built for me the vessel,
Keep his ancient house in order; Built for me the ship of magic
Little use his wit and wisdom From the fragments of the distaff,
When compared with gold and silver.” From the splinters of the spindle?”
This the answer of the daughter: Wainamoinen thus replying:
“I will never, never, never, “I have built the promised vessel,
The Kalevala
Built the wondrous ship for sailing, RUNE XIX
Firmly joined the parts by magic;
It will weather roughest billows, ILMARINEN’S WOOING
Will outlive the winds and waters,
Swiftly glide upon the blue-back Ilmarinen, hero-blacksmith,
Of the deep and boundless ocean The eternal metal-worker,
It will ride the waves in beauty, Hastens forward to the court-room
Like an airy bubble rising, Of the hostess of Pohyola,
Like a cork on lake and river, Of the master of the Northland,
Through the angry seas of Northland, Hastens through the open portals
Through Pohyola’s peaceful waters.” Into Louhi’s home and presence.
Northland’s fair and slender daughter Servants come with silver pitchers,
Gives this answer to her suitor: Filled with Northland’s richest brewing;
“Will not wed a sea-born hero, Honey-drink is brought and offered
Do not care to rock the billows, To the blacksmith of Wainola,
Cannot live with such a husband Ilmarinen thus replying:
Storms would bring us pain and trouble, “I shall not in all my life-time
Winds would rack our hearts and temples; Taste the drink that thou hast brought me,
Therefore thee I cannot follow, Till I see the Maid of Beauty,
Cannot keep thy home in order, Fairy Maiden of the Rainbow;
Cannot be thy life-companion, I will drink with her in gladness,
Cannot wed old Wainamoinen.” 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.
The Kalevala
Only canst thou woo my daughter, Be my honored wife forever.
Only canst thou win the maiden, Now thy mother is exacting,
When thou hast by aid of magic Will not give to me her daughter,
Plowed the serpent-field of Hisi, Till by means of magic only,
Plowed the field of hissing vipers, I have plowed the field of serpents,
Touching neither beam nor handles. Plowed the hissing soil of Hisi.”
Once this field was plowed by Piru, The affianced Bride of Beauty
Lempo furrowed it with horses, Gives this answer to the suitor:
With a plowshare made of copper, “O, thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
With a beam of flaming iron; The eternal wonder-forger,
Never since has any hero Forge thyself a golden plowshare,
Brought this field to cultivation.” Forge the beam of shining silver,
Ilmarinen of Wainola And of copper forge the handles;
Straightway hastens to the chamber Then with ease, by aid of magic,
Of the Maiden of the Rainbow, Thou canst plow the field of serpents,
Speaks these words in hesitation: Plow the hissing soil of Hisi.”
“Thou of Night and Dawn the daughter, Ilmarinen, welcome suitor,
Tell me, dost thou not remember Straightway builds a forge and smithy,
When for thee I forged the Sampo, Places gold within the furnace,
Hammered thee the lid in colors? In the forge he lays the silver,
Thou didst swear by oath the strougest, Forges then a golden plowshare,
By the forge and by the anvil, Forges, too, a beam of silver,
By the tongs and by the hammer, Forges handles out of copper,
In the ears of the Almighty, Forges boots and gloves of iron,
And before omniscient Ukko, Forges him a mail of metal,
Thou wouldst follow me hereafter, For his limbs a safe protection,
Be my bride, my life-companion, Safe protection for his body.
The Kalevala
Then a horse of fire selecting, Buries them beneath the furrow,
Harnesses the flaming stallion, Harmless all against his magic.
Goes to plow the field of serpents, When the task had been completed,
Plow the viper-lands of Hisi. Ilmarinen, quick returning,
In the field were countless vipers, Thus addressed Pohyola’s hostess:
Serpents there of every species, “I have plowed the field of Hisi,
Crawling, writhing, hissing, stinging, Plowed the field of hissing serpents,
Harmless all against the hero, Stilled and banished all the vipers;
Thus he stills the snakes of Lempo: Give me, ancient dame, thy daughter,
“Vipers, ye by God created, Fairest maiden of the Northland.
Neither best nor worst of creatures, Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
Ye whose wisdom comes from Ukko, “Shall not grant to thee my daughter,
And whose venom comes from Hisi, Shall not give my lovely virgin,
Ukko is your greater Master, Till Tuoni’s bear is muzzled,
By His will your heads are lifted; Till Manala’s wolf is conquered,
Get ye hence before my plowing, In the forests of the Death-land,
Writ-he ye through the grass and stubble, In the boundaries of Mana.
Crawl ye to the nearest thicket, Hundreds have been sent to hunt him,
Keep your heads beneath the heather, So one yet has been successful,
Hunt our holes to Mana’s kingdom All have perished in Manala.”
If your poison-heads be lifted, Thereupon young Ilmarinen
Then will mighty Ukko smite them To the maiden’s chamber hastens,
‘With his iron-pointed arrows, Thus addresses his affianced:
With the lightning of his anger.” “Still another test demanded,
Thus the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, I must go to Tuonela,
Safely plows the field of serpents, Bridle there the bear of Mana,
Lifts the vipers in his plowing, Bring him from the Death-land forests,
The Kalevala
From Tuoni’s grove and empire! On the coverts of the wild-beasts;
This advice the maiden gives him: Thus the bear he safely bridles,
“O thou artist, Ilmarinen, Fetters him in chains of magic,
The eternal metal-worker, In the forests of Tuoni,
Forge of steel a magic bridle, In the blue groves of Manala.
On a rock beneath the water, When this task had been completed,
In the foaming triple currents; Ilmarinen, quick returning,
Make the straps of steel and copper, Thus addressed the ancient Louhi:
Bridle then the bear of Mana, “Give me, worthy dame, thy daughter,
Lead him from Tuoni’s forests.” Give me now my bride affianced,
Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, I have brought the bear of Mana
Forged of steel a magic bridle, From Tuoni’s fields and forests.”
On a rock beneath the water, Spake the hostess of Pohyola
In the foam of triple currents; To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:
Made the straps of steel and copper, “I will only give my daughter,
Straightway went the bear to muzzle, Give to thee the Maid of Beauty,
In the forests of the Death-land, When the monster-pike thou catchest
Spake these words in supplication: In the river of Tuoni,
“Terhenetar, ether-maiden, In Manala’s fatal waters,
Daughter of the fog and snow-flake, Using neither hooks, nor fish-nets,
Sift the fog and let it settle Neither boat, nor fishing-tackle;
O’er the bills and lowland thickets, Hundreds have been sent to catch him,
Where the wild-bear feeds and lingers, No one yet has been successful,
That he may not see my coming, All have perished in Manala.”
May not hear my stealthy footsteps!” Much disheartened, Ilmarinen
Terhenetar hears his praying, Hastened to the maiden’s chamber,
Makes the fog and snow-flake settle Thus addressed the rainbow-maiden:
The Kalevala
“Now a third test is demanded, Fly thou whither I direct thee,
Much more difficult than ever; To Tuoni’s coal-black river,
I must catch the pike of Mana, To the blue deeps of the Death-stream,
In the river of Tuoni, Seize the mighty fish of Mana,
And without my fishing-tackle, Catch for me this water-monster.”
Hard the third test of the hero! Swiftly flies the magic eagle,
This advice the maiden gives him: Giant-bird of worth and wonder,
“O thou hero, Ilmarinen, To the river of Tuoni,
Never, never be discouraged: There to catch the pike of Mana;
In thy furnace, forge an eagle, One wing brushes on the waters,
From the fire of ancient magic; While the other sweeps the heavens;
He will catch the pike of Mana, In the ocean dips his talons,
Catch the monster-fish in safety, Whets his beak on mountain-ledges.
From the death-stream of Tuoni, Safely landing, Ilmarinen,
From Manala’s fatal waters.” The immortal artist-forger,
Then the suitor, Ilmarinen, Hunts the monster of the Death-stream,
The eternal artist-forgeman, While the eagle hunts and fishes
In the furnace forged an eagle In the waters of Manala.
From the fire of ancient wisdom; From the river rose a monster,
For this giant bird of magic Grasped the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Forged he talons out of iron, Tried to drag him to his sea-cave;
And his beak of steel and copper; Quick the eagle pounced upon him,
Seats himself upon the eagle, With his metal-beak he seized him,
On his back between the wing-bones, Wrenched his head, and rent his body,
Thus addresses he his creature, Hurled him back upon the bottom
Gives the bird of fire, this order: Of the deep and fatal river,
“Mighty eagle, bird of beauty, Freed his master, Ilmarinen.
The Kalevala
Then arose the pike of Mana, Circles o’er the reddened waters,
Came the water-dog in silence, Swoops again on lightning-pinions,
Of the pikes was not the largest, Strikes with mighty force his talons
Nor belonged he to the smallest; Into the shoulder of his victim;
Tongue the length of double hatchets, Strikes the second of his talons
Teeth as long as fen-rake handles, On the flinty mountain-ledges,
Mouth as broad as triple streamlets, On the rocks with iron hardened;
Back as wide as seven sea-boats, From the cliffs rebound his talons,
Tried to snap the magic blacksmith, Slip the flinty rocks o’erhanging,
Tried to swallow Ilmarinen. And the monster-pike resisting
Swiftly swoops the mighty eagle, Dives again beneath the surface
Of the birds was not the largest, To the bottom of the river,
Nor belonged he to the smallest; From the talons of the eagle;
Mouth as wide as seven streamlets, Deep, the wounds upon the body
Tongue as long as seven javelins, Of the monster of Tuoni.
Like five crooked scythes his talons; Still a third time soars the eagle,
Swoops upon the pike of Mana. Soars, and sails, and quickly circles,
Quick the giant fish endangered, Swoops again upon the monster,
Darts and flounders in the river, Fire out-shooting from his pinoins,
Dragging down the mighty eagle, Both his eyeballs flashing lightning;
Lashing up the very bottom With his beak of steel and copper
To the surface of the river; Grasps again the pike of Mana
When the mighty bird uprising Firmly planted are his talons
Leaves the wounded pike in water, In the rocks and in his victim,
Soars aloft on worsted pinions Drags the monster from the river,
To his home in upper ether; Lifts the pike above the waters,
Soars awhile, and sails, and circles, From Tuoni’s coal-black river,
The Kalevala
From the blue-back of Manala. Hastened onward, soaring upward,
Thus the third time does the eagle Rising higher into ether,
Bring success from former failures; Rising, flying, soaring, sailing,
Thus at last the eagle catches To the borders of the long-clouds,
Mana’s pike, the worst of fishes, Made the vault of ether tremble,
Swiftest swimmer of the waters, Split apart the dome of heaven,
From the river of Tuoni; Broke the colored bow of Ukko,
None could see Manala’s river, Tore the Moon-horns from their sockets,
For the myriad of fish-scales; Disappeared beyond the Sun-land,
Hardly could one see through ether, To the home of the triumphant.
For the feathers of the eagle, Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Relicts of the mighty contest. Took the pike-head to the hostess
Then the bird of copper talons Of the ever-dismal Northland,
Took the pike, with scales of silver, Thus addressed the ancient Louhi:
To the pine-tree’s topmost branches, “Let this head forever serve thee
To the fir-tree plumed with needles, As a guest-bench for thy dwelling,
Tore the monster-fish in pieces, Evidence of hero-triumphs;
Ate the body of his victim, I have caught the pike of Mana,
Left the head for Ilmarinen. I have done as thou demandest,
Spake the blacksmith to the eagle: Three my victories in Death-land,
“O thou bird of evil nature, Three the tests of magic heroes;
What thy thought and what thy motive? Wilt thou give me now thy daughter,
Thou hast eaten what I needed, Give to me the Maid of Beauty?”
Evidence of my successes; Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
Thoughtless eagle, witless instinct, “Badly is the test accomplished,
Thus to mar the spoils of conquest!” Thou has torn the pike in pieces,
But the bird of metal talons From his neck the head is severed,
The Kalevala
Of his body thou hast eaten, With his tail upon the waters,
Brought to me this worthless relic! Reached his beak beyond the cloudlets,
These the words of Ilmarinen: Looked about, and eager watching,
“When the victory is greatest, Flew around, and sailing, soaring,
Do we suffer greatest losses! Flew away to hero-castle,
From the river of Tuoni, Knocked three times with beak of copper
From the kingdom of Manala, On the castle-roof of iron;
I have brought to thee this trophy, But the eagle could not enter.
Thus the third task is completed. “Then the eagle, looking round him,
Tell me is the maiden ready, Flew again, and sailed, and circled,
Wilt thou give the bride affianced? Flew then to the mothers’ castle,
Spake the hostess of Pohyola: Loudly rapped with heavy knocking
“I will give to thee my daughter, On the mothers’ roof of copper;
Will prepare my snow-white virgin, But the eagle could not enter.
For the suitor, Ilmarinen; “Then the eagle, looking round him,
Thou hast won the Maid of Beauty, Flew a third time, sailing, soaring,
Bride is she of thine hereafter, Flew then to the virgins’ castle,
Fit companion of thy fireside, Knocked again with beak of copper,
Help and joy of all thy lifetime.” On the virgins’ roof of linen,
On the floor a child was sitting, Easy for him there to enter;
And the babe this tale related. Flew upon the castle-chimney,
“There appeared within this dwelling, Quick descending to the chamber,
Came a bird within the castle, Pulled the clapboards from the studding,
From the East came flying hither, Tore the linen from the rafters,
From the East, a monstrous eagle, Perched upon the chamber-window,
One wing touched the vault of heaven, Near the walls of many colors,
While the other swept the ocean; On the cross-bars gaily-feathered,
The Kalevala
Looked upon the curly-beaded, Hast obtained the information,
Looked upon their golden ringlets, How her flaxen ringlets nestled,
Looked upon the snow-white virgins, How the maiden’s silver glistened,
On the purest of the maidens, How the virgin’s gold was lauded.
On the fairest of the daughters, Shone the silver Sun upon thee,
On the maid with pearly necklace, Did the moonbeams bring this knowledge?”
On the maiden wreathed in flowers; From the floor the child made answer:
Perched awhile, and looked, admiring, “Thus I gained the information,
Swooped upon the Maid of Beauty, Moles of good-luck led me hither,
On the purest of the virgins, To the home, of the distinguished,
On the whitest, on the fairest, To the guest-room of the maiden,
On the stateliest and grandest, Good-name bore her worthy father,
Swooped upon the rainbow-daughter He that sailed the magic vessel;
Of the dismal Sariola; Better-name enjoyed the mother,
Grasped her in his mighty talons, She that baked the bread of barley,
Bore away the Maid of Beauty, She that kneaded wheaten biscuits,
Maid of fairest form and feature, Fed her many guests in Northland.
Maid adorned with pearly necklace, “Thus the information reached me,
Decked in feathers iridescent, Thus the distant stranger heard it,
Fragrant flowers upon her bosom, Heard the virgin had arisen:
Scarlet band around her forehead, Once I walked within the court-yard,
Golden rings upon her fingers, Stepping near the virgin’s chamber,
Fairest maiden of the Northland.” At an early hour of morning,
Spake the hostess of Pohyola, Ere the Sun had broken slumber
When the babe his tale had ended: Whirling rose the soot in cloudlets,
“Tell me bow, my child beloved, Blackened wreaths of smoke came rising
Thou hast learned about the maiden, From the chamber of the maiden,
The Kalevala
From thy daughter’s lofty chimney; Keep the secrets of thy bosom,
There the maid was busy grinding, Hide thy beauty and thy power.’
Moved the handles of the millstone “This I told thee in the autumn,
Making voices like the cuckoo, Taught thee in the summer season,
Like the ducks the side-holes sounded, Sang thee in the budding spring-time,
And the sifter like the goldfinch, Sang thee when the snows were falling:
Like the sea-pearls sang the grindstones. ‘Let us build a place for hiding,
“Then a second time I wandered Let us build the smallest windows,
To the border of the meadow Where may weave my fairest daughter,
In the forest was the maiden Where my maid may ply her shuttle,
Rocking on a fragrant hillock, Where my joy may work unnoticed
Dyeing red in iron vessels, By the heroes of the Northland,
And in copper kettles, yellow. By the suitors of Wainola.’”
“Then a third time did I wander From the floor the child made answer,
To the lovely maiden’s window; Fourteen days the young child numbered;
There I saw thy daughter weaving, “Easy ’tis to hide a war-horse
Heard the flying of her shuttle, In the Northland fields and stables;
Heard the beating of her loom-lathe, Hard indeed to hide a maiden,
Heard the rattling of her treddles, Having lovely form and features!
Heard the whirring of her yarn-reel.” Build of stone a distant castle
Spake the hostess of Pohyola: In the middle of the ocean,
“Now alas! beloved daughter, Keep within thy lovely maiden,
I have often taught this lesson: Train thou there thy winsome daughter,
‘Do not sing among the pine-trees, Not long hidden canst thou keep her.
Do not call adown the valleys, Maidens will not grow and flourish,
Do not hang thy head in walking, Kept apart from men and heroes,
Do not bare thine arms, nor shoulders, Will not live without their suitors,
The Kalevala
Will not thrive without their wooers; Must not row upon a wager,
Thou canst never hide a maiden, Must not run a race for glory,
Neither on the land nor water.” With the younger sons of Northland.”
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,
The Kalevala
RUNE XX And his head was over Kemi,
Horns in length a hundred fathoms,
BREWING Longer than the horns his mouth was;
Seven days it took a weasel
Now we sing the wondrous legends, To encircle neck and shoulders;
Songs of wedding-feasts and dances, One whole day a swallow journeyed
Sing the melodies of wedlock, From one horn-tip to the other,
Sing the songs of old tradition; Did not stop between for resting.
Sing of Ilmarinen’s marriage Thirty days the squirrel travelled
To the Maiden of the Rainbow, From the tail to reach the shoulders,
Fairest daughter of the Northland, But he could not gain the horn-tip
Sing the drinking-songs of Pohya. Till the Moon had long passed over.
Long prepared they for the wedding This young ox of huge dimensions,
In Pohyola’s halls and chambers, This great calf of distant Suomi,
In the courts of Sariola; Was conducted from Karjala
Many things that Louhi ordered, To the meadows of Pohyola;
Great indeed the preparations At each horn a hundred heroes,
For the marriage of the daughter, At his head and neck a thousand.
For the feasting of the heroes, When the mighty ox was lassoed,
For the drinking of the strangers, Led away to Northland pastures,
For the feeding of the poor-folk, Peacefully the monster journeyed
For the people’s entertainment. By the bays of Sariola,
Grew an ox in far Karjala, Ate the pasture on the borders;
Not the largest, nor the smallest, To the clouds arose his shoulders,
Was the ox that grew in Suomi; And his horns to highest heaven.
But his size was all-sufficient, Not in all of Sariola
For his tail was sweeping Jamen, Could a butcher be discovered
The Kalevala
That could kill the ox for Louhi, One to kill the ox of Suomi,
None of all the sons of Northland, In the country of Karelen,
In her hosts of giant people, And among the Suomi-giants,
In her rising generation, In the quiet fields of Ehstland,
In the hosts of those grown older. On the battle-fields of Sweden,
Came a hero from a distance, Mid the mountaineers of Lapland,
Wirokannas from Karelen, In the magic fens of Turya;
And these words the gray-beard uttered: Seek him in Tuoni’s empire,
“Wait, O wait, thou ox of Suomi, In the death-courts of Manala.
Till I bring my ancient war-club; Long the search, and unsuccessful,
Then I’ll smite thee on thy forehead, On the blue back of the ocean,
Break thy skull, thou willing victim! On the far-outstretching pastures.
Nevermore wilt thou in summer There arose from out the sea-waves,
Browse the woods of Sariola, Rose a hero from the waters,
Bare our pastures, fields, and forests; On the white-capped, roaring breakers,
Thou, O ox, wilt feed no longer From the water’s broad expanses;
Through the length and breadth of Northland, Nor belonged he to the largest,
On the borders of this ocean!” Nor belonged he to the smallest;
When the ancient Wirokannas Made his bed within a sea-shell,
Started out the ox to slaughter, Stood erect beneath a flour-sieve,
When Palwoinen swung his war-club, Hero old, with hands of iron,
Quick the victim turned his forehead, And his face was copper-colored;
Flashed his flaming eyes upon him; Quick the hero full unfolded,
To the fir-tree leaped the hero, Like the full corn from the kernel.
In the thicket hid Palwoinen, On his head a hat of flint-stone,
Hid the gray-haired Wirokannas. On his feet were sandstone-sandals,
Everywhere they seek a butcher, In his hand a golden cleaver,
The Kalevala
And the blade was copper-handled. In the centre speaks as follows:
Thus at last they found a butcher, “Whence indeed will come the liquor,
Found the magic ox a slayer. Who will brew me beer from barley,
Nothing has been found so mighty Who will make the mead abundant,
That it has not found a master. For the people of the Northland,
As the sea-god saw his booty, Coming to my daughter’s marriage,
Quickly rushed he on his victim, To her drinking-feast and nuptials?
Hurled him to his knees before him, Cannot comprehend the malting,
Quickly felled the calf of Suomi, Never have I learned the secret,
Felled the young ox of Karelen. Nor the origin of brewing.”
Bountifully meat was furnished; Spake an old man from his corner:
Filled at least a thousand hogsheads “Beer arises from the barley,
Of his blood were seven boatfuls, Comes from barley, hops, and water,
And a thousand weight of suet, And the fire gives no assistance.
For the banquet of Pohyola, Hop-vine was the son of Remu,
For the marriage-feast of Northland. Small the seed in earth was planted,
In Pohyola was a guest-room, Cultivated in the loose soil,
Ample was the hall of Louhi, Scattered like the evil serpents
Was in length a hundred furlongs, On the brink of Kalew-waters,
And in breadth was nearly fifty; On the Osmo-fields and borders.
When upon the roof a rooster There the young plant grew and flourished,
Crowed at break of early morning, There arose the climbing hop-vine,
No one on the earth could hear him; Clinging to the rocks and alders.
When the dog barked at one entrance, “Man of good-luck sowed the barley
None could hear him at the other. On the Osmo hills and lowlands,
Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, And the barley grew and flourished,
Hastens to the hall and court-room, Grew and spread in rich abundance,
The Kalevala
Fed upon the air and water, Into hogsheads made of oak-wood.
On the Osmo plains and highlands, “Thus did Osmotar of Kalew
On the fields of Kalew-heroes. Brew together hops and barley,
“Time had travelled little distance, Could not generate the ferment.
Ere the hops in trees were humming, Thinking long and long debating,
Barley in the fields was singing, Thus she spake in troubled accents:
And from Kalew’s well the water, ‘What will bring the effervescence,
This the language of the trio: Who will add the needed factor,
‘Let us join our triple forces, That the beer may foam and sparkle,
Join to each the other’s powers; May ferment and be delightful?’
Sad alone to live and struggle, Kalevatar, magic maiden,
Little use in working singly, Grace and beauty in her fingers,
Better we should toil together.’ Swiftly moving, lightly stepping,
“Osmotar, the beer-preparer, In her trimly-buckled sandals,
Brewer of the drink refreshing, Steps upon the birch-wood bottom,
Takes the golden grains of barley, Turns one way, and then another,
Taking six of barley-kernels, In the centre of the caldron;
Taking seven tips of hop-fruit, Finds within a splinter lying
Filling seven cups with water, From the bottom lifts the fragment,
On the fire she sets the caldron, Turns it in her fingers, musing:
Boils the barley, hops, and water, ‘What may come of this I know not,
Lets them steep, and seethe, and bubble In the hands of magic maidens,
Brewing thus the beer delicious, In the virgin hands of Kapo,
In the hottest days of summer, Snowy virgin of the Northland!’
On the foggy promontory, “Kalevatar took the splinter
On the island forest-covered; To the magic virgin, Kapo,
Poured it into birch-wood barrels, Who by unknown force and insight.
The Kalevala
Rubbed her hands and knees together, Into Tapio’s seat of wisdom;
And produced a snow-white squirrel; There perceived three magic pine-trees,
Thus instructed she her creature, There perceived three smaller fir-trees,
Gave the squirrel these directions: Quickly climbed the dark-green branches,
‘Snow-white squirrel, mountain-jewel, Was not captured by the eagle,
Flower of the field and forest, Was not mangled in his talons;
Haste thee whither I would send thee, Broke the young cones from the fir-tree,
Into Metsola’s wide limits, Cut the shoots of pine-tree branches,
Into Tapio’s seat of wisdom; Hid the cones within his pouches,
Hasten through the heavy tree-tops, Wrapped them in his fur-grown mittens
Wisely through the thickest branches, Brought them to the hands of Kapo,
That the eagle may not seize thee, To the magic virgin’s fingers.
Thus escape the bird of heaven. Kapo took the cones selected,
Bring me ripe cones from the fir-tree, Laid them in the beer for ferment,
From the pine-tree bring me seedlings, But it brought no effervescence,
Bring them to the hands of Kapo, And the beer was cold and lifeless.
For the beer of Osmo’s daughter.’ “Osmotar, the beer-preparer,
Quickly hastened forth the squirrel, Kapo, brewer of the liquor,
Quickly sped the nimble broad-tail, Deeply thought and long considered:
Swiftly hopping on its journey ‘What will bring the effervescence,
From one thicket to another, Who will lend me aid efficient,
From the birch-tree to the aspen, That the beer may foam and sparkle,
From the pine-tree to the willow, May ferment and be refreshing?’
From the sorb-tree to the alder, “Kalevatar, sparkling maiden,
Jumping here and there with method, Grace and beauty in her fingers,
Crossed the eagle-woods in safety, Softly moving, lightly stepping,
Into Metsola’s wide limits, In her trimly-buckled sandals,
The Kalevala
Steps again upon the bottom, Bring it to the hands of Kapo,
Turns one way and then another, To the hands of Osmo’s daughter.’
In the centre of the caldron, “Then the marten golden-breasted,
Sees a chip upon the bottom, Full consenting, hastened onward,
Takes it from its place of resting, Quickly bounding on his journey,
Looks upon the chip and muses Lightly leaping through the distance
‘What may come of this I know not, Leaping o’er the widest rivers,
In the hands of mystic maidens, Leaping over rocky fissures,
In the hands of magic Kapo, To the bear-dens of the mountain,
In the virgin’s snow-white fingers.’ To the grottoes of the growler,
“Kalevatar took the birch-chip Where the wild-bears fight each other,
To the magic maiden, Kapo, Where they pass a dread existence,
Gave it to the white-faced maiden. Iron rocks, their softest pillows,
Kapo, by the aid of magic, In the fastnesses of mountains;
Rubbed her hands and knees together, From their lips the foam was dripping,
And produced a magic marten, From their tongues the froth of anger;
And the marten, golden-breasted; This the marten deftly gathered,
Thus instructed she her creature, Brought it to the maiden, Kapo,
Gave the marten these directions. Laid it in her dainty fingers.
‘Thou, my golden-breasted marten, “Osmotar, the beer-preparer,
Thou my son of golden color, Brewer of the beer of barley,
Haste thou whither I may send thee, Used the beer-foam as a ferment;
To the bear-dens of the mountain, But it brought no effervescence,
To the grottoes of the growler, Did not make the liquor sparkle.
Gather yeast upon thy fingers, “Osmotar, the beer-preparer,
Gather foam from lips of anger, Thought again, and long debated:
From the lips of bears in battle, ‘Who or what will bring the ferment,
The Kalevala
Th at my beer may not be lifeless?’ Where asleep a maid has fallen,
“Kalevatar, magic maiden, Girdled with a belt of copper
Grace and beauty in her fingers, By her side are honey-grasses,
Softly moving, lightly stepping, By her lips are fragrant flowers,
In her trimly-buckled sandals, Herbs and flowers honey-laden;
Steps again upon the bottom, Gather there the sweetened juices,
Turns one way and then another, Gather honey on thy winglets,
In the centre of the caldron, From the calyces of flowers,
Sees a pod upon the bottom, From the tips of seven petals,
Lifts it in her snow-white fingers, Bring it to the hands of Kapo,
Turns it o’er and o’er, and muses: To the hands of Osmo’s daughter.’
‘What may come of this I know not, “Then the bee, the swift-winged birdling,
In the hands of magic maidens, Flew away with lightning-swiftness
In the hands of mystic Kapo, On his journey to the islands,
In the snowy virgin’s fingers?’ O’er the high waves of the ocean;
“Kalevatar, sparkling maiden, Journeyed one day, then a second,
Gave the pod to magic Kapo; Journeyed all the next day onward,
Kapo, by the aid of magic, Till the third day evening brought him
Rubbed the pod upon her knee-cap, To the islands in the ocean,
And a honey-bee came flying To the water-cliffs and grottoes;
From the pod within her fingers, Found the maiden sweetly sleeping,
Kapo thus addressed her birdling: In her silver-tinselled raiment,
‘Little bee with honeyed winglets, Girdled with a belt of copper,
King of all the fragrant flowers, In a nameless meadow, sleeping,
Fly thou whither I direct thee, In the honey-fields of magic;
To the islands in the ocean, By her side were honeyed grasses,
To the water-cliffs and grottoes, By her lips were fragrant flowers,
The Kalevala
Silver stalks with golden petals; “Osmotar, the beer-preparer,
Dipped its winglets in the honey, Kapo, brewer of the barley,
Dipped its fingers in the juices Spake these words in saddened accents:
Of the sweetest of the flowers, ‘Woe is me, my life hard-fated,
Brought the honey back to Kapo, Badly have I brewed the liquor,
To the mystic maiden’s fingers. Have not brewed the beer in wisdom,
“Osmotar, the beer-preparer, Will not live within its vessels,
Placed the honey in the liquor; Overflows and fills Pohyola!’
Kapo mixed the beer and honey, “From a tree-top sings the redbreast,
And the wedding-beer fermented; From the aspen calls the robin:
Rose the live beer upward, upward, ‘Do not grieve, thy beer is worthy,
From the bottom of the vessels, Put it into oaken vessels,
Upward in the tubs of birch-wood, Into strong and willing barrels
Foaming higher, higher, higher, Firmly bound with hoops of copper.’
Till it touched the oaken handles, “Thus was brewed the beer or Northland,
Overflowing all the caldrons; At the hands of Osmo’s daughter;
To the ground it foamed and sparkled, This the origin of brewing
Sank away in sand and gravel. Beer from Kalew-hops and barley;
“Time had gone but little distance, Great indeed the reputation
Scarce a moment had passed over, Of the ancient beer of Kalew,
Ere the heroes came in numbers Said to make the feeble hardy,
To the foaming beer of Northland, Famed to dry the tears of women,
Rushed to drink the sparkling liquor. Famed to cheer the broken-hearted,
Ere all others Lemminkainen Make the aged young and supple,
Drank, and grew intoxicated Make the timid brave and mighty,
On the beer of Osmo’s daughter, Make the brave men ever braver,
On the honey-drink of Kalew. Fill the heart with joy and gladness,
The Kalevala
Fill the mind with wisdom-sayings, Of the Malden of the Rainbow
Fill the tongue with ancient legends, To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Only makes the fool more foolish.” Metal-worker of Wainola.
When the hostess of Pohyola Smoke is seen upon the island,
Heard how beer was first fermented, Fire, upon the promontory,
Heard the origin of brewing, Black smoke rising to the heavens
Straightway did she fill with water From the fire upon the island;
Many oaken tubs and barrels; Fills with clouds the half of Pohya,
Filled but half the largest vessels, Fills Karelen’s many hamlets;
Mixed the barley with the water, All the people look and wonder,
Added also hops abundant; This the chorus of the women:
Well she mixed the triple forces “Whence are rising all these smoke-clouds,
In her tubs of oak and birch-wood, Why this dreadful fire in Northland?
Heated stones for months succeeding, Is not like the smoke of camp-fires,
Thus to boil the magic mixture, Is too large for fires of shepherds!”
Steeped it through the days of summer, Lemminkainen’s ancient mother
Burned the wood of many forests, Journeyed in the early morning
Emptied all the, springs of Pohya; For some water to the fountain,
Daily did the, forests lesson, Saw the smoke arise to heaven,
And the wells gave up their waters, In the region of Pohyola,
Thus to aid the hostess, Louhi, These the words the mother uttered:
In the brewing of the liquors, “’Tis the smoke of battle-heroes,
From the water, hops, and barley, From the beat of warring armies!”
And from honey of the islands, Even Ahti, island-hero,
For the wedding-feast of Northland, Ancient wizard, Lemminkainen,
For Pohyola’s great carousal Also known as Kaukomieli,
And rejoicings at the marriage Looked upon the scene in wonder,
The Kalevala
Thought awhile and spake as follows: Stored away in casks and barrels,
“I would like to see this nearer, There to rest awhile in silence,
Learn the cause of all this trouble, In the cellars of the Northland,
Whence this smoke and great confusion, In the copper-banded vessels,
Whether smoke from heat of battle, In the magic oaken hogsheads,
Or the bonfires of the shepherds.” Plugs and faucets made of copper.
Kaukomieli gazed and pondered, Then the hostess of Pohyola
Studied long the rising smoke-clouds; Skilfully prepared the dishes,
Came not from the heat of battle, Laid them all with careful fingers
Came not from the shepherd bonfires; In the boiling-pans and kettles,
Heard they were the fires of Louhi Ordered countless loaves of barley,
Brewing beer in Sariola, Ordered many liquid dishes,
On Pohyola’s promontory; All the delicacies of Northland,
Long and oft looked Lemminkainen, For the feasting of her people,
Strained in eagerness his vision, For their richest entertainment,
Stared, and peered, and thought, and wondered, For the nuptial songs and dances,
Looked abashed and envy-swollen, At the marriage of her daughter
“O beloved, second mother, With the blacksmith, Ilmarinen.
Northland’s well-intentioned hostess, When the loaves were baked and ready.
Brew thy beer of honey-flavor, When the dishes all were seasoned,
Make thy liquors foam and sparkle, Time had gone but little distance,
For thy many friends invited, Scarce a moment had passed over,
Brew it well for Lemminkainen, Ere the beer, in casks imprisoned,
For his marriage in Pohyola Loudly rapped, and sang, and murmured:
With the Maiden of the Rainbow.” “Come, ye heroes, come and take me,
Finally the beer was ready, Come and let me cheer your spirits,
Beverage of noble heroes, Make you sing the songs of wisdom,
The Kalevala
That with honor ye may praise me, That will sing my worth immortal,
Sing the songs of beer immortal!” That will sing my praise deserving,
Straightway Louhi sought a minstrel, I will burst these bands of copper,
Magic bard and artist-singer, Burst the heads of all these barrels;
That the beer might well be lauded, Will not serve the best of heroes
Might be praised in song and honor. Till he sings my many virtues.”
First as bard they brought a salmon, Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
Also brought a pike from ocean, Called a trusted maiden-servant,
But the salmon had no talent, Sent her to invite the people
And the pike had little wisdom; To the marriage of her daughter,
Teeth of pike and gills of salmon These the words that Louhi uttered:
Were not made for singing legends. “O my trusted, truthful maiden,
Then again they sought a singer, Servant-maid to me belonging,
Magic minstrel, beer-enchanter, Call together all my people,
Thus to praise the drink of heroes, Call the heroes to my banquet,
Sing the songs of joy and gladness; Ask the rich, and ask the needy,
And a boy was brought for singing; Ask the blind and deaf, and crippled,
But the boy had little knowledge, Ask the young, and ask the aged;
Could not praise the beer in honor; Go thou to the hills, and hedges,
Children’s tongues are filled with questions, To the highways, and the by-ways,
Children cannot speak in wisdom, Urge them to my daughter’s wedding;
Cannot sing the ancient legends. Bring the blind, and sorely troubled,
Stronger grew the beer imprisoned In my boats upon the waters,
In the copper-banded vessels, In my sledges bring the halting,
Locked behind the copper faucets, With the old, and sick, and needy;
Boiled, and foamed, and sang, and murmured: Ask the whole of Sariola,
“If ye do not bring a singer, Ask the people of Karelen,
The Kalevala
Ask the ancient Wainamoinen, Spake the hostess of Pohyola:
Famous bard and wisdom-singer; “Easy ’tis to know the wizard,
But I give command explicit Easy find the Ahti-dwelling:
Not to ask wild Lemminkainen, Ahti lives on yonder island,
Not the island-dweller, Ahti!” On that point dwells Lemminkainen,
This the question of the servant: In his mansion near the water,
“Why not ask wild Lemminkainen, Far at sea his home and dwelling.”
Ancient islander and minstrel?” Thereupon the trusted maiden
Louhi gave this simple answer: Spread the wedding-invitations
“Good the reasons that I give thee To the people of Pohyola,
Why the wizard, Lemminkainen, To the tribes of Kalevala;
Must not have an invitation Asked the friendless, asked the homeless
To my daughter’s feast and marriage Asked the laborers and shepherds,
Ahti courts the heat of battle, Asked the fishermen and hunters,
Lemminkainen fosters trouble, Asked the deaf, the dumb, the crippled,
Skilful fighter of the virtues; Asked the young, and asked the aged,
Evil thinking, acting evil, Asked the rich, and asked the needy;
He would bring but pain and sorrow, Did not give an invitation
He would jest and jeer at maidens To the reckless Lemminkainen,
In their trimly buckled raiment, Island-dweller of the ocean.
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
The Kalevala
RUNE XXI Thought the pebbles in commotion,
Or perchance the ocean roaring;
ILMARINEN’S WEDDING-FEAST Then I hastened nearer, nearer,
Drew still nearer and examined,
Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Found the winds were not in battle,
Ancient dame of Sariola, Found the piles of wood unshaken,
While at work within her dwelling, Found the ocean was not roaring,
Heard the whips crack on the fenlands, Nor the pebbles in commotion,
Heard the rattle of the sledges; Found my son-in-law was coming
To the northward turned her glances, With his heroes and attendants,
Turned her vision to the sunlight, Heroes counted by the hundreds.
And her thoughts ran on as follow: “Should you ask of me the question,
“Who are these in bright apparel, How I recognized the bridegroom
On the banks of Pohya-waters, Mid the hosts of men and heroes,
Are they friends or hostile armies?” I should answer, I should tell you:
Then the hostess of the Northland ‘As the hazel-bush in copses,
Looked again and well considered, As the oak-tree in the forest,
Drew much nearer to examine, As the Moon among the planets;
Found they were not hostile armies, Drives the groom a coal-black courser,
Found that they were friends and suitors. Running like the famished black-dog,
In the midst was Ilmarinen, Flying like the hungry raven,
Son-in-law to ancient Louhi. Graceful as the lark at morning,
When the hostess of Pohyola Golden cuckoos, six in number,
Saw the son-in-law approaching Twitter on the birchen cross-bow;
She addressed the words that follow: There are seven bluebirds singing
“I had thought the winds were raging, On the racer’s hame and collar.”
That the piles of wood were falling, Noises hear they in the court-yard,
The Kalevala
On the highway hear the sledges, Lead him carefully to shelter
To the court comes Ilmarinen, By his soft and shining bridle,
With his body-guard of heroes; By his halter tipped with silver;
In the midst the chosen suitor, Let him roll among the sand-hills,
Not too far in front of others, On the bottoms soft and even,
Not too far behind his fellows. On the borders of the snow-banks,
Spake the hostess of Pohyola: In the fields of milky color.
“Hie ye hither, men and heroes, “Lead the hero’s steed to water,
Haste, ye watchers, to the stables, Lead him to the Pohya-fountains,
There unhitch the suitor’s stallion, Where the living streams are flowing,
Lower well the racer’s breast-plate, Sweet as milk of human kindness,
There undo the straps and buckles, From the roots of silvery birches,
Loosen well the shafts and traces, Underneath the shade of aspens.
And conduct the suitor hither, “Feed the courser of the suitor,
Give my son-in-law good welcome!” On the sweetest corn and barley,
Ilmarinen turned his racer On the summer-wheat and clover,
Into Louhi’s yard and stables, In the caldron steeped in sweetness;
And descended from his snow-sledge. Feed him at the golden manger,
Spake the hostess of Pohyola: In the boxes lined with copper,
“Come, thou servant of my bidding, At my manger richly furnished,
Best of all my trusted servants, In the warmest of the stables;
Take at once the bridegroom’s courser Tie him with a silk-like halter,
From the shafts adorned with silver, To the golden rings and staples,
From the curving arch of willow, To the hooks of purest silver,
Lift the harness trimmed in copper, Set in beams of birch and oak-wood;
Tie the white-face to the manger, Feed him on the hay the sweetest,
Treat the suitor’s steed with kindness, Feed him on the corn nutritious,
The Kalevala
Give the best my barns can furnish. Made the oaken threshold lower
“Curry well the suitor’s courser That the hero might not stumble;
With the curry-comb of fish-bone, Made the birch-wood portals wider,
Brush his hair with silken brushes, Opened full the door of welcome,
Put his mane and tail in order, Easy entrance for the suitor.
Cover well with flannel blankets, Speaks the hostess of the Northland
Blankets wrought in gold and silver, As the bridegroom freely passes
Buckles forged from shining copper. Through the doorway of her dwelling:
“Come, ye small lads of the village, “Thanks are due to thee, O Ukko,
Lead the suitor to my chambers, That my son-in-law has entered!
With your auburn locks uncovered, Let me now my halls examine;
From your hands remove your mittens, Make the bridal chambers ready,
See if ye can lead the hero Finest linen on my tables,
Through the door without his stooping, Softest furs upon my benches,
Lifting not the upper cross-bar, Birchen flooring scrubbed to whiteness,
Lowering not the oaken threshold, All my rooms in perfect order.”
Moving not the birchen casings, Then the hostess of Pohyola
Great the hero who must enter. Visited her spacious dwelling,
“Ilmarinen is too stately, Did not recognize her chambers;
Cannot enter through the portals, Every room had been remodeled,
Not the son-in-law and bridegroom, Changed by force of mighty magic;
Till the portals have been heightened; All the halls were newly burnished,
Taller by a head the suitor Hedge-hog bones were used for ceilings,
Than the door-ways of the mansion.” Bones of reindeer for foundations,
Quick the servants of Pohyola Bones of wolverine for door-sills,
Tore away the upper cross-bar, For the cross-bars bones of roebuck,
That his cap might not be lifted; Apple-wood were all the rafters,
The Kalevala
Alder-wood, the window-casings, That I may behold the bridegroom,
Scales of trout adorned the windows, Chosen suitor of my daughter,
And the fires were set in flowers. Fairy Maiden of the Rainbow,
All the seats were made of silver, See the color of his eyeballs,
All the floors of copper-tiling, Whether they are blue or sable,
Gold-adorned were all the tables, See if they are warm and faithful.”
On the floor were silken mattings, Quick the young lads from the village
Every fire-place set in copper, Brought the fire upon the birch-bark,
Every hearth-stone cut from marble, Brought it on the tips of pine-wood;
On each shelf were colored sea-shells, And the fire and smoke commingled
Kalew’s tree was their protection. Roll and roar about the hero,
To the court-room came the hero, Blackening the suitor’s visage,
Chosen suitor from Wainola, And the hostess speaks as follows;
These the words of Ilmarinen: “Bring the fire upon a taper,
“Send, O Ukko, health and pleasure On the waxen tapers bring it!”
To this ancient home and dwelling, Then the maidens did as bidden,
To this mansion richly fashioned!” Quickly brought the lighted tapers,
Spake the hostess of Pohyola: Made the suitor’s eyeballs glisten,
“Let thy coming be auspicious Made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy;
To these halls of thee unworthy, Made his eyes of sable color
To the home of thine affianced, Sparkle like the foam of waters,
To this dwelling lowly fashioned, Like the reed-grass on the margin,
Mid the lindens and the aspens. Colored as the ocean jewels,
“Come, ye maidens that should serve me, Iridescent as the rainbow.
Come, ye fellows from the village, “Come, ye fellows of the hamlet,
Bring me fire upon the birch-bark, Lead my son-in-law and hero
Light the fagots of the fir-tree, To the highest seat at table,
The Kalevala
To the seat of greatest honor, On the beards of many heroes.
With his back upon the blue-wall, When the guests had all partaken
Looking on my bounteous tables, Of the wondrous beer of barley,
Facing all the guests of Northland.” Spake the beer in merry accents
Then the hostess of Pohyola Through the tongues of the magicians,
Served her guests in great abundance, Through the tongue of many a hero,
Richest drinks and rarest viands, Through the tongue of Wainamoinen,
First of all she, served the bridegroom Famed to be the sweetest singer
On his platters, honeyed biscuit, Of the Northland bards and minstrels,
And the sweetest river salmon, These the words of the enchanter:
Seasoned butter, roasted bacon, “O thou beer of honeyed flavor,
All the dainties of Pohyola. Let us not imbibe in silence,
Then the helpers served the others, Let some hero sing thy praises,
Filled the plates of all invited Sing thy worth in golden measures;
With the varied food of Northland. Let the hostess start the singing,
Spake the hostess of Pohyola: Let the bridegroom sound thy virtues!
“Come, ye maidens from the village, Have our songs thus quickly vanished,
Hither bring the beer in pitchers, Have our joyful tongues grown silent?
In the urns with double handles, Evil then has been the brewing,
To the many guests in-gathered, Then the beer must be unworthy,
Ere all others, serve the bridegroom.” That it does not cheer the singer,
Thereupon the merry maidens Does not move the merry minstrel,
Brought the beer in silver pitchers That the golden guests are joyless,
From the copper-banded vessels, And the cuckoo is not singing.
For the wedding-guests assembled; Never will these benches echo
And the beer, fermenting, sparkled Till the bench-guests chant thy virtues;
On the beard of Ilmarinen, Nor the floor resound thy praises
The Kalevala
Till the floor-guests sing in concord; To the ancient wizard-singers;
Nor the windows join the chorus Leave the tales of times primeval
Till the window-guests have spoken; To the minstrel of Wainola,
All the tables will keep silence To the hero of the Northland,
Till the heroes toast thy virtues; To the, ancient Wainamoinen.”
Little singing from the chimney Thereupon Osmoinen answered:
Till the chimney-guests have chanted.” “Are there not some sweeter singers
On the floor a child was sitting, In this honored congregation,
Thus the little boy made answer: That will clasp their hands together,
“I am small and young in singing, Sing the ancient songs unbroken,
Have perchance but little wisdom; Thus begin the incantations,
Be that as it may, my seniors, Make these ancient halls re-echo
Since the elder minstrels sing not, For the pleasure of the evening,
Nor the heroes chant their legends, For the joy of the in-gathered?”
Nor the hostess lead the singing, From the hearth-stone spake, the gray-beard
I will sing my simple stories, “Not a singer of Pohyola,
Sing my little store of knowledge, Not a minstrel, nor magician,
To the pleasure of the evening, That was better skilled in chanting
To the joy of the invited.” Legends of the days departed,
Near the fire reclined an old man, Than was I when I was singing,
And the gray-beard thus made answer: In my years of vain ambition;
“Not the time for children’s singing, Then I chanted tales of heroes,
Children’s wisdom is too ready, On the blue back of the waters,
Children’s songs are filled with trifles, Sang the ballads of my people,
Filled with shrewd and vain deceptions, In the vales and on the mountains,
Maiden-songs are full of follies; Through the verdant fields and forests;
Leave the songs and incantations Sweet my voice and skilled my singing,
The Kalevala
All my songs were highly lauded, Song’s eternal, wise supporter,
Rippled like the quiet rivers, Then began the songs of pleasure,
Easy-flowing like the waters, Made the halls resound with joyance,
Easy-gliding as the snow-shoes, Filled the rooms with wondrous singing;
Like the ship upon the ocean. Sang the ancient bard-magician
“Woe is me, my days are ended, All the oldest wisdom-sayings,
Would not recognize my singing, Did not fail in voice nor legends,
All its sweetness gone to others, All the wisest thoughts remembered.
Flows no more like rippling waters, Thus the ancient Wainamoinen
Makes no more the hills re-echo! Sang the joy of all assembled,
Now my songs are full of discord, To the pleasure of the evening,
Like the rake upon the stubble, To the merriment of maidens,
Like the sledge upon the gravel, To the happiness of heroes;
Like the boat upon the sea-shore!” All the guests were stilled in wonder
Then the ancient Wainamoinen At the magic of his singing,
Spake these words in magic measures: At the songs of the magician.
“Since no other bard appeareth Spake again wise Wainamoinen,
That will clasp my hand in singing, When his wonder-tales had ended:
I will sing some simple legends, “l have little worth or power,
Sing my, garnered store of wisdom, Am a bard of little value,
Make these magic halls re-echo Little consequence my singing,
With my tales of ancient story, Mine abilities as nothing,
Since a bard I was created, If but Ukko, my Creator,
Born an orator and singer; Should intone his wisdom-sayings,
Do not ask the ways of others, Sing the source of good and evil,
Follow not the paths of strangers.” Sing the origin of matter,
Wainamoinen, famous minstrel, Sing the legends of omniscience,
The Kalevala
Sing his songs in full perfection. May they come in rich abundance,
God could sing the floods to honey, May they carry full contentment
Sing the sands to ruddy berries, To the people of Pohyola,
Sing the pebbles into barley, To the cabin and the mansion;
Sing to beer the running waters, May the hours we spend in singing,
Sing to salt the rocks of ocean, In the morning, in the evening,
Into corn-fields sing the forests, Fill our hearts with joy and gladness!
Into gold the forest-fruitage, Hear us in our supplications,
Sing to bread the hills and mountains, Grant to us thy needed blessings,
Sing to eggs the rounded sandstones; Send enjoyment, health, and comfort,
He could touch the springs of magic, To the people here assembled,
He could turn the keys of nature, To the host and to the hostess,
And produce within thy pastures, To the bride and to the bridegroom,
Hurdles filled with sheep and reindeer, To the sons upon the waters,
Stables filled with fleet-foot stallions, To the daughters at their weavings,
Kine in every field and fallow; To the hunters on the mountains,
Sing a fur-robe for the bridegroom, To the shepherds in the fenlands,
For the bride a coat of ermine, That our lives may end in honor,
For the hostess, shoes of silver, That we may recall with pleasure
For the hero, mail of copper. Ilmarinen’s magic marriage
“Grant O Ukko, my Creator, To the Maiden of the Rainbow,
God of love, and truth, and justice, Snow-white virgin of the Northland.”
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,
The Kalevala
RUNE XXII “Famous artist, Ilmarinen,
Wait still longer, having waited
AREWELL Long already for the virgin,
Thy beloved is not ready,
When the marriage was completed, Only is one foot in fur-shoes,”
When the many guests had feasted, Spake again the ancient Louhi:
At the wedding of the Northland, “Chosen suitor of my daughter,
At the Dismal-land carousal, Thou hast thrice in kindness waited,
Spake the hostess of Pohyola Wait no longer for the virgin,
To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen: Thy beloved now is ready,
“Wherefore, bridegroom, dost thou linger, Well prepared thy life-companion,
Why art waiting, Northland hero? Fairy Maiden of the Rainbow.
Sittest for the father’s pleasure, “Beauteous daughter, join thy suitor,
For affection of the mother, Follow him, thy chosen husband,
For the splendor of the maidens, Very near is the uniting,
For the beauty of the daughter? Near indeed thy separation.
Noble son-in-law and brother, At thy hand the honored bridegroom,
Wait thou longer, having waited Near the door he waits to lead thee,
Long already for the virgin, Guide thee to his home and kindred;
Thine affianced is not ready, At the gate his steed is waiting,
Not prepared, thy life-companion, Restless champs his silver bridle,
Only are her tresses braided. And the sledge awaits thy presence.
“Chosen bridegroom, pride of Pohya, “Thou wert anxious for a suitor,
Wait thou longer, having waited Ready to accept his offer,
Long already for the virgin, Wert in haste to take his jewels,
Thy beloved is preparing, Place his rings upon thy fingers;
Only is one hand made ready. Now, fair daughter, keep thy promise;
The Kalevala
To his sledge, with happy footsteps, Never hadst thou grief nor trouble,
Hie in haste to join the bridegroom, All thy cares were left to fir-trees,
Gaily journey to the village All thy worry to the copses,
With thy chosen life-companion, All thy weeping to the willows,
With thy suitor, Ilmarinen. All thy sighing to the lindens,
Little hast thou looked about thee, All thy thinking to the aspens
Hast not raised thine eyes above thee, And the birches on the mountains,
Beauteous maiden of the Northland, Light and airy as the leaflet,
Hast thou made a rueful bargain, As a butterfly in summer,
Full of wailing thine engagement, Ruddy as a mountain-berry,
And thy marriage full of sorrow, Beautiful as vernal flowers.
That thy father’s ancient cottage “Now thou leavest home and kindred,
Thou art leaving now forever, Wanderest to other firesides,
Leaving also friends and kindred, Goest to another mother,
For the, blacksmith, Ilmarinen? Other sisters, other brothers,
“O how beautiful thy childhood, Goest to a second father,
In thy father’s dwelling-places, To the servant-folk of strangers,
Nurtured like a tender flower, From thy native hills and lowlands.
Like the strawberry in spring-time There and here the homes will differ,
Soft thy couch and sweet thy slumber, Happier thy mother’s hearth-stone;
Warm thy fires and rich thy table; Other horns will there be sounded,
From the fields came corn in plenty, Other portals there swing open,
From the highlands, milk and berries, Other hinges there be creaking;
Wheat and barley in abundance, There the doors thou canst not enter
Fish, and fowl, and hare, and bacon, Like the daughters of Wainola,
From thy father’s fields and forests. Canst not tend the fires and ovens
“Never wert thou, child, in sorrow, As will please the minds of strangers.
The Kalevala
“Didst thou think, my fairest maiden, Only when thou hast a suitor,
Thou couldst wed and on the morrow Only when thou wedst a hero,
Couldst return, if thou shouldst wish it, One foot on the father’s threshold,
To thy father’s court and dwelling? And the other for the snow-sledge
Not for one, nor two, nor three days, That will speed thee and thy husband
Wilt thou leave thy mother’s chambers, To his native vales and highlands!’
Leave thy sisters and thy brothers, “I have wished thus many summers,
Leave thy father’s hills and lowlands. Sang it often in my childhood,
Long the time the wife must wander, Hoped for this as for the flowers,
Many months and years must wander, Welcome as the birds of spring-time.
Work, and struggle, all her life long, Thus fulfilled are all my wishes,
Even though the mother liveth. Very near is my departure,
Great, indeed, must be the changes One foot on my father’s threshold,
When thou comest back to Pohya, And the, other for the journey
Changed, thy friends and nearest kindred, With my husband to his people;
Changed, thy father’s ancient dwellings, Cannot understand the reason
Changed, the valleys and the mountains, That has changed my former feelings,
Other birds will sing thy praises!” Cannot leave thee now with gladness,
When the mother thus had spoken, Cannot go with great rejoicing
Then the daughter spake, departing: From my dear, old home and kindred,
“In my early days of childhood Where as maiden I have lingered,
Often I intoned these measures: From the courts where I was nurtured,
‘Art a virgin, yet no virgin, From my father’s band and guidance,
Guided by an aged mother, From my faithful mother’s counsel.
In a brother’s fields and forests, Now I go, a maid of sorrow,
In the mansion of a father! Heavy-hearted to the bridegroom,
Only wilt become a virgin, Like the bride of Night in winter,
The Kalevala
Like the ice upon the rivers. ‘Look not joyfully for suitors,
“Such is not the mind of others, Never heed the tongues of wooers,
Other brides of Northland heroes; Look not in the eyes of charmers,
Others do not leave unhappy, At their feet let fall thy vision.
Have no tears, nor cares, nor sorrows, He that hath a mouth for sweetness,
I alas! must weep and murmur, He that hath an eye for beauty,
Carry to my grave great sadness, Offers little that will comfort;
Heart as dark as Death’s black river. Lempo sits upon his forehead,
“Such the feelings of the happy, In his mouth dwells dire Tuoni.’
Such the minds of merry maidens: “Thus, fair bride, did I advise thee,
Like the early dawn of spring-time, Thus advised my sister’s daughter:
Like the rising Sun in summer Should there come the best of suitors,
No such radiance awaits me, Noblest wooers, proudest lovers,
With my young heart filled with terror; Give to all these wisdom-sayings,
Happiness is not my portion, Let thine answer be as follows:
Like the flat-shore of the ocean, ‘Never will I think it wisdom,
Like the dark rift of the storm-cloud, Never will it be my pleasure,
Like the cheerless nights of winter! To become a second daughter,
Dreary is the day in autumn, Linger with my husband’s mother;
Dreary too the autumn evening, Never shall I leave my father,
Still more dreary is my future!” Never wander forth to bondage,
An industrious old maiden, At the bidding of a bridegroom:
Ever guarding home and kindred, Never shall I be a servant,
Spake these words of doubtful comfort: Wife and slave to any hero,
“Dost thou, beauteous bride, remember, Never will I be submissive
Canst thou not recall my counsels? To the orders of a husband.’
These the words that I have taught thee: “Fairest bride, thou didst not heed me,
The Kalevala
Gav’st no thought to my advices, And thy mother called thee ‘Sunshine,’
Didst not listen to my counsel; ‘Sea-foam’ did thy brother call thee,
Wittingly thy feet have wandered And thy sister called thee ‘Flower.’
Into boiling tar and water, When thou leavest home and kindred
Hastened to thy suitor’s snow-sledge, Goest to a second mother,
To the bear-dens of thy husband, Often she will give thee censure,
On his sledge to be ill-treated, Never treat thee as her daughter,
Carried to his native country, Rarely will she give thee counsel,
To the bondage of his people, Never will she sound thy praises.
There, a subject to his mother. ‘Brush-wood,’ will the father call thee,
Thou hast left thy mother’s dwelling, ‘Sledge of Rags,’ thy husband’s mother,
To the schooling of the master; ‘Flight of Stairs,’ thy stranger brother,
Hard indeed the master’s teachings, ‘Scare-crow,’ will the sister call thee,
Little else than constant torture; Sister of thy blacksmith-husband;
Ready for thee are his bridles, Then wilt think of my good counsels,
Ready for thy bands the shackles, Then wilt wish in tears and murmurs,
Were not forged for any other; That as steam thou hadst ascended,
Soon, indeed, thou’lt feel the hardness, That as smoke thy soul had risen,
Feel the weight of thy misfortune, That as sparks thy life had vanished.
Feel thy second father’s censure, As a bird thou canst not wander
And his wife’s inhuman treatment, From thy nest to circle homeward,
Hear the cold words or thy brother, Canst not fall and die like leaflets,
Quail before thy haughty sister. As the sparks thou canst not perish,
“Listen, bride, to what I tell thee: Like the smoke thou canst not vanish.
In thy home thou wert a jewel, “Youthful bride, and darling sister,
Wert thy father’s pride and pleasure, Thou hast bartered all thy friendships,
‘Moonlight,’ did thy father call thee, Hast exchanged thy loving father,
The Kalevala
Thou hast left thy faithful mother Thou hadst also little sadness;
For the mother of thy husband; When thy couch was not of linen,
Hast exchanged thy loving brother, No unhappiness came nigh thee;
Hast renounced thy gentle sister, Head-gear brings but pain and sorrow,
For the kindred of thy suitor; Linen breeds bad dispositions,
Hast exchanged thy snow-white covers Linen brings but deeps of anguish,
For the rocky couch of sorrow; And the flax untimely mourning.
Hast exchanged these crystal waters “Happy in her home, the maiden,
For the waters of Wainola; Happy at her father’s fireside,
Hast renounced these sandy sea-shores Like the master in his mansion,
For the muddy banks of Kalew; Happy with her bows and arrows.
Northland glens thou hast forsaken ’Tis not thus with married women;
For thy husband’s barren meadows; Brides of heroes may be likened
Thou hast left thy berry-mountains To the prisoners of Moskva,
For the stubble-fields and deserts. Held in bondage by their masters.
“Thou, O maiden, hast been thinking “As a wife, must weep and labor,
Thou wouldst happy be in wedlock; Carry trouble on both shoulders;
Neither work, nor care, nor sorrow, When the next hour passes over,
From this night would be thy portion, Thou must tend the fire and oven,
With thy husband for protection. Must prepare thy husband’s dinner,
Not to sleep art thou conducted, Must direct thy master’s servants.
Not to happiness, nor joyance, When thine evening meal is ready,
Wakefulness, thy night-companion, Thou must search for bidden wisdom
And thy day-attendant, trouble; In the brain of perch and salmon,
Often thou wilt drink of sorrow, In the mouths of ocean whiting,
Often long for vanished pleasures. Gather wisdom from the cuckoo,
“When at home thou hadst no head-gear, Canst not learn it from thy mother,
The Kalevala
Mother dear of seven daughters; In her arms a barley-bundle.
Cannot find among her treasures “Weep, O weep, sweet bride of beauty,
Where were born the human instincts, When thou weepest, weep profusely;
Where were born the minds of heroes, If thou dost not weep in earnest,
Whence arose the maiden’s beauty, Thou wilt weep on thy returning
Whence the beauty of her tresses, To thy native vales and highlands,
Why all life revives in spring-time. When thou visitest thy brother
“Weep, O weep, my pretty young bride. Lying wounded by the way-side,
When thou weepest, weep sincerely, In his hand but empty honors.
Weep great rivers from thine eyelids, “Weep, O weep, my sister’s daughter,
Floods of tears in field and fallow, Weep great rivers from thine eyelids;
Lakelets in thy father’s dwelling; If thou dost not weep sufficient,
Weep thy rooms to overflowing, Thou wilt weep on thy returning
Shed thy tears in great abundance, To the scenes of happy childhood,
Lest thou weepest on returning When thou visitest thy sister
To thy native hills and valleys, Lying, prostrate in the meadow,
When thou visitest thy father In her hand a birch-wood mallet.”
In the smoke of waning glory, When the ancient maid had ended,
On his arm a withered tassel. Then the young bride sighed in anguish,
“Weep, O weep, my lovely maiden, Straightway fell to bitter weeping,
When thou weepest, weep in earnest, Spake these words in deeps of sorrow:
Weep great rivers from thine eyelids; “O, ye sisters, my beloved,
If thou dost not weep sincerely, Ye companions of my childhood,
Thou wilt weep on thy returning Playmates of my early summers,
To thy Northland home and kindred, Listen to your sister’s counsel:
When thou visitest thy mother Cannot comprehend the reason,
Old and breathless near the hurdles, Why my mind is so dejected,
The Kalevala
Why this weariness and sadness, For this keen and killing trouble.
This untold and unseen torture, Many sympathizers tell me:
Cannot understand the meaning ‘Foolish bride, thou art ungrateful,
Of this mighty weight of sorrow! Do not grieve, thou child of sorrow,
Differently I had thought it, Thou hast little cause for weeping.’
I had hoped for greater pleasures, “O, deceive me not, my people,
I had hoped to sing as cuckoos, Do not argue with me falsely,
On the hill-tops call and echo, For alas! I have more troubles
When I had attained this station, Than the waterfalls have pebbles,
Reached at last the goal expectant; Than the Ingerland has willows,
But I am not like the cuckoo, Than the Suomi-hills have berries;
Singing, merry on the hill-tops; Never could the Pohya plow-horse
I am like the songless blue-duck, Pull this mighty weight of sorrow,
As she swims upon the waters, Shaking not his birchen cross-bar,
Swims upon the cold, cold ocean, Breaking not his heavy collar;
Icicles upon her pinions. Never could the Northland reindeer
“Ancient father, gray-haired mother, Heavy shod and stoutly harnessed,
Whither do ye wish to lead me, Draw this load of care and trouble.”
Whither take this bride, thy daughter, By the stove a babe was playing,
That this sorrow may pass over, And the young child spake as follows:
Where this heavy heart may lighten, “Why, O fair bride, art thou weeping,
Where this grief may turn to gladness? Why these tears of pain and sadness?
Better it had been, O mother, Leave thy troubles to the elk-herds,
Hadst thou nursed a block of birch-wood, And thy grief to sable fillies,
Hadst thou clothed the colored sandstone, Let the steeds of iron bridles
Rather than this hapless maiden, Bear the burden of thine anguish,
For the fulness of these sorrows, Horses have much larger foreheads,
The Kalevala
Larger shoulders, stronger sinews, Better wilt thou fare than ever,
And their necks are made for labor, By the side of Ilmarinen,
Stronger are their bones and muscles, Artist husband, metal-master,
Let them bear thy heavy burdens. Bread-provider of thy table,
There is little good in weeping, On the arm of the fish-catcher,
Useless are thy tears of sorrow; On the breast of the elk-hunter,
Art not led to swamps and lowlands, By the side of the bear-killer.
Nor to banks of little rivers; Thou hast won the best of suitors,
Thou art led to fields of flowers, Hast obtained a mighty hero;
Led to fruitful trees and forests, Never idle is his cross-bow,
Led away from beer of Pohya On the nails his quivers hang not,
To the sweeter mead of Kalew. Neither are his dogs in kennel,
At thy shoulder waits thy husband, Active agents is his bunting.
On thy right side, Ilmarinen, Thrice within the budding spring-time
Constant friend and life-protector, In the early hours of morning
He will guard thee from all evil; He arises from his fare-couch,
Husband ready, steed in waiting, From his slumber in the brush-wood,
Gold-and-silver-mounted harness, Thrice within the sowing season,
Hazel-birds that sing and flutter On his eyes the deer has fallen,
On the courser’s yoke and cross-bar; And the branches brushed his vesture,
Thrushes also sing and twitter And his locks been combed by fir-boughs.
Merrily on hame and collar, Hasten homeward with thy husband,
Seven bluebirds, seven cuckoos, Where thy hero’s friends await thee,
Sing thy wedding-march in concord. Where his forests sing thy welcome.
“Be no longer full of sorrow, “Ilmarinen there possesses
Dry thy tears, thou bride of beauty, All the birds that fly in mid-air,
Thou hast found a noble husband, All the beasts that haunt the woodlands,
The Kalevala
All that feed upon the mountains, RUNE XXIII
All that graze on hill and valley,
Sheep and cattle by the thousands; OSMOTAR THE BRIDE-AD
Sweet the grass upon his meadows,
Sweet the barley in his uplands, Now the bride must be instructed,
In the lowlands corn abundant, Who will teach the Maid of Beauty,
Wheat upon the elm-wood fallows, Who instruct the Rainbow-daughter?
Near the streamlets rye is waving, Osmotar, the wisdom-maiden,
Waving grain on many acres, Kalew’s fair and lovely virgin,
On his mountains gold and silver, Osmotar will give instructions
Rich his mines of shining copper, To the bride of Ilmarinen,
Highlands filled with magic metals, To the orphaned bride of Pohya,
Chests of jewels in his store-house, Teach her how to live in pleasure,
All the wealth of Kalevala.” 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,
The Kalevala
From thy father’s halls and court-yards Bury them beneath the mountain.
Haste thee to thy husband’s village, “Thou must hence acquire new habits,
Hasten to his mother’s household; Must forget thy former customs,
Strange, the rooms in other dwellings, Mother-love must be forsaken,
Strange, the modes in other hamlets. Thou must love thy husband’s mother,
“Full of thought must be thy going, Lower must thy head be bended,
And thy work be well considered, Kind words only must thou utter.
Quite unlike thy home in Northland, “Thou must hence acquire new habits,
On the meadows of thy father, Must forget thy former customs,
On the high-lands of thy brother, Father-love must be forsaken,
Singing through thy mother’s fenlands, Thou must love thy husband’s father,
Culling daisies with thy sister. Lower must thy head be bended,
“When thou goest from thy father Kind words only must thou utter.
Thou canst take whatever pleases, “Thou must hence acquire new habits,
Only three things leave behind thee: Must forget thy former customs,
Leave thy day-dreams to thy sister, Brother-love must be forsaken,
Leave thou kindness for thy mother, Thou must love thy husband’s brother,
To thy brother leave thy labors, Lower must thy head be bended,
Take all else that thou desirest. Kind words only must thou utter.
Throw away thine incantations, “Thou must hence acquire new habits
Cast thy sighing to the pine-trees, Must forget thy former customs,
And thy maidenhood to zephyrs, Sister-love must be forsaken,
Thy rejoicings to the couches, Thou must love thy husband’s sister,
Cast thy trinkets to the children, Lower must thy head be bended,
And thy leisure to the gray-beards, Kind words only must thou utter.
Cast all pleasures to thy playmates, “Never in the course of ages,
Let them take them to the woodlands, Never while the moonlight glimmers,
The Kalevala
Wickedly approach thy household, Filled with wise and ancient sayings;
Nor unworthily, thy servants, Open bright thine eyes at morning
Nor thy courts with indiscretion; To behold the silver sunrise,
Let thy dwellings sing good manners, Sharpen well thine ears at evening,
And thy walls re-echo virtue. Thus to hear the rooster crowing;
After mind the hero searches. When he makes his second calling,
And the best of men seek honor, Straightway thou must rise from slumber,
Seek for honesty and wisdom; Let the aged sleep in quiet;
If thy home should be immoral, Should the rooster fail to call thee,
If thine inmates fail in virtue, Let the moonbeams touch thine eyelids,
Then thy gray-beards would be black-dogs Let the Great Bear be thy keeper
In sheep’s clothing at thy firesides; Often go thou and consult them,
All thy women would be witches, Call upon the Moon for counsel,
Wicked witches in thy chambers, Ask the Bear for ancient wisdom,
And thy brothers be as serpents From the stars divine thy future;
Crawling through thy husband’s mansion; When the Great Bear faces southward,
All thy sisters would be famous When his tail is pointing northward,
For their evil thoughts and conduct. This is time to break with slumber,
“Equal honors must be given Seek for fire within the ashes,
To thy husband’s friends and kindred; Place a spark upon the tinder,
Lower must thy head be bended, Blow the fire through all the fuel.
Than within thy mother’s dwelling, If no spark is in the ashes,
Than within thy father’s guest-room, Then go wake thy hero-husband,
When thou didst thy kindred honor. Speak these words to him on waking:
Ever strive to give good counsel, ‘Give me fire, O my beloved,
Wear a countenance of sunshine, Give a single spark, my husband,
Bear a head upon thy shoulders Strike a little fire from flintstone,
The Kalevala
Let it fall upon my tinder.’ Speechless babe, and weeping infant,
“From the spark, O Bride of Beauty, Cannot say that he is hungry,
Light thy fires, and heat thine ovens, Whether pain or cold distresses,
In the holder, place the torch-light, Greets with joy his mother’s footsteps.
Find thy pathway to the stables, Afterward repair in silence
There to fill the empty mangers; To thy husband’s rooms and presence,
If thy husband’s cows be lowing, Early visit thou his chambers,
If thy brother’s steeds be neighing, In thy hand a golden pitcher,
Then the cows await thy coming, On thine arm a broom of birch-wood,
And the steeds for thee are calling, In thy teeth a lighted taper,
Hasten, stooping through the hurdles, And thyself the fourth in order.
Hasten through the yards and stables, Sweep thou then thy hero’s dwelling,
Feed thy husband’s cows with pleasure, Dust his benches and his tables,
Feed with care the gentle lambkins, Wash the flooring well with water.
Give the cows the best of clover, “If the baby of thy sister
Hay, and barley, to the horses, Play alone within his corner,
Feed the calves of lowing mothers, Show the little child attention,
Feed the fowl that fly to meet thee. Bathe his eyes and smoothe his ringlets,
“Never rest upon the haymow, Give the infant needed comforts;
Never sleep within the hurdles, Shouldst thou have no bread of barley,
When the kine are fed and tended, In his hand adjust some trinket.
When the flocks have all been watered; “Lastly, when the week has ended,
Hasten thence, my pretty matron, Give thy house a thorough cleansing,
Like the snow-flakes to thy dwelling, Benches, tables, walls, and ceilings;
There a crying babe awaits thee, What of dust is on the windows,
Weeping in his couch neglected, Sweep away with broom of birch-twigs,
Cannot speak and tell his troubles, All thy rooms must first be sprinkled,
The Kalevala
at the dust may not be scattered, Bend thy neck and turn thy visage
May not fill the halls and chambers. Like the juniper and aspen,
Sweep the dust from every crevice, Thus to watch with care thy goings,
Leave thou not a single atom; Thus to guard thy feet from stumbling,
Also sweep the chimney-corners, That thou mayest walk in safety.
Do not then forget the rafters, “When thy brother comes from plowing,
Lest thy home should seem untidy, And thy father from his garners,
Lest thy dwelling seem neglected. And thy husband from the woodlands,
“Hear, O maiden, what I tell thee, From his chopping, thy beloved,
Learn the tenor of my teaching: Give to each a water-basin,
Never dress in scanty raiment, Give to each a linen-towel,
Let thy robes be plain and comely, Speak to each some pleasant greeting.
Ever wear the whitest linen, “When thy second mother hastens
On thy feet wear tidy fur-shoes, To thy husband’s home and kindred,
For the glory of thy husband, In her hand a corn-meal measure,
For the honor of thy hero. Haste thou to the court to meet her,
Tend thou well the sacred sorb-tree, Happy-hearted, bow before her,
Guard the mountain-ashes planted Take the measure from her fingers,
In the court-yard, widely branching; Happy, bear it to thy husband.
Beautiful the mountain-ashes, “If thou shouldst not see distinctly
Beautiful their leaves and flowers, What demands thy next attention,
Still more beautiful the berries. Ask at once thy hero’s mother:
Thus the exiled one demonstrates ‘Second mother, my beloved,
That she lives to please her husband, Name the task to be accomplished
Tries to make her hero happy. By thy willing second daughter,
“Like the mouse, have ears for hearing, Tell me how to best perform it.’
Like the hare, have feet for running, “This should be the mother’s answer:
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‘This the manner of thy workings, That thy groans mean discontentment,
Thus thy daily work accomplish: That thy sighing means displeasure.
Stamp with diligence and courage, Quickly sift the flour thou grindest,
Grind with will and great endurance, Take it to the casks in buckets,
Set the millstones well in order, Bake thy hero’s bread with pleasure,
Fill the barley-pans with water, Knead the dough with care and patience,
Knead with strength the dough for baking, That thy biscuits may be worthy,
Place the fagots on the fire-place, That the dough be light and airy.
That thy ovens may be heated, “Shouldst thou see a bucket empty,
Bake in love the honey-biscuit, Take the bucket on thy shoulder,
Bake the larger loaves of barley, On thine arm a silver-dipper,
Rinse to cleanliness thy platters, Hasten off to fill with water
Polish well thy drinking-vessels. From the crystal river flowing;
“If thou hearest from the mother, Gracefully thy bucket carry,
From the mother of thy husband, Bear it firmly by the handles,
That the cask for meal is empty, Hasten houseward like the zephyrs,
Take the barley from the garners, Hasten like the air of autumn;
Hasten to the rooms for grinding. Do not tarry near the streamlet,
When thou grindest in the chambers, At the waters do not linger,
Do not sing in glee and joyance, That the father may not fancy,
Turn the grinding-stones in silence, Nor the ancient dame imagine,
To the mill give up thy singing, That thou hast beheld thine image,
Let the side-holes furnish music; Hast admired thy form and features,
Do not sigh as if unhappy, Hast admired thy grace and beauty
Do not groan as if in trouble, In the mirror of the fountain,
Lest the father think thee weary, In the crystal streamlet’s eddies.
Lest thy husband’s mother fancy “Shouldst thou journey to the woodlands,
The Kalevala
There to gather aspen-fagots, That the eagles may not steal them,
Do not go with noise and bustle, That the children may not break them;
Gather all thy sticks in silence, Many children in the village,
Gather quietly the birch-wood, Many little heads and fingers,
That the father may not fancy, That will need thy careful watching,
And the mother not imagine, Lest they steal the things of value.
That thy calling came from anger, “When thou goest to thy bathing,
And thy noise from discontentment. Have the brushes ready lying
“If thou goest to the store-house In the bath-room clean and smokeless;
To obtain the flour of barley, Do not, linger in the water,
Do not tarry on thy journey, At thy bathing do not tarry,
On the threshold do not linger, That the father may not fancy,
That the father may not fancy, And the mother not imagine,
And the mother not imagine, Thou art sleeping on the benches,
That the meal thou hast divided Rolling in the laps of comfort.
With the women of the village. “From thy bath, when thou returnest,
“If thou goest to the river, To his bathing tempt the father,
There to wash thy birchen platters, Speak to him the words that follow:
There to cleanse thy pans and buckets, ‘Father of my hero-husband,
Lest thy work be done in neatness, Clean are all the bath-room benches,
Rinse the sides, and rinse the handles, Everything in perfect order;
Rinse thy pitchers to perfection, Go and bathe for thine enjoyment,
Spoons, and forks, and knives, and goblets, Pour the water all-sufficient,
Rinse with care thy cooking-vessels, I will lend thee needed service.’
Closely watch the food-utensils, “When the time has come for spinning,
That the dogs may not deface them, When the hours arrive for weaving,
That the kittens may not mar them, Do not ask the help of others,
The Kalevala
Look not in the stream for knowledge, Nor the wild-beasts of the mountains,
For advice ask not the servants, When thou goest to thy brewing,
Nor the spindle from the sisters, Shouldst thou wander forth at midnight.
Nor the weaving-comb from strangers. “Should some stranger come to see thee,
Thou thyself must do the spinning, Do not worry for his comfort;
With thine own hand ply the shuttle, Ever does the worthy household
Loosely wind the skeins of wool-yarn, Have provisions for the stranger,
Tightly wind the balls of flax-thread, Bits of meat, and bread, and biscuit,
Wind them deftly in the shuttle Ample for the dinner-table;
Fit the warp upon the rollers, Seat the stranger in thy dwelling,
Beat the woof and warp together, Speak with him in friendly accents,
Swiftly ply the weaver’s shuttle, Entertain the guest with kindness,
Weave good cloth for all thy vestments, While his dinner is preparing.
Weave of woolen, webs for dresses When the stranger leaves thy threshold,
From the finest wool of lambkins, When his farewell has been spoken,
One thread only in thy weaving. Lead him only to the portals,
“Hear thou what I now advise thee: Do not step without the doorway,
Brew thy beer from early barley, That thy husband may not fancy,
From the barley’s new-grown kernels, And the mother not imagine,
Brew it with the magic virtues, Thou hast interest in strangers.
Malt it with the sweets of honey, “Shouldst thou ever make a journey
Do not stir it with the birch-rod, To the centre of the village,
Stir it with thy skilful fingers; There to gain some needed object,
When thou goest to the garners, While thou speakest in the hamlet,
Do not let the seed bring evil, Let thy words be full of wisdom,
Keep the dogs outside the brew-house, That thou shamest not thy kindred,
Have no fear of wolves in hunger, Nor disgrace thy husband’s household.
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“Village-maidens oft will ask thee, Should her mother be forgotten;
Mothers of the hamlet question: Should her dear one be neglected,
‘Does thy husband’s mother greet thee Mana’s daughters will torment her,
As in childhood thou wert greeted, And Tuoni’s sons revile her,
In thy happy home in Pohya?’ They will ask her much as follows:
Do not answer in negation, ‘How couldst thou forget thy mother,
Say that she has always given How neglect the one that nursed thee?
Thee the best of her provisions, Great the pain thy mother suffered,
Given thee the kindest greetings, Great the trouble that thou gavest
Though it be but once a season. When thy loving mother brought thee
“Listen well to what I tell thee: Into life for good or evil,
As thou goest from thy father When she gave thee earth-existence,
To thy husband’s distant dwelling, When she nursed thee but an infant,
Thou must not forget thy mother, When she fed thee in thy childhood,
Her that gave thee life and beauty, When she taught thee what thou knowest,
Her that nurtured thee in childhood, Mana’s punishments upon thee,
Many sleepless nights she nursed thee; Since thy mother is forgotten!’”
Often were her wants neglected, On the floor a witch was sitting,
Numberless the times she rocked thee; Near the fire a beggar-woman,
Tender, true, and ever faithful, One that knew the ways of people,
Is the mother to her daughter. These the words the woman uttered:
She that can forget her mother, “Thus the crow calls in the winter:
Can neglect the one that nursed her, ‘Would that I could be a singer,
Should not visit Mana’s castle, And my voice be full of sweetness,
In the kingdom of Tuoni; But, alas! my songs are worthless,
In Manala she would suffer, Cannot charm the weakest creature;
Suffer frightful retribution, I must live without the singing
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Leave the songs to the musicians, “Into traps are foxes driven
Those that live in golden houses, By the cruel pangs of hunger,
In the homes of the beloved; Into traps, the cunning ermine;
Homeless therefore I must wander, Thus are maidens wooed and wedded,
Like a beggar in the corn-fields, In their hunger for a husband.
And with none to do me honor.’ Thus created is the virgin,
“Hear now, sister, what I tell thee, Thus intended is the daughter,
Enter thou thy husband’s dwelling, Subject to her hero-husband,
Follow not his mind, nor fancies, Subject also to his mother.
As my husband’s mind I followed; “Then to other fields I hastened,
As a flower was I when budding, Like a berry from the border,
Sprouting like a rose in spring-time, Like a cranberry for roasting,
Growing like a slender maiden, Like a strawberry for dinner;
Like the honey-gem of glory, All the elm-trees seemed to wound me,
Like the playmates of my childhood, All the aspens tried to cut me,
Like the goslings of my father, All the willows tried to seize me,
Like the blue-ducks of my mother, All the forest tried to slay me.
Like my brother’s water-younglings, Thus I journeyed to my husband,
Like the bullfinch of my sister; Thus I travelled to his dwelling,
Grew I like the heather-flower, Was conducted to his mother.
Like the berry of the meadow, Then there were, as was reported,
Played upon the sandy sea-shore, Six compartments built of pine-wood,
Rocked upon the fragrant upland, Twelve the number of the chambers,
Sang all day adown the valley, And the mansion filled with garrets,
Thrilled with song the hill and mountain, Studding all the forest border,
Filled with mirth the glen and forest, Every by-way filled with flowers
Lived and frolicked in the woodlands. Streamlets bordered fields of barley,
The Kalevala
Filled with wheat and corn, the islands, From each mouth the fire was streaming,
Grain in plenty in the garners, From each tongue the sparks out-flying,
Rye unthrashed in great abundance, Flying from my second father,
Countless sums of gold and silver, From his eyeballs of unkindness.
Other treasures without number. Did not let this bring me trouble,
When my journey I had ended, Tried to live in peace and pleasure,
When my hand at last was given, In the homestead of my husband
Six supports were in his cabin, In humility I suffered,
Seven poles as rails for fencing. Skipped about with feet of rabbit,
Filled with anger were the bushes, Flew along with steps of ermine,
All the glens disfavor showing, Late I laid my head to slumber,
All the walks were lined with trouble, Early rose as if a servant,
Evil-tempered were the forests, Could not win a touch of kindness,
Hundred words of evil import, Could not merit love nor honor,
Hundred others of unkindness. Though I had dislodged the mountains,
Did not let this bring me sorrow, Though the rocks had I torn open.
Long I sought to merit praises, “Then I turned the heavy millstone,
Long I hoped to find some favor, Ground the flour with care and trouble,
Strove most earnestly for kindness; Ground the barley-grains in patience,
When they led me to the cottage, That the mother might be nourished,
There I tried some chips to gather, That her fury-throat might swallow
Knocked my head against the portals What might please her taste and fancy,.
Of my husband’s lowly dwelling. From her gold-enamelled platters,
“At the door were eyes of strangers, From the corner of her table.
Sable eyes at the partition, “As for me, the hapless daughter,
Green with envy in his cabin, All my flour was from the siftings
Evil heroes in the back-ground, On the table near the oven,
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Ate I from the birchen ladle; Drenched myself in perspiration,
Oftentimes I brought the mosses Hoped for better times to follow;
Gathered in the lowland meadows, But I only rose to labor,
Baked them into loaves for eating; Knowing neither rest nor pleasure.
Brought the water from the river, I was blamed by all the household,
Thirsty, sipped it from the dipper, With ungrateful tongues derided,
Ate of fish the worst in Northland, Now about my awkward manners,
Only smelts, and worthless swimmers, Now about my reputation,
Rocking in my boat of birch-bark Censuring my name and station.
Never ate I fish or biscuit Words unkind were heaped upon me,
From my second mother’s fingers. Fell like hail on me unhappy,
“Blades I gathered in the summers, Like the frightful flash of lightning,
Twisted barley-stalks in winter, Like the heavy hail of spring-time.
Like the laborers of heroes, I did not despair entirely,
Like the servants sold in bondage. Would have lived to labor longer
In the thresh-house of my husband, Underneath the tongue of malice,
Evermore to me was given But the old-one spoiled Lay temper,
Flail the heaviest and longest, Roused my deepest ire and hatred
And to me the longest lever, Then my husband grew a wild-bear,
On the shore the strongest beater, Grew a savage wolf of Hisi.
And the largest rake in haying; “Only then I turned to weeping,
No one thought my burden heavy, And reflected in my chamber,
No one thought that I could suffer, Thought of all my former pleasures
Though the best of heroes faltered, Of the happy days of childhood,
And the strongest women weakened. Of my father’s joyful firesides,
“Thus did I, a youthful housewife, Of my mother’s peaceful cottage,
At the right time, all my duties, Then began I thus to murmur:
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‘Well thou knowest, ancient mother, Been a linden on the border,
How to make thy sweet bud blossom, Like the black-earth made my visage,
How to train thy tender shootlet; Grown a beard of ugly bristles,
Did not know where to ingraft it, Head of loam and eyes of lightning,
Placed, alas! the little scion For my ears the knots of birches,
In the very worst of places, For my limbs the trunks of aspens.’
On an unproductive hillock, “This the manner of my singing
In the hardest limb of cherry, In the hearing of my husband,
Where it could not grow and flourish, Thus I sang my cares and murmurs
There to waste its life, in weeping, Thus my hero near the portals
Hapless in her lasting sorrow. Heard the wail of my displeasure,
Worthier had been my conduct Then he hastened to my chamber;
In the regions that are better, Straightway knew I by his footsteps,
In the court-yards that are wider, Well concluded be was angry,
In compartments that are larger, ‘Knew it by his steps implanted;
Living with a loving husband, All the winds were still in slumber,
Living with a stronger hero. Yet his sable locks stood endwise,
Shoe of birch-bark was my suitor, Fluttered round his bead in fury,
Shoe of Laplanders, my husband; While his horrid mouth stood open;
Had the body of a raven, To and fro his eyes were rolling,
Voice and visage like the jackdaw, In one hand a branch of willow,
Mouth and claws were from the black-wolf, In the other, club of alder;
The remainder from the wild-bear. Struck at me with might of malice,
Had I known that mine affianced Aimed the cudgel at my forehead.
Was a fount of pain and evil, “When the evening had descended,
To the hill-side I had wandered, When my husband thought of slumber
Been a pine-tree on the highway, Took he in his hand a whip-stalk,
The Kalevala
With a whip-lash made of deer-skin, Did not wish to still his fury.
Was not made for any other, Finally the cold benumbed me;
Only made for me unhappy. As an outcast from his cabin,
“When at last I begged for mercy, I was forced to walk and wander,
When I sought a place for resting, When I, freezing, well reflected,
By his side I courted slumber, This the substance of my thinking:
Merciless, my husband seized me, ‘I will not endure this torture,
Struck me with his arm of envy, Will not bear this thing forever,
Beat me with the whip of torture, Will not bear this cruel treatment,
Deer-skin-lash and stalk of birch-wood. Such contempt I will not suffer
From his couch I leaped impulsive, In the wicked tribe of Hisi,
In the coldest night of winter, In this nest of evil Piru.’
But the husband fleetly followed, “Then I said, ‘Farewell forever!’
Caught me at the outer portals, To my husband’s home and kindred,
Grasped me by my streaming tresses, To my much-loved home and husband;
Tore my ringlets from my forehead, Started forth upon a journey
Cast in curls upon the night-winds To my father’s distant hamlet,
To the freezing winds of winter. Over swamps and over snow-fields,
What the aid that I could ask for, Wandered over towering mountains,
Who could free me from my torment? Over hills and through the valleys,
Made I shoes of magic metals, To my brother’s welcome meadows,
Made the straps of steel and copper, To my sister’s home and birthplace.
Waited long without the dwelling, “There were rustling withered pine-trees.
Long I listened at the portals, Finely-feathered firs were fading,
Hoping he would end his ravings, Countless ravens there were cawing,
Hoping he would sink to slumber, All the jackdaws harshly singing,
But he did not seek for resting, This the chorus of the ravens:
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‘Thou hast here a home no longer, But she did not give me greeting,
This is not the happy homestead Did not give her hand in welcome;
Of thy merry days of childhood.’ Proud, alas! was I unhappy,
“Heeding not this woodland chorus, Did not make the first advances,
Straight I journeyed to the dwelling Did not offer her my friendship,
Of my childhood’s friend and brother, And my hand I did not proffer;
Where the portals spake in concord, Laid my hand upon the oven,
And the hills and valleys answered, All its former warmth departed!
This their saddened song and echo: On the coal I laid my fingers,
‘Wherefore dost thou journey hither, All the latent heat had left it.
Comest thou for joy or sorrow, On the rest-bench lay my brother,
To thy father’s old dominions? Lay outstretched before the fire-place,
Here unhappiness awaits thee, Heaps of soot upon his shoulders,
Long departed is thy father, Heaps of ashes on his forehead.
Dead and gone to visit Ukko, Thus the brother asked the stranger,
Dead and gone thy faithful mother, Questioned thus his guest politely:
And thy brother is a stranger, ‘Tell me what thy name and station,
While his wife is chill and heartless!’ Whence thou comest o’er the waters!’
“Heeding not these many warnings, This the answer that I gave him:
Straightway to my brother’s cottage Hast thou then forgot thy sister,
Were my weary feet directed, Does my brother not remember,
Laid my hand upon the door-latch Not recall his mother’s daughter
Of my brother’s dismal cottage, We are children of one mother,
But the latch was cold and lifeless. Of one bird were we the fledgelings,
When I wandered to the chamber, In one nest were hatched and nurtured.’
When I waited at the doorway, “Then the brother fell to weeping,
There I saw the heartless hostess, From his eyes great tear-drops flowing,
The Kalevala
To his wife the brother whispered, For the needy of the village,
Whispered thus unto the housewife. For the children poor and orphaned.
‘Bring thou beer to give my sister, “There are many wicked people,
Quench her thirst and cheer her spirits.’ Many slanderers of women,
“Full of envy, brought the sister Many women evil-minded,
Only water filled with evil, That malign their sex through envy.
Water for the infant’s eyelids, Many they with lips of evil,
Soap and water from the bath-room. That belie the best of maidens,
“To his wife the brother whispered, Prove the innocent are guilty
Whispered thus unto the housewife: Of the worst of misdemeanors,
‘Bring thou salmon for my sister, Speak aloud in tones unceasing,
For my sister so long absent, Speak, alas! with wicked motives,
Thus to still her pangs of hunger.’ Spread the follies of their neighbors
“Thereupon the wife obeying, Through the tongues of self-pollution.
Brought, in envy, only cabbage Very few, indeed, the people
That the children had been eating, That will feed the poor and hungry,
And the house-dogs had been licking, That will bid the stranger welcome;
Leavings of the black-dog’s breakfast. Very few to treat her kindly,
“Then I left my brother’s dwelling, Innocent, and lone, and needy,
Hastened to the ancient homestead, Few to offer her a shelter
To my mother’s home deserted; From the chilling storms of winter,
Onward, onward did I wander, When her skirts with ice are stiffened,
Hastened onward by the cold-sea, Coats of ice her only raiment!
Dragged my body on in anguish, “Never in my days of childhood,
To the cottage-doors of strangers, Never in my maiden life-time,
To the unfamiliar portals, Never would believe the story
For the care of the neglected, Though a hundred tongues had told
The Kalevala
Though a thousand voices sang it, RUNE XXIV
That such evil things could happen,
That such misery could follow, THE BRIDE’S FARE
Such misfortune could befall one
Who has tried to do her duty, Osmotar, the bride-instructor,
Who has tried to live uprightly, Gives the wedding-guests this counsel,
Tried to make her people happy.” Speaks these measures to the bridegroom:
Thus the young bride was instructed, “Ilmarinen, artist-brother,
Beauteous Maiden of the Rainbow, Best of all my hero-brothers,
Thus by Osmotar, the teacher. 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,
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Happy under thy protection, Take thy bride then to the lowlands,
Beautiful as golden moonlight, Mow the grass upon thy meadows,
Beautiful upon thy bosom, Rake the hay when it is ready,
Strong to do thy kindly bidding, Make the reeds and grasses rustle,
Labor with thee as thou wishest, Toss the fragrant heads of clover,
Rake the hay upon thy meadows, Make thy hay in Kalevala
Keep thy home in full perfection, When the silver sun is shining.
Spin for thee the finest linen, “When the time has come for weaving,
Weave for thee the richest fabrics, To the loom attract the weaver,
Make for thee the softest raiment, Give to her the spools and shuttles,
Make thy weaver’s loom as merry Let the willing loom be worthy,
As the cuckoo of the forest; Beautiful the frame and settle;
Make the shuttle glide in beauty Give to her what may be needed,
Like the ermine of the woodlands; That the weaver’s song may echo,
Make the spindle twirl as deftly That the lathe may swing and rattle,
As the squirrel spins the acorn; Ma y be heard within the village,
Village-maidens will not slumber That the aged may remark it,
While thy young bride’s loom is humming, And the village-maidens question:
While she plies the graceful shuttle. ‘Who is she that now is weaving,
“Bridegroom of the Bride of Beauty, What new power now plies the shuttle?’
Noblest of the Northland heroes, “Make this answer to the question:
Forge thyself a scythe for mowing, ‘It is my beloved weaving,
Furnish it with oaken handle, My young bride that plies the shuttle.’
Carve it in thine ancient smithy, “Shall the weaver’s weft be loosened,
Hammer it upon thine anvil, Shall the young bride’s loom be tightened?
Have it ready for the summer, Do not let the weft be loosened,
For the merry days of sunshine; Nor the weaver’s loom be tightened;
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Such the weaving of the daughters Wise descendant of the heroes,
Of the Moon beyond the cloudlets; Never let thy young wife suffer,
Such the spinning of the maidens Never let her be neglected,
Of the Sun in high Jumala, Never let her sit in darkness,
Of the daughters of the Great Bear, Never leave her unattended.
Of the daughters of the Evening. Never in her father’s mansion,
Bridegroom, thou beloved hero, In the chambers of her mother,
Brave descendant of thy fathers, Has she sat alone in darkness,
When thou goest on a journey, Has she suffered for attention;
When thou drivest on the highway, Sat she by the crystal window,
Driving with the Rainbow-daughter, Sat and rocked, in peace and plenty,
Fairest bride of Sariola, Evenings for her father’s pleasure,
Do not lead her as a titmouse, Mornings for her mother’s sunshine.
As a cuckoo of the forest, Never mayest thou, O bridegroom,
Into unfrequented places, Lead the Maiden of the Rainbow
Into copses of the borders, To the mortar filled with sea-grass,
Into brier-fields and brambles, There to grind the bark for cooking,
Into unproductive marshes; There to bake her bread from stubble,
Let her wander not, nor stumble There to knead her dough from tan-bark
On opposing rocks and rubbish. Never in her father’s dwelling,
Never in her father’s dwelling, Never in her mother’s mansion,
Never in her mother’s court-yard, Was she taken to the mortar,
Has she fallen into ditches, There to bake her bread from sea-grass.
Stumbled hard against the fences, Thou shouldst lead the Bride of Beauty
Run through brier-fields, nor brambles, To the garner’s rich abundance,
Fallen over rocks, nor rubbish. There to draw the till of barley,
“Magic bridegroom of Wainola, Grind the flour and knead for baking,
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There to brew the beer for drinking, When thou visitest her father,
Wheaten flour for honey-biscuits. Thou shalt meet a cordial welcome.
“Hero-bridegroom of Wainola, “Censure not the Bride of Beauty,
Never cause thy Bride of Beauty Never grieve thy Rainbow-maiden,
To regret her day of marriage; Never say in tones reproachful,
Never make her shed a tear-drop, She was born in lowly station,
Never fill her cup with sorrow. That her father was unworthy;
Should there ever come an evening Honored are thy bride’s relations,
When thy wife shall feel unhappy, From an old-time tribe, her kindred;
Put the harness on thy racer, When of corn they sowed a measure,
Hitch the fleet-foot to the snow-sled; Each one’s portion was a kernel;
Take her to her father’s dwelling, When they sowed a cask of flax-seed,
To the household of her mother; Each received a thread of linen.
Never in thy hero-lifetime, Never, never, magic husband,
Never while the moonbeams glimmer, Treat thy beauty-bride unkindly,
Give thy fair spouse evil treatment, Teach her not with lash of servants,
Never treat her as thy servant; Strike her not with thongs of leather;
Do not bar her from the cellar, Never has she wept in anguish
Do not lock thy best provisions From the birch-whip of her mother.
Never in her father’s mansion, Stand before her like a rampart,
Never by her faithful mother Be to her a strong protection,
Was she treated as a hireling. Do not let thy mother chide her,
Honored bridegroom of the Northland, Let thy father not upbraid her,
Proud descendant of the fathers, Never let thy guests offend her;
If thou treatest well thy young wife, Should thy servants bring annoyance,
Worthily wilt thou be treated; They may need the master’s censure;
When thou goest to her homestead, Do not harm the Bride of Beauty,
The Kalevala
Never injure her thou lovest; That the stranger may not see it,
Three long years hast thou been wooing, Show it to thy wife in secret,
Hoping every mouth to win her. Shame her thus to do her duty,
“Counsel with the bride of heaven, Strike not yet, though disobeying.
To thy young wife give instruction, Should she disregard this warning,
Kindly teach thy bride in secret, Still refuse to heed thy wishes,
In the long and dreary evenings, Then instruct her with the willow,
When thou sittest at the fireside; Use the birch-rod from the mountains
Teach one year, in words of kindness, In the closet of thy dwelling,
Teach with eyes of love a second, In the attic of thy mansion;
In the third year teach with firmness. Strike, her not upon the common,
If she should not heed thy teaching, Do not conquer her in public,
Should not hear thy kindly counsel Lest the villagers should see thee,
After three long years of effort, Lest the neighbors hear her weeping,
Cut a reed upon the lowlands, And the forests learn thy troubles.
Cut a nettle from the border, Touch thy wife upon the shoulders,
Teach thy wife with harder measures. Let her stiffened back be softened.
In the fourth year, if she heed not, Do not touch her on the forehead,
Threaten her with sterner treatment, Nor upon the ears, nor visage;
With the stalks of rougher edges, If a ridge be on her forehead,
Use not yet the thongs of leather, Or a blue mark on her eyelids,
Do not touch her with the birch-whip. Then her mother would perceive it,
If she does not heed this warning, And her father would take notice,
Should she pay thee no attention, All the village-workmen see it,
Cut a rod upon the mountains, And the village-women ask her
Or a willow in the valleys, ‘Hast thou been in heat of battle,
Hide it underneath thy mantle, Hast thou struggled in a conflict,
The Kalevala
Or perchance the wolves have torn thee, Then I sought for other measures,
Or the forest-bears embraced thee, Used on her my last resources,
Or the black-wolf be thy husband, Cut a birch-whip in the forest,
And the bear be thy protector?’” And she spake in tones endearing;
By the fire-place lay a gray-beard, Cut a juniper or willow,
On the hearth-stone lay a beggar, And she called me ‘hero-darling’;
And the old man spake as follows: When with lash my wife I threatened,
“Never, never, hero-husband, Hung she on my neck with kisses.”
Follow thou thy young wife’s wishes, Thus the bridegroom was instructed,
Follow not her inclinations, Thus the last advices given.
As, alas! I did, regretful; Then the Maiden of the Rainbow,
Bought my bride the bread of barley, Beauteous bride of Ilmarinen,
Veal, and beer, and best of butter, Sighing heavily and moaning,
Fish and fowl of all descriptions, Fell to weeping, heavy-hearted,
Beer I bought, home-brewed and sparkling, Spake these words from depths of sorrow:
Wheat from all the distant nations, “Near, indeed, the separation,
All the dainties of the Northland; Near, alas! the time for parting,
All of this was unavailing, Near the time for my departure;
Gave my wife no satisfaction, O the anguish of the parting,
Often came she to my chamber, O the pain of separation,
Tore my sable locks in frenzy, From these walls renowned and ancient,
With a visage fierce and frightful, From this village of the Northland,
With her eyeballs flashing anger, From these scenes of peace and plenty,
Scolding on and scolding ever, Where my faithful mother taught me,
Ever speaking words of evil, Where my father gave instruction
Using epithets the vilest, To me in my happy childhood,
Thought me but a block for chopping. When my years were few and tender!
The Kalevala
As a child I did not fancy, To the servants of my childhood,
Never thought of separation To my many friends and playmates!
From the confines of this cottage, “Never, never, aged father,
From these dear old hills and mountains, Never, thou, beloved mother,
But, alas! I now must journey, Never, ye, my kindred spirits,
Since I now cannot escape it; Never harbor care, nor sorrow,
Empty is the bowl of parting, Never fall to bitter weeping,
All the farewell-beer is taken, Since thy child has gone to others,
And my husband’s sledge is waiting, To the distant home of strangers,
With the break-board looking southward, To the meadows of Wainola,
Looking from my father’s dwelling. From her father’s fields and firesides.
“How shall I give compensation, Shines the Sun of the Creator,
How repay, on my departure, Shines the golden Moon of Ukko,
All the kindness of my mother, Glitter all the stars of heaven,
All the counsel of my father, In the firmament of ether,
All the friendship of my brother, Full as bright on other homesteads;
All my sister’s warm affection? Not upon my father’s uplands,
Gratitude to thee, dear father, Not upon my home in childhood,
For my former-life and blessings, Shines the Star of Joyance only.
For the comforts of thy table, “Now the time has come for parting
For the pleasures of my childhood! From my father’s golden firesides,
Gratitude to thee, dear mother, From my brother’s welcome hearth-stone,
For thy tender care and guidance, From the chambers of my sister,
For my birth and for my culture, From my mother’s happy dwelling;
Nurtured by thy purest life-blood! Now I leave the swamps and lowlands,
Gratitude to thee, dear brother, Leave the grassy vales and mountains,
Gratitude to thee, sweet sister, Leave the crystal lakes and rivers,
The Kalevala
Leave the shores and sandy shallows, On their graves the fragrant flowers,
Leave the white-capped surging billows, Junipers and mournful willows,
Where the maidens swim and linger, Verdure from my mother’s tresses,
Where the mermaids sing and frolic; From the gray-beard of my father.
Leave the swamps to those that wander, “Should I visit Sariola,
Leave the corn-fields to the plowman, Visit once again these borders,
Leave the forests to the weary, No one here would bid me welcome.
Leave the heather to the rover, Nothing in these hills would greet me,
Leave the copses to the stranger, Save perchance a few things only,
Leave the alleys to the beggar, By the fence a clump of osiers,
Leave the court-yards to the rambler, And a land-mark at the corner,
Leave the portals to the servant, Which in early youth I planted,
Leave the matting to the sweeper, When a child of little stature.
Leave the highways to the roebuck, “Mother’s kine perhaps will know me,
Leave the woodland-glens to lynxes, Which so often I have watered,
Leave the lowlands to the wild-geese, Which I oft have fed and tended,
And the birch-tree to the cuckoo. Lowing now at my departure,
Now I leave these friends of childhood, In the pasture cold and cheerless;
Journey southward with my husband, Sure my mother’s kine will welcome
To the arms of Night and Winter, Northland’s daughter home returning.
O’er the ice-grown seas of Northland. Father’s steeds may not forget me,
“Should I once again, returning, Steeds that I have often ridden,
Pay a visit to my tribe-folk, When a maiden free and happy,
Mother would not hear me calling, Neighing now for me departing,
Father would not see me weeping, In the pasture of my brother,
Calling at my mother’s grave-stone, In the stable of my father;
‘Weeping o’er my buried father, Sure my father’s steeds will know me,
The Kalevala
Bid Pohyola’s daughter welcome. Send to all my farewell greetings,
Brother’s faithful dogs may know me, To the fields, and groves, and berries;
That I oft have fed and petted, Greet the meadows with their daisies,
Dogs that I have taught to frolic, Greet the borders with their fences,
That now mourn for me departing, Greet the lakelets with their islands,
In their kennels in the court-yard, Greet the streams with trout disporting,
In their kennels cold and cheerless; Greet the hills with stately pine-trees,
Sure my brother’s dogs will welcome And the valleys with their birches.
Pohya’s daughter home returning. Fare ye well, ye streams and lakelets,
But the people will not know me, Fertile fields, and shores of ocean,
When I come these scenes to visit, All ye aspens on the mountains,
Though the fords remain as ever, All ye lindens of the valleys,
Though unchanged remain the rivers, All ye beautiful stone-lindens,
Though untouched the flaxen fish-nets All ye shade-trees by the cottage,
On the shores await my coming. All ye junipers and willows,
“Fare thou well, my dear old homestead, All ye shrubs with berries laden,
Fare ye well, my native bowers; Waving grass and fields of barley,
It would give me joy unceasing Arms of elms, and oaks, and alders,
Could I linger here forever. Fare ye well, dear scenes of childhood,
Now farewell, ye halls and portals, Happiness of days departed!”
Leading to my father’s mansion; Ending thus, Pohyola’s daughter
It would give me joy unceasing Left her native fields and fallows,
Could I linger here forever. Left the darksome Sariola,
Fare ye well, familiar gardens With her husband, Ilmarinen,
Filled with trees and fragrant flowers; Famous son of Kalevala.
It would give me joy unceasing, But the youth remained for singing,
Could I linger here forever. This the chorus of the children:
The Kalevala
“Hither came a bird of evil ‘ Like the winds the sledge flew onward,
Flew in fleetness from the forest, On the yoke rang hoops of iron,
Came to steal away our virgin, Loud the spotted wood resounded,
Came to win the Maid of Beauty; Loudly creaked the bands of willow,
Took away our fairest flower, All the birchen cross-bars trembled,
Took our mermaid from the waters, And the copper-bells rang music,
Won her with his youth and beauty, In the racing of the fleet-foot,
With his keys of ancient wisdom. In the courser’s gallop homeward;
Who will lead us to the sea-beach, Journeyed one day, then a second,
Who conduct us to the rivers? Journeyed still the third day onward,
Now the buckets will be idle, In one hand the reins of magic,
On the hooks will rest the fish-poles, While the other grasped the maiden,
Now unswept will lie the matting, One foot resting on the cross-bar,
And unswept the halls of birch-wood, And the other in the fur-robes.
Copper goblets be unburnished, Merrily the steed flew homeward,
Dark the handles of the pitchers, Quickly did the highways shorten,
Fare thou well, dear Rainbow Maiden.” Till at last upon the third day,
Ilmarinen, happy bridegroom, As the sun was fast declining,
Hastened homeward with the daughter There appeared the blacksmith’s furnace,
Of the hostess of Pohyola, Nearer, Ilmarinen’s dwelling,
With the beauty of the Northland Smoke arising high in ether,
Fleetly flew the hero’s snow-sledge, Clouds of smoke to lofty heaven,
Loudly creaked, and roared, and rattled From the village of Wainola,
Down the banks of Northland waters, From the suitor’s forge and smithy,
By the side of Honey-inlet, From the chimneys of the hero,
On the back of Sandy Mountain. From the home of the successful.
Stones went rolling from the highway,
The Kalevala
Of a snow-sledge swiftly bounding.
THE KALEVALA Lakko, hostess of Wainola,
She the lovely Kalew-daughter,
Spake these words in great excitement:
BOOK II “’Tis the sledge of the magician,
Comes at last the metal-worker
From the dismal Sariola,
RUNE XXV By his side the Bride of Beauty!
Welcome, welcome, to this hamlet,
WAINAMOINEN’S WEDDING-SONGS Welcome to thy mother’s hearth-stone,
To the dwelling of thy father,
At the home of Ilmarinen By thine ancestors erected!”
Long had they been watching, waiting, Straightway came great Ilmarinen
For the coming of the blacksmith, To his cottage drove the blacksmith,
With his bride from Sariola. To the fireside of his father,
Weary were the eyes of watchers, To his mother’s ancient dwelling.
Waiting from the father’s portals, Hazel-birds were sweetly singing
Looking from the mother’s windows; On the newly-bended collar;
Weary were the young knees standing Sweetly called the sacred cuckoos
At the gates of the magician; From the summit of the break-board;
Weary grew the feet of children, Merry, jumped the graceful squirrel
Tramping to the walls and watching; On the oaken shafts and cross-bar.
Worn and torn, the shoes of heroes, Lakko, Kalew’s fairest hostess,
Running on the shore to meet him. Beauteous daughter of Wainola,
Now at last upon a morning Spake these words of hearty welcome:
Of a lovely day in winter, “For the new moon hopes the village,
Heard they from the woods the rumble For the sun, the happy maidens,
The Kalevala
For the boat, the swelling water; Looking out from morn till even,
I have not the moon expected, Watching with my head extended,
For the sun have not been waiting, With my tresses streaming southward,
I have waited for my hero, With my eyelids widely opened,
Waited for the Bride of Beauty; Waiting for my son’s returning
Watched at morning, watched at evening, To this modest home of heroes,
Did not know but some misfortune, To this narrow place of resting.
Some sad fate had overtaken Finally am I rewarded,
Bride and bridegroom on their journey; For the sledge has come triumphant,
Thought the maiden growing weary, Bringing home my son and hero,
Weary of my son’s attentions, By his side the Rainbow maiden,
Since he faithfully had promised Red her cheeks, her visage winsome,
To return to Kalevala, Pride and joy of Sariola.
Ere his foot-prints had departed “Wizard-bridegroom of Wainola,
From the snow-fields of his father. Take thy-courser to the stable,
Every morn I looked and listened, Lead him to the well-filled manger,
Constantly I thought and wondered To the best of grain and clover;
When his sledge would rumble homeward, Give to us thy friendly greetings,
When it would return triumphant Greetings send to all thy people.
To his home, renowned and ancient. When thy greetings thou hast ended,
Had a blind and beggared straw-horse Then relate what has befallen
Hobbled to these shores awaiting, To our hero in his absence.
With a sledge of but two pieces, Hast thou gone without adventure
Well the steed would have been lauded, To the dark fields of Pohyola,
Had it brought my son beloved, Searching for the Maid of Beauty?
Had it brought the Bride of Beauty. Didst thou scale the hostile ramparts,
Thus I waited long, impatient, Didst thou take the virgin’s mansion,
The Kalevala
Passing o’er her mother’s threshold, With the burden of the husband.
Visiting the halls of Louhi? “Come, thou beauty, from the snow-sledge,
“But I know without the asking, Come, descend thou from the cross-bench,
See the answer to my question: Do not linger for assistance,
Comest from the North a victor, Do not tarry to be carried;
On thy journey well contented; If too young the one that lifts thee,
Thou hast brought the Northland daughter, If too proud the one in waiting,
Thou hast razed the hostile portals, Rise thou, graceful, like a young bird,
Thou hast stormed the forts of Louhi, Hither glide along the pathway,
Stormed the mighty walls opposing, On the tan-bark scarlet- colored,
On thy journey to Pohyola, That the herds of kine have evened,
To the village of the father. That the gentle lambs have trodden,
In thy care the bride is sitting, Smoothened by the tails of horses.
In thine arms, the Rainbow-maiden, Haste thou here with gentle footsteps,
At thy side, the pride of Northland, Through the pathway smooth and tidy,
Mated to the highly-gifted. On the tiles of even surface,
Who has told the cruel story, On thy second father’s court-yard,
Who the worst of news has scattered, To thy second mother’s dwelling,
That thy suit was unsuccessful, To thy brother’s place of resting,
That in vain thy steed had journeyed? To thy sister’s silent chambers.
Not in vain has been thy wooing, Place thy foot within these portals,
Not in vain thy steed has travelled Step across this waiting threshold,
To the dismal homes of Lapland; Enter thou these halls of joyance,
He has journeyed heavy laden, Underneath these painted rafters,
Shaken mane, and tail, and forelock, Underneath this roof of ages.
Dripping foam from lips and nostrils, During all the winter evenings,
Through the bringing of the maiden, Through the summer gone forever,
The Kalevala
Sang the tiling made of ivory, And remove the silken muffler,
Wishing thou wouldst walk upon it; Let us see the honey-maiden,
Often sang the golden ceiling, See the Daughter of the Rainbow.
Hoping thou wouldst walk beneath it, Seven years hast thou been wooing,
And the windows often whistled, Hast thou brought the maid affianced,
Asking thee to sit beside them; Wainamoinen’s Wedding-Songs.
Even on this merry morning, Hast thou sought a sweeter cuckoo,
Even on the recent evening, Sought one fairer than the moonlight,
Sat the aged at their windows, Sought a mermaid from the ocean?
On the sea-shore ran the children, But I know without the asking,
Near the walls the maidens waited, See the answer to my question:
Ran the boys upon the highway, Thou hast brought the sweet-voiced cuckoo,
There to watch the young bride’s coming, Thou hast found the swan of beauty
Coming with her hero-husband. Plucked the sweetest flower of Northland,
“Hail, ye courtiers of Wainola, Culled the fairest of the jewels,
With the heroes of the fathers, Gathered Pohya’s sweetest berry!”
Hail to thee, Wainola’s hamlet, Sat a babe upon the matting,
Hail, ye halls with heroes peopled, And the young child spake as follows:
Hail, ye rooms with all your inmates, “Brother, what is this thou bringest,
Hail to thee, sweet golden moonlight, Aspen-log or trunk of willow,
Hail to thee, benignant Ukko, Slender as the mountain-linden?
Hail companions of the bridegroom! Bridegroom, well dost thou remember,
Never has there been in Northland Thou hast hoped it all thy life-time,
Such a wedding-train of honor, Hoped to bring the Maid of Beauty,
Never such a bride of beauty. Thou a thousand times hast said it,
“Bridegroom, thou beloved hero, Better far than any other,
Now untie the scarlet ribbons, Not one like the croaking raven,
The Kalevala
Nor the magpie from the border, Best of all in Sariola,
Nor the scarecrow from the corn-fields, Like the, strawberry in summer,
Nor the vulture from the desert. Like the daisy from the meadow,
What has this one done of credit, Like the cuckoo from the forest,
In the summer that has ended? Like the bluebird from the aspen,
Where the gloves that she has knitted, Like the redbreast from the heather,
Where the mittens she has woven? Like the martin. from the linden;
Thou hast brought her empty-handed, Never couldst thou find in Ehstland
Not a gift she brings thy father; Such a virgin as this daughter,
In thy chests the nice are nesting, Such a graceful beauteous maiden,
Long-tails feeding on thy vestments, With such dignity of Carriage,
And thy bride, cannot repair them.” With such arms of pearly whiteness,
Lakko hostess of Wainola, With. a neck so fair and lovely.
She the faithful Kalew-daughter, Neither is she empty-handed,
Hears the young child’s speech in wonder, She has brought us furs abundant,
Speaks these words of disapproval: Brought us many silken garments,
Silly prattler, cease thy talking, Richest weavings of Pohyola.
Thou Last spoken in dishonor; Many beauteous things the maiden,
Let all others be astonished, With the spindle has accomplished,
Reap thy malice on thy kindred, Spun and woven with her fingers
must not harm the Bride of Beauty, Dresses of the finest texture
Rainbow-daughter of the Northland. She in winter has upfolded,
False indeed is this thy Prattle, Bleached them in the days of spring-time,
All thy words are full or evil, Dried them at the hour of noon-day,
Fallen from thy tongue of mischief For our couches finest linen,
From the lips of one unworthy. For our heads the softest pillows,
Excellent the hero ‘s young bride, For our comfort woollen blankets,
The Kalevala
For our necks the silken ribbons.” At thy hand will rest the milk-pail,
To the bride speaks gracious Lakko: And the churn awaits thine order;
“Goodly wife, thou Maid of Beauty, It is well here for the maiden,
Highly wert thou praised as daughter, Happy will the young bride labor,
In thy father’s distant country; Easy are the resting-benches;
Here thou shalt be praised forever Here the host is like thy father,
By the kindred of thy husband; Like thy mother is the hostess,
Thou shalt never suffer sorrow, All the sons are like thy brothers,
Never give thy heart to grieving; Like thy sisters are the daughters.
In the swamps thou wert not nurtured, “Shouldst thou ever have a longing
Wert not fed beside the brooklets; For the whiting of the ocean,
Thou wert born ‘neath stars auspicious, For thy, father’s Northland salmon,
Nurtured from the richest garners, For thy brother’s hazel-chickens,
Thou wert taken to the brewing Ask them only of thy husband,
Of the sweetest beer in Northland. Let thy hero-husband bring them.
“Beauteous bride from Sariola, There is not in all of Northland,
Shouldst thou see me bringing hither Not a creature of the forest,
Casks of corn, or wheat, or barley; Not a bird beneath the ether,
Bringing rye in great abundance, Not a fish within the waters,
They belong to this thy household; Not the largest, nor the smallests
Good the plowing of thy husband. That thy husband cannot capture.
Good his sowing and his reaping. It is well here for the maiden,
“Bride of Beauty from the Northland, Here the bride may live in freedom,
Thou wilt learn this home to manage, Need not turn the heavy millstone,
Learn to labor with thy kindred; Need not move the iron pestle;
Good the home for thee to dwell in, Here the wheat is ground by water,
Good enough for bride and daughter. For the rye, the swifter current,
The Kalevala
While the billows wash the vessels Beer of barley ceaseless flowing,
And the surging waters rinse them. Honey-drink that was not purchased,
Thou hast here a lovely village, In the cellar flows profusely,
Finest spot in all of Northland, Beer for all, the tongues to quicken,
In the lowlands sweet the verdure, Mead and beer the minds to freshen.
in the uplands, fields of beauty, Who is there to lead the singing,
With the lake-shore near the hamlet, Lead the songs of Kalevala?
Near thy home the running water, Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
Where the goslings swim and frolic, The eternal, wise enchanter,
Water-birds disport in numbers.” Quick begins his incantations,
Thereupon the bride and bridegroom Straightway sings the songs that follow.
Were refreshed with richest viands, “Golden brethren, dearest kindred,
Given food and drink abundant, Ye, my loved ones, wise and worthy
Fed on choicest bits of reindeer, Ye companions, highly-gifted,
On the sweetest loaves of barley, Listen to my simple sayings:
On the best of wheaten biscuits, Rarely stand the geese together,
On the richest beer of Northland. Sisters do not mate each other,
Many things were on the table, Not together stand the brothers,
Many dainties of Wainola, Nor the children of one mother,
In the bowls of scarlet color, In the countries of the Northland.
In the platters deftly painted, “Shall we now begin the singing,
Many cakes with honey sweetened, Sing the songs of old tradition?
To each guest was butter given, Singers can but sing their wisdom,
Many bits of trout and whiting, And the cuckoo call the spring-time,
Larger salmon carved in slices, And the goddess of the heavens
With the knives of molten silver, Only dyes the earth in beauty;
Rimmed with gold the silver handles, So the goddesses of weaving
The Kalevala
Can but weave from dawn till twilight, Very near, the salmon-waters,
Ever sing the youth of Lapland Near, the nets for trout and whiting,
In their straw-shoes full of gladness, Here where food is never wanting,
When the coarse-meat of the roebuck, Where the beer is ever brewing.
Or of blue-moose they have eaten. Here Wainola’s sons assemble,
Wherefore should I not be singing, Here Wainola’s daughters gather,
And the children not be chanting Here they never eat in trouble,
Of the biscuits of Wainola, Here they live without regretting,
Of the bread of Kalew-waters? In the life-time of the landlord,
Even Sing the lads of Lapland While the hostess lives and prospers.
In their straw-shoes filled with joyance, “Who shall first be sung and lauded?
Drinking but a cup of water, Shall it be the bride or bridegroom?
Eating but the bitter tan-bark. Let us praise the bridegroom’s father,
Wherefore should I not be singing, Let the hero-host be chanted,
And the children not be chanting Him whose home is in the forest,
Of the beer of Kalevala, Him who built upon the mountains,
Brewed from barley in perfection, Him who brought the trunks of lindens,
Dressed in quaint and homely costume, With their tops and slender branches,
As they sit beside their hearth-stones. Brought them to the best of places,
Wherefore should I not be singing, Joined them skilfully together,
And the children too be chanting For the mansion of the nation,
Underneath these painted rafters, For this famous hero-dwelling,
In these halls renowned and ancient? Walls procured upon the lowlands,
This the place for men to linger, Rafters from the pine and fir-tree,
This the court-room for the maidens, From the woodlands beams of oak-wood,
Near the foaming beer of barley, From the berry-plains the studding,
Honey-brewed in great abundance, Bark was furnished by the aspen,
The Kalevala
And the mosses from the fenlands. Fill his halls with wizard-singers,
Trimly builded is this mansion, Fill his floors with ancient speakers,
In a haven warmly sheltered; Fill his ancient court with strangers,
Here a hundred men have labored, Fill his hurdles with the needy;
On the roof have stood a thousand, Thus the Kalew-host is lauded.
As this spacious house was building, “Now I praise the genial hostess,
As this roof was tightly jointed. Who prepares the toothsome dinner,
Here the ancient mansion-builder, Fills with plenty all her tables,
When these rafters were erected, Bakes the honeyed loaves of barley,
Lost in storms his locks of sable, Kneads the dough with magic fingers,
Scattered by the winds of heaven. With her arms of strength and beauty,
Often has the hero-landlord Bakes her bread in copper ovens,
On the rocks his gloves forgotten, Feeds her guests and bids them welcome,
Left his hat upon the willows, Feeds them on the toothsome bacon,
Lost his mittens in the marshes; On the trout, and pike, and whiting,
Oftentimes the mansion-builder, On the rarest fish in ocean,
In the early hours of morning, On the dainties of Wainola.
Ere his workmen had awakened, “Often has the faithful hostess
Unperceived by all the village, Risen from her couch in silence,
Has arisen from his slumber, Ere the crowing of the watcher,
Left his cabin the snow-fields, To prepare the wedding-banquet,
Combed his locks among the branches, Make her tables look attractive.
Bathed his eyes in dews of morning. Brew the honey-beer of wedlock.
“Thus obtained the pleasant landlord Excellently has the housewife,
Friends to fill his spacious dwelling, Has the hostess filled with wisdom,
Fill his benches with magicians, Brewed the beer from hops and barley,
Fill his windows with enchanters, From the corn of Kalevala,
The Kalevala
From the wheat-malt honey-seasoned, Dressed in neatness is the suitor,
Stirred the beer with graceful fingers, Round his waist a belt of copper,
At the oven in the penthouse, Hammered by the Sun’s sweet maidens,
In the chamber swept and polished. Ere the early fires were lighted,
Neither did the prudent hostess, Ere the fire had been discovered.
Beautiful, and full of wisdom, Dressed in richness is the bridegroom,
Let the barley sprout too freely, On his feet are silken stockings,
Lest the beer should taste of black-earth, Silken ribbons on his ankles,
Be too bitter in the brewing, Gold and silver interwoven.
Often went she to the garners, Dressed in beauty is the bridegroom,
Went alone at hour of midnight, On his feet are shoes of deer-skin,
Was not frightened by the black-wolf, Like the swans upon the water,
Did not fear the beasts of woodlands. Like the blue-duck on the sea-waves,
“Now the hostess I have lauded, Like the thrush among the willows,
Let me praise the favored suitor, Like the water-birds of Northland.
Now the honored hero-bridegroom, Well adorned the hero-suitor,
Best of all the village-masters. With his locks of golden color,
Clothed in purple is the hero, With his gold-beard finely braided,
Raiment brought from distant nations, Hero-hat upon his forehead,
Tightly fitting to his body; Piercing through the forest branches,
Snugly sets his coat of ermine, Reaching to the clouds of heaven,
To the floor it hangs in beauty, Bought with countless gold and silver,
Trailing from his neck and shoulders, Priceless is the suitor’s head-gear.
Little of his vest appearing, “Now the bridegroom has been lauded,
Peeping through his outer raiment, I will praise the young bride’s playmate,
Woven by the Moon’s fair daughters, Day-companion in her childhood,
And his vestment silver-tinselled. In the maiden’s magic mansion.
The Kalevala
Whence was brought the merry maiden, Pearls are set in golden ear-rings,
From the village of Tanikka? Loops of gold upon her temples,
Thence was never brought the playmate, And with pearls her brow is studded.
Playmate of the bride in childhood. Northland thought the Moon was shining
Has she come from distant nations, When her jeweled ear-ringsglistened;
From the waters of the Dwina, Thought the Sun had left his station
O’er the ocean far-outstretching? When her girdle shone in beauty;
Not from Dwina came the maiden, Thought a ship was homeward sailing
Did not sail across the waters; When her colored head-gear fluttered.
Grew as berry in the mountains, Thus is praised the bride’s companion,
As a strawberry of sweetness, Playmate of the Rainbow-maiden.
On the fields the child of beauty, “Now I praise the friends assembled,
In the glens the golden flower. All appear in graceful manners;
Thence has come the young bride’s playmate, If the old are wise and silent,
Thence arose her fair companion. All the youth are free and merry,
Tiny are her feet and fingers, All the guests are fair and worthy.
Small her lips of scarlet color, Never was there in Wainola,
Like the maiden’s loom of Suomi; Never will there be in Northland,
Eyes that shine in kindly beauty Such a company assembled;
Like the twinkling stars of heaven; All the children speak in joyance,
Beam the playmate’s throbbing temples All the aged move sedately;
Like the moonlight on the waters. Dressed in white are all the maidens,
Trinkets has the bride’s companion, Like the hoar-frost of the morning,
On her neck a golden necklace, Like the welcome dawn of spring-time,
In her tresses, silken ribbons, Like the rising of the daylight.
On her arms are golden bracelets, Silver then was more abundant,
Golden rings upon her fingers, Gold among the guests in plenty,
The Kalevala
On the hills were money, pockets, In the passing generation,
Money-bags along the valleys, That will go to Mana’s kingdom,
For the friends that were invited, To the empire of Tuoni,
For the guests in joy assembled. There to get the magic auger
All the friends have now been lauded, From the master of Manala,
Each has gained his meed of honor.” That I may repair my snow-sledge,
Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Or a second sledge may fashion?”
Song-deliverer of Northland, What the younger people answered
Swung himself upon the fur-bench Was the answer of the aged:
Or his magic sledge of copper, “Not among the youth of Northland,
Straightway hastened to his hamlet, Nor among the aged heroes,
Singing as he journeyed onward, Is there one of ample courage,
Singing charms and incantations, That has bravery sufficient,
Singing one day, then a second, To attempt the reckless journey
All the third day chanting legends. To the kingdom of Tuoni,
On the rocks the runners rattled, To Manala’s fields and castles,
Hung the sledge upon a birch-stump, Thence to bring Tuoni’s auger,
Broke it into many pieces, Wherewithal to mend thy snow-sledge,
With the magic of his singing; Build anew thy sledge of magic.”
Double were the runners bended, Thereupon old Wainamoinen,
All the parts were torn asunder, The eternal wisdom-singer,
And his magic sledge was ruined. Went again to Mana’s empire,
Then the good, old Wainamoinen To the kingdom of Tuoni,
Spake these words in meditation: Crossed the sable stream of Deathland,
“Is there one among this number, To the castles of Manala,
In this rising generation, Found the auger of Tuoni,
Or perchance among the aged, Brought the instrument in safety.
The Kalevala
Straightway sings old Wainamoinen, RUNE XXVI
Sings to life a purple forest,
In the forest, slender birches, ORIGIN OF THE SERPENT
And beside them, mighty oak-trees,
Shapes them into shafts and runners, Ahti, living on the island,
Moulds them by his will and power, Near the Kauko-point and harbor,
Makes anew his sledge of magic. Plowed his fields for rye and barley,
On his steed he lays the harness, Furrowed his extensive pastures,
Binds him to his sledge securely, Heard with quickened ears an uproar,
Seats himself upon the cross-bench, Heard the village in commotion,
And the racer gallops homeward, Heard a noise along the sea-shore,
To the manger filled and waiting, Heard the foot-steps on the ice-plain,
To the stable of his master; Heard the rattle of the sledges;
Brings the ancient Wainamoinen, Quick his mind divined the reason,
Famous bard and wise enchanter, Knew it was Pohyola’s wedding,
To the threshold of his dwelling, Wedding of the Rainbow-virgin.
To his home in Kalevala. Quick he stopped in disappointment,
Shook his sable locks in envy,
Turned his hero-head in anger,
While the scarlet blood ceased flowing
Through his pallid face and temples;
Ceased his plowing and his sowing,
On the field he left the furrows,
On his steed he lightly mounted,
Straightway galloped fleetly homeward
To his well-beloved mother,
To his mother old and golden,
The Kalevala
Gave his mother these directions, To the store-house on the hill-top,
These the words of Lemminkainen: Bring my vest of finest texture,
“My beloved, faithful mother, Bring my hero-coat of purple,
Quickly bring me beer and viands, Bring my suit of magic colors,
Bring me food for I am hungry, Thus to make me look attractive,
Food and drink for me abundant, Thus to robe myself in beauty.”
Have my bath-room quickly heated, First the ancient mother asked him,
Quickly set the room in order, Asked her son this simple question:
That I may refresh my body, “Whither dost thou go, my hero?
Dress myself in hero-raiment.” Dost thou go to hunt the roebuck,
Lemminkainen’s aged mother Chase the lynx upon the mountains,
Brings her hero food in plenty, Shoot the squirrel in the woodlands?”
Beer and viands for the hungry, Spake the reckless Lemminkainen,
For her thirsting son and hero; Also known as Kaukomieli:
Quick she heats the ancient bath-room, “Worthy mother of my being,
Quickly sets his bath in order. Go I not to hunt the roebuck,
Then the reckless Lemminkainen Chase the lynx upon the mountains,
Ate his meat with beer inspiring, Shoot the squirrel on the tree-tops;
Hastened to his bath awaiting; I am going to Pohyola,
Only was the bullfinch bathing, To the feasting of her people.
With the many-colored bunting; Bring at once my purple vestments,
Quick the hero laved his temples, Straightway bring my nuptial outfit,
Laved himself to flaxen whiteness, Let me don it for the marriage
Quick returning to his mother, Of the maiden of the Northland.”
Spake in haste the words that follow: But the ancient dame dissented,
“My beloved, helpful mother, And the wife forebade the husband;
Go at once to yonder mountain, Two of all the best of heroes,
The Kalevala
Three of nature’s fairest daughters, Everywhere they see perdition,
Strongly urged wild Lemminkainen Death can never frighten heroes,
Not to go to Sariola, Heroes do not fear the spectre;
To Pohyola’s great carousal, Be that as it may, dear mother,
To the marriage-feast of Northland, Tell that I may understand thee,
“Since thou hast not been invited, Name the first of all destructions,
Since they do not wish thy presence.” Name the first and last destroyers!”
Spake the reckless Lemminkainen. Lemminkainen’s mother answered:
These the words of Kaukomieli: “I will tell thee, son and hero,
“Where the wicked are invited, Not because I wish to speak it,
There the good are always welcome, But because the truth is worthy;
Herein lies my invitation; I will name the chief destruction,
I am constantly reminded Name the first of the destroyers.
By this sword of sharpened edges, When thou hast a distance journeyed,
By this magic blade and scabbard, Only one day hast thou travelled,
That Pohyola needs my presence.” Comes a stream along the highway,
Lemminkainen’s aged mother Stream of fire of wondrous beauty,
Sought again to stay her hero: In the stream a mighty fire-spout,
“Do not go, my son beloved, In the spout a rock uprising,
To the feasting in Pohyola; On the rock a fiery hillock,
Full of horrors are the highways, On the top a flaming eagle,
On the road are many wonders, And his crooked beak he sharpens,
Three times Death appears to frighten, Sharpens too his bloody talons,
Thrice destruction hovers over!” For the coming of the stranger,
Spake the reckless Lemminkainen, For the people that approach him.”
These the words of Kaukomieli: Spake the reckless Lemminkainen,
“Death is seen by aged people, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli:
The Kalevala
“Women die beneath the eagle, Spake the reckless Lemminkainen,
Such is not the death of heroes; Handsome hero, Kaukomieli:
Know I well a magic lotion, “Never will the hero perish
That will heal the wounds of eagles; In the jaws of such a monster;
Make myself a steed of alders, Know I well the means of safety,
That will walk as my companion, Know a remedy efficient:
That will stride ahead majestic; I will make of snow a master,
As a duck I’ll drive behind him, On the snow-clad fields, a hero,
Drive him o’er the fatal waters, Drive the snow-man on before me,
Underneath the flaming eagle, Drive him through the flaming vortex,
With his bloody beak and talons. Drive him through the fiery furnace,
Worthy mother of my being, With my magic broom of copper;
Name the second of destroyers.” I will follow in his shadow,
Lemminkainen’s mother answered: Follow close the magic image,
“This the second of destroyers: Thus escape the frightful monster,
When thou hast a distance wandered, With my golden locks uninjured,
Only two clays hast thou travelled, With my flowing beard untangled.
Comes a pit of fire to meet thee, Ancient mother of my being,
In the centre of the highway, Name the last of the destructions,
Eastward far the pit extending, Name the third of the destroyers.”
Stretches endless to the westward, Lemminkainen’s mother answered:
Filled with burning coals and pebbles, “This the third of fatal dangers:
Glowing with the heat of ages; Hast thou gone a greater distance,
Hundreds has this monster swallowed, Hast thou travelled one day longer,
In his jaws have thousands perished, To the portals of Pohyola,
Hundreds with their trusty broadswords, To the narrowest of gate-ways,
Thousands on their fiery chargers.” There a wolf will rise to meet thee,
The Kalevala
There the black-bear sneak upon thee-, Great the wonders yet before thee,
In Pohyola’s darksome portals, Horrors three within thy pathway;
Hundreds in their jaws have perished, Three great dangers of the hero
Have devoured a thousand heroes; Still await thy reckless footsteps,
Wherefore will they not destroy thee, These the worst of all thy dangers:
Since thy form is unprotected?” When thou hast still farther wandered,
Spake the reckless Lemminkainen, Thou wilt reach the Court of Pohya,
Handsome hero, Kaukomieli: Where the walls are forged from iron,
“Let them eat the gentle lambkins, And from steel the outer bulwark;
Feed upon their tender tissues, Rises from the earth to heaven,
They cannot devour this hero; Back again to earth returning;
I am girded with my buckler, Double spears are used for railings,
Girded with my belt of copper, On each spear are serpents winding,
Armlets wear I of the master, On each rail are stinging adders;
From the wolf and bear protected, Lizards too adorn the bulwarks,
Will not hasten to Untamo. Play their long tails in the sunlight,
I can meet the wolf of Lempo, Hissing lizards, venomed serpents,
For the bear I have a balsam, Jump and writhe upon the rampart,
For his mouth I conjure bridles, Turn their horrid heads to meet thee;
For the wolf, forge chains of iron; On the greensward lie the monsters,
I will smite them as the willow, On the ground the things of evil,
Chop them into little fragments, With their pliant tongues of venom,
Thus I’ll gain the open court-yard, Hissing, striking, crawling, writhing;
Thus triumphant end my journey.” One more horrid than the others,
Lemminkainen’s mother answered: Lies before the fatal gate-way,
“Then thy journey is not ended, Longer than the longest rafters,
Greater dangers still await thee, Larger than the largest portals;
The Kalevala
Hisses with the tongue of anger, Walk the halls of Sariola!”
Lifts his head in awful menace, Lemminkainen’s mother answered:
Raises it to strike none other “Do not go, my son beloved,
Than the hero of the islands.” To the firesides of Pohyola,
Spake the warlike Lemminkainen, Through the Northland fields and fallows;
Handsome hero, Kaukomieli: There are warriors with broadswords,
“By such things the children perish, Heroes clad in mail of copper,
Such is not the death of heroes; Are on beer intoxicated,
Know I well the fire to manage, By the beer are much embittered;
I can quench the flames of passion, They will charm thee, hapless creature,
I can meet the prowling wild-beasts, On the tips of swords of magic;
Can appease the wrath of serpents, Greater heroes have been conjured,
I can heal the sting of adders, Stronger ones have been outwitted.”
I have plowed the serpent-pastures, Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
Plowed the adder-fields of Northland; “Formerly thy son resided
While my hands were unprotected, In the hamlets of Pohyola;
Held the serpents in my fingers, Laplanders cannot enchant me,
Drove the adders to Manala, Nor the Turyalanders harm me
On my hands the blood of serpents, I the, Laplander will conjure,
On my feet the fat of adders. Charm him with my magic powers,
Never will thy hero stumble Sing his shoulders wide asunder,
On the serpents of the Northland; In his chin I’ll sing a fissure,
With my heel I’ll crush the monsters, Sing his collar-bone to pieces,
Stamp the horrid things to atoms; Sing his breast to thousand fragments.”
I will banish them from Pohya, Lemminkainen’s mother answered:
Drive them to Manala’s kingdom, “Foolish son, ungrateful wizard,
Step within Pohyola’s mansion, Boasting of thy former visit,
The Kalevala
Boasting of thy fatal journey! Long has lain in secret places,
Once in Northland thou wert living, Long and constantly been weeping,
In the homesteads of Pohyola; Long been asking for a bearer.”
There thou tried to swim the whirlpool, Then he took his mail of copper,
Tasted there the dog-tongue waters, Took his ancient battle-armor,
Floated down the fatal current, Took his father’s sword of magic,
Sank beneath its angry billows; Tried its point against the oak-wood,
Thou hast seen Tuoni’s river, Tried its edge upon the sorb-tree;
Thou hast measured Mana’s waters, In his hand the blade was bended,
There to-day thou wouldst be sleeping, Like the limber boughs of willow,
Had it not been for thy mother! Like the juniper in summer.
What I tell thee well remember, Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
Shouldst thou gain Pohyola’s chambers, “There is none in Pohya’s hamlets,
Filled with stakes thou’lt find the court-yard, In the courts of Sariola,
These to hold the heads of heroes; That with me can measure broadswords,
There thy head will rest forever, That can meet this blade ancestral.”
Shouldst thou go to Sariola.” From the nail he took a cross-bow,
Spake the warlike Lemminkainen: Took the strongest from the rafters,
“Fools indeed may heed thy counsel, Spake these words in meditation:
Cowards too may give attention; “I shall recognize as worthy,
Those of seven conquest-summers Recognize that one a hero
Cannot heed such weak advising. That can bend this mighty cross-bow,
Bring to me my battle-armor. That can break its magic sinews,
Bring my magic mail of copper, In the hamlets of Pohyola.”
Bring me too my father’s broadsword, Lemminkainen, filled with courage,
Keep the old man’s blade from rusting; Girds himself in suit of battle,
Long it has been cold and idle, Dons his mighty mail of copper,
The Kalevala
To his servant speaks as follows: Shouldst thou reach the great carousal,
“Trusty slave, and whom I purchased, Drink thou only a half a cupful,
Whom I bought with gold and silver, Drink the goblet to the middle,
Quick prepare my fiery charger, Always give the half remaining,
Harness well my steed of battle; Give the worse half to another,
I am going to the feasting, To another more unworthy;
To the banquet-fields of Lempo.” In the lower half are serpents,
Quick obeys the faithful servant, Worms, and frogs, and hissing lizards,
Hitches well the noble war-horse, Feeding on the slimy bottom.”
Quick prepares the fire-red stallion, Furthermore she tells her hero,
Speaks these words when all is I ready: Gives her son these sage directions,
“I have done what thou hast hidden, On the border of the court-yard,
Ready harnessed is the charger, At the portals farthest distant:
Waiting to obey his master.” “If thou goest to the banquet,
Comes the hour of the departing Shouldst thou reach the great carousal,
Of the hero, Lemminkainen, Occupy but half the settle,
Right hand ready, left unwilling, Take but half a stride in walking,
All his anxious fingers pain him, Give the second half to others,
Till at last in full obedience, To another less deserving;
All his members give permission; Only thus thou’lt be a hero,
Starts the hero on his journey, Thus become a son immortal;
While the mother gives him counsel, In the guest-rooms look courageous,
At the threshold of the dwelling, Bravely move about the chambers,
At the highway of the court-yard: In the gatherings of heroes,
“Child of courage, my beloved, With the hosts of magic valor.”
Son of strength, my wisdom-hero, Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
If thou goest to the feasting, Quickly leaped upon the cross-bench
The Kalevala
Of his battle-sledge of wonder, Found it as his mother told him,
Raised his pearl-enamelled birch-rod, Found a stream of fire opposing;
Snapped his whip above his charger, Ran the fire-stream like a river,
And the steed flew onward fleetly, Ran across the hero’s pathway.
Galloped on his distant journey. In the river was a fire-fall,
He had travelled little distance, In the cataract a fire-rock,
When a flight of hazel-chickens On the rock a fiery hillock,
Quick arose before his coming, On its summit perched an eagle,
Flew before the foaming racer. From his throat the fire was streaming
There were left some feathers lying, To the crater far below him,
Feathers of the hazel-chickens, Fire out-shooting from his feathers,
Lying in the hero’s pathway. Glowing with a fiery splendor;
These the reckless Lemminkainen Long he looked upon the hero,
Gathered for their magic virtues, Long he gazed on Lemminkainen,
Put them in his pouch of leather, Then the eagle thus addressed him:
Did not know what things might happen “Whither art thou driving, Ahti,
On his journey to Pohyola; Whither going, Lemminkainen?”
All things have some little value, Kaukomieli spake in answer:
In a strait all things are useful. “To the feastings of Pohyola,
Then he drove a little distance, To the drinking-halls of Louhi,
Galloped farther on the highway, To the banquet of her people;
When his courser neighed in danger, Move aside and let me journey,
And the fleet-foot ceased his running. Move a little from my pathway,
Then the stout-heart, Lemminkainen, Let this wanderer pass by thee,
Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, I am warlike Lemminkainen.”
Rose upon his seat in wonder, This the answer of the eagle,
Craned his neck and looked about him Screaming from his throat of splendor:
The Kalevala
“Though thou art wild Lemminkainen, Straightway speeds the fiery charger,
I shall let thee wander onward, Noiselessly upon his journey,
Through my fire-throat let thee journey, Gallops fast and gallops faster,
Through these flames shall be thy passage Till the flying steed in terror
To the banquet-halls of Louhi, Neighs again and ceases running.
To Pohyola’s great carousal!” Lemminkainen, quickly rising,
Little heeding, Kaukomieli Cranes his neck and looks about him,
Thinks himself in little trouble, Sees his mother’s words were truthful,
Thrusts his fingers in his pockets, Sees her augury well-taken.
Searches in his pouch of leather, Lo! before him yawned a fire-gulf,
Quickly takes the magic feathers, Stretching crosswise through his pathway;
Feathers from the hazel-chickens, Far to east the gulf extending,
Rubs them into finest powder, To the west an endless distance,
Rubs them with his magic fingers Filled with stones and burning pebbles,
Whence a flight of birds arises, Running streams of burning matter.
Hazel-chickens from the feathers, Little heeding, Lemminkainen
Large the bevy of the young birds. Cries aloud in prayer to Ukko:
Quick the wizard, Lemminkainen, “Ukko, thou O God above me,
Drives them to the eagle’s fire-mouth, Dear Creator, omnipresent,
Thus to satisfy his hunger, From the north-west send a storm-cloud,
Thus to quench the fire out-streaming. From the east, dispatch a second,
Thus escapes the reckless hero, From the south send forth a third one;
Thus escapes the first of dangers, Let them gather from the south-west,
Passes thus the first destroyer, Sew their edges well together,
On his journey to Pohyola. Fill thou well the interspaces,
With his whip he strikes his courser, Send a snow-fall high as heaven,
With his birch-whip, pearl-enamelled; Let it fall from upper ether,
The Kalevala
Fall upon the flaming fire-pit, O’er the highway to Pohyola;
On the cataract and whirlpool!” Galloped fast and galloped faster,
Mighty Ukko, the Creator, Galloped on a greater distance,
Ukko, father omnipresent, When the stallion loudly neighing,
Dwelling in the courts of heaven, Stopped and trembled on the highway,
Sent a storm-cloud from the north-west, Then the lively Lemminkainen
From the east he sent a second, Raised himself upon the cross-bench,
From the south despatched a third one, Looked to see what else had happened;
Let them gather from the south-west, Lo I a wolf stands at the portals,
Sewed their edges well together, in the passage-way a black-bear,
Filled their many interspaces, At the high-gate of Pohyola,
Sent a snow-fall high as heaven, At the ending of the journey.
From the giddy heights of ether, Thereupon young Lemminkainen,
Sent it seething to the fire-pit, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
On the streams of burning matter; Thrusts his fingers in his pockets,
From the snow-fall in the fire-pond, Seeks his magic pouch of leather,
Grows a lake with rolling billows. Pulls therefrom a lock of ewe-wool,
Quick the hero, Lemminkainen, Rubs it firmly in his fingers,
Conjures there of ice a passage In his hands it falls to powder;
From one border to the other, Breathes the breath of life upon it,
Thus escapes his second danger, When a flock of sheep arises,
Thus his second trouble passes. Goats and sheep of sable color;
Then the reckless Lemminkainen On the flock the black-wolf pounces,
Raised his pearl-enamelled birch-rod, And the wild-bear aids the slaughter,
Snapped his whip above his racer, While the reckless Lemminkainen
And the steed flew onward swiftly, Rushes by them on his journey;
Galloped on his distant journey Gallops on a little distance,
The Kalevala
To the court of Sariola, Hews to atoms seven pickets,
Finds the fence of molten iron, Chops the serpent-wall to fragments;
And of steel the rods and pickets, Through the breach he quickly passes
In the earth a hundred fathoms, To the portals of Pohyola.
To the azure sky, a thousand, In the way, a serpent lying,
Double-pointed spears projecting; Lying crosswise in the entry,
On each spear were serpents twisted, Longer than the longest rafters,
Adders coiled in countless numbers, Larger than the posts of oak-wood;
Lizards mingled with the serpents, Hundred-eyed, the heinous serpent,
Tails entangled pointing earthward, And a thousand tongues, the monster,
While their heads were skyward whirling, Eyes as large as sifting vessels,
Writhing, hissing mass of evil. Tongues as long as shafts of javelins,
Then the stout-heart, Kaukomieli, Teeth as large as hatchet-handles,
Deeply thought and long considered: Back as broad as skiffs of ocean.
“It is as my mother told me, Lemminkainen does not venture
This the wall that she predicted, Straightway through this host opposing,
Stretching from the earth to heaven; Through the hundred heads of adders,
Downward deep are serpents creeping, Through the thousand tongues of serpents.
Deeper still the rails extending; Spake the magic Lemminkainen:
High as highest flight of eagles, “Venomed viper, thing of evil,
Higher still the wall shoots upward.” Ancient adder of Tuoni,
But the hero, Lemminkainen, Thou that crawlest in the stubble,
Little cares, nor feels disheartened, Through the flower-roots of Lempo,
Draws his broadsword from its scabbard, Who has sent thee from thy kingdom,
Draws his mighty blade ancestral, Sent thee from thine evil coverts,
Hews the wall with might of magic, Sent thee hither, crawling, writhing,
Breaks the palisade in pieces, In the pathway I would travel?
The Kalevala
Who bestowed thy mouth of venom, Mighty Ukko will destroy it,
Who insisted, who commanded, Pierce it with his steel-tipped arrows,
Thou shouldst raise thy head toward heaven, With his death-balls made of iron!”
Who thy tail has given action? Hardly had the hero ended,
Was this given by the father, When the monster, little heeding,
Did the mother give this power, Hissing with his tongue in anger,
Or the eldest of the brothers, Plying like the forked lightning,
Or the youngest of the sisters, Pounces with his mouth of venom
Or some other of thy kindred? At the head of Lemminkainen;
“Close thy mouth, thou thing of evil, But the hero, quick recalling,
Hide thy pliant tongue of venom, Speaks the master-words of knowledge,
In a circle wrap thy body, Words that came from distant ages,
Coil thou like a shield in silence, Words his ancestors had taught him,
Give to me one-half the pathway, Words his mother learned in childhood,
Let this wanderer pass by thee, These the words of Lemminkainen:
Or remove thyself entirely; “Since thou wilt not heed mine order,
Get thee hence to yonder heather, Since thou wilt not leave the highway,
Quick retreat to bog and stubble, Puffed with pride of thine own greatness,
Hide thyself in reeds and rushes, Thou shall burst in triple pieces.
In the brambles of the lowlands. Leave thy station for the borders,
Like a ball of flax enfolding, I will hunt thine ancient mother,
Like a sphere of aspen-branches, Sing thine origin of evil,
With thy head and tail together, How arose thy head of horror;
Roll thyself to yonder mountain; Suoyatar, thine ancient mother,
In the heather is thy dwelling, Thing of evil, thy creator!”
Underneath the sod thy caverns. “Suoyatar once let her spittle
Shouldst thou raise thy head in anger, Fall upon the waves of ocean;
The Kalevala
This was rocked by winds and waters, Should I give it sense of vision.’
Shaken by the ocean-currents, “Hisi heard this conversation,
Six years rocked upon the billows, Ever ready with his mischief,
Rocked in water seven summers, Made himself to be creator,
On the blue-back of the ocean, Breathed a soul into the spittle,
On the billows high as heaven; To fell Suoyatar’s fierce anger.
Lengthwise did the billows draw it, Thus arose the poison-monster,
And the sunshine gave it softness, Thus was born the evil serpent,
To the shore the billows washed it, This the origin of evil.
On the coast the waters left it. “Whence the life that gave her action’?
“Then appeared Creation’s daughters, From the carbon-pile of Hisi.
Three the daughters thus appearing, Whence then was her heart created?
On the roaring shore of ocean, From the heart-throbs of her mother
There beheld the spittle lying, Whence arose her brain of evil?
And the daughters spake as follows: From the foam of rolling waters.
‘What would happen from this spittle, Whence was consciousness awakened?
Should the breath of the Creator From the waterfall’s commotion.
Fall upon the writhing matter, Whence arose her head of venom?
Breathe the breath of life upon it, From the seed-germs of the ivy.
Give the thing the sense of vision? Whence then came her eyes of fury?
“The Creator heard these measures, From the flaxen seeds of Lempo.
Spake himself the words that follow: Whence the evil ears for hearing?
‘Evil only comes from evil, From the foliage of Hisi.
This is the expectoration Whence then was her mouth created?
Of fell Suoyatar, its mother; This from Suoyatar’s foam-currents
Therefore would the thing be evil, Whence arose thy tongue of anger r
Should I breathe a soul within it, From the spear of Keitolainen.
The Kalevala
Whence arose thy fangs of poison? To the feastings and carousals
From the teeth of Mana’s daughter. In the banquet-halls of Pohya.
Whence then was thy back created?
From the carbon-posts of Piru.
How then was thy tail created?
From the brain of the hobgoblin.
Whence arose thy writhing entrails?
From the death-belt of Tuoni.
“This thine origin, O Serpent,
This thy charm of evil import,
Vilest thing of God’s creation,
Writhing, hissing thing of evil,
With the color of Tuoni,
With the shade of earth and heaven,
With the darkness of the storm-cloud.
Get thee hence, thou loathsome monster,
Clear the pathway of this hero.
I am mighty Lemminkainen,
On my journey to Pohyola,
To the feastings and carousals,
In the halls of darksome Northland.”
Thereupon the snake uncoiling,
Hundred-eyed and heinous monster,
Crawled away to other portals,
That the hero, Kaukomieli,
Might proceed upon his errand,
To the dismal Sariola,
The Kalevala
RUNE XXVII These the words that Ahti uttered:
“Be ye greeted on my coming,
UNWELCOME Ye that greet, be likewise greeted!
Listen, all ye hosts of Pohya;
I have brought young Kaukomieli, Is there food about this homestead,
Brought the Islander and hero, Barley for my hungry courser,
Also known as Lemminkainen, Beer to give a thirsty stranger?
Through the jaws of death and ruin, Sat the host of Sariola
Through the darkling deeps of Kalma, At the east end of the table,
To the homesteads of Pohyola, Gave this answer to the questions:
To the dismal courts of Louhi; “Surely is there in this homestead,
Now must I relate his doings, For thy steed an open stable,
Must relate to all my bearers, Never will this host refuse thee,
How the merry Lemminkainen, Shouldst thou act a part becoming,
Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Worthy, coming to these portals,
Wandered through Pohyola’s chambers, Waiting near the birchen rafters,
Through the halls of Sariola, In the spaces by the kettles,
How the hero went unbidden By the triple hooks of iron.”
To the feasting and carousal, Then the reckless Lemminkainen
Uninvited to the banquet. Shook his sable locks and answered:
Lemminkainen full of courage, “Lempo may perchance come hither,
Full of life, and strength, and magic. Let him fill this lowly station,
Stepped across the ancient threshold, Let him stand between the kettles,
To the centre of the court-room, That with soot he may be blackened.
And the floors of linwood trembled, Never has my ancient father,
Walls and ceilings creaked and murmured. Never has the dear old hero,
Spake the reckless Lemminkainen, Stood upon a spot unworthy,
The Kalevala
At the portals near the rafters; All our grain is still ungarnered,
For his steed the best of stables, And our dinner has been eaten;
Food and shelter gladly furnished, Yesterday thou shouldst have been here,
And a room for his attendants, Come again some future season.”
Corners furnished for his mittens, Whereupon wild Lemminkainen
Hooks provided for his snow-shoes, Pulled his mouth awry in anger,
Halls in waiting for his helmet. Shook his coal-black locks and answered:
Wherefore then should I not find here “All the tables here are empty,
What my father found before me?” And the feasting-time is over;
To the centre walked the hero, All the beer has left the goblets,
Walked around the dining table, Empty too are all the pitchers,
Sat upon a bench and waited, Empty are the larger vessels.
On a bench of polished fir-wood, O thou hostess of Pohyola,
And the kettle creaked beneath him. Toothless dame of dismal Northland,
Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: Badly managed is thy wedding,
“As a guest am I unwelcome, And thy feast is ill-conducted,
Since the waiters bring no viands, Like the dogs hast thou invited;
Bring no dishes to the stranger?” Thou hast baked the honey-biscuit,
Ilpotar, the Northland hostess, Wheaten loaves of greatest virtue,
Then addressed the words that follow: Brewed thy beer from hops and barley,
“Lemminkainen, thou art evil, Sent abroad thine invitations,
Thou art here, but not invited, Six the hamlets thou hast honored,
Thou hast not the look of kindness, Nine the villages invited
Thou wilt give me throbbing temples, By thy merry wedding-callers.
Thou art bringing pain and sorrow. Thou hast asked the poor and lowly,
All our beer is in the barley, Asked the hosts of common people,
All the malt is in the kernel, Asked the blind, and deaf, and crippled,
The Kalevala
Asked a multitude of beggars, Small of stature was the maiden,
Toilers by the day, and hirelings; Washer of the banquet-platters,
Asked the men of evil habits, Rinser of the dinner-ladles,
Asked the maids with braided tresses, Polisher of spoons of silver,
I alone was not invited. And she laid some food in kettles,
How could such a slight be given, Only bones and beads of whiting,
Since I sent thee kegs of barley? Turnip-stalks and withered cabbage,
Others sent thee grain in cupfuls, Crusts of bread and bits of biscuit.
Brought it sparingly in dippers, Then she brought some beer in pitchers,
While I sent thee fullest measure, Brought of common drink the vilest,
Sent the half of all my garners, That the stranger, Lemminkainen,
Of the richest of my harvest, Might have drink, and meat in welcome,
Of the grain that I had gathered. Thus to still his thirst and hunger.
Even now young Lemminkainen, Then the maiden spake as follows:
Though a guest of name and station “Thou art sure a mighty hero,
Has no beer, no food, no welcome, Here to drink the beer of Pohya,
Naught for him art thou preparing, Here to empty all our vessels!”
Nothing cooking in thy kettles, Then the minstrel, Lemminkainen,
Nothing brewing in thy cellars Closely handled all the pitchers,
For the hero of the Islands, Looking to the very bottoms;
At the closing of his journey.” There beheld he writhing serpents,
Ilpotar, the ancient hostess, In the centre adders swimming,
Gave this order to her servants: On the borders worms and lizards.
“Come, my pretty maiden-waiter, Then the hero, Lemminkainen,
Servant-girl to me belonging, Filled with anger, spake as follows:
Lay some salmon to the broiling, Get ye hence, ye things of evil,
Bring some beer to give the stranger!” Get ye hence to Tuonela,
The Kalevala
With the bearer of these pitchers, Neither has a ram been butchered,
With the maid that brought ye hither, Nor a fattened calf been slaughtered,
Ere the evening moon has risen, Worthy food for Lemminkainen.”
Ere the day-star seeks the ocean! Then the landlord of Pohyola
0 thou wretched beer of barley, Answered thus the Island-minstrel:
Thou hast met with great dishonor, “Wherefore hast thou journeyed hither,
Into disrepute hast fallen, Who has asked thee for thy presence?
But I’ll drink thee, notwithstanding, Spake in answer Lemminkainen:
And the rubbish cast far from me.” “Happy is the guest invited,
Then the hero to his pockets Happier when not expected;
Thrust his first and unnamed finger, Listen, son of Pohylander,
Searching in his pouch of leather; Host of Sariola, listen:
Quick withdraws a hook for fishing, Give me beer for ready payment,
Drops it to the pitcher’s bottom, Give me worthy drink for money!”
Through the worthless beer of barley; Then the landlord of Pohyola,
On his fish-book hang the serpents, In bad humor, full of anger,
Catches many hissing adders, Conjured in the earth a lakelet,
Catches frogs in magic numbers, At the feet of Kaukomieli,
Catches blackened worms in thousands, Thus addressed the Island-hero:
Casts them to the floor before him, “Quench thy thirst from yonder lakelet,
Quickly draws his heavy broad sword, There, the beer that thou deservest!”
And decapitates the serpents. Little heeding, Lemminkainen
Now he drinks the beer remaining, To this insolence made answer:
When the wizard speaks as follows: “I am neither bear nor roebuck,
“As a guest am I unwelcome, That should drink this filthy water,
Since no beer to me is given Drink the water of this lakelet.”
That is worthy of a hero; Ahti then began to conjure,
The Kalevala
Conjured he a bull before him, Then the master of Pohyola
Bull with horns of gold and silver, Conjured there a hen to flutter
And the bull drank from the lakelet, Near the fox of scarlet color.
Drank he from the pool in pleasure. Lemminkainen, full of mischief,
Then the landlord of Pohyola Thereupon a hawk created,
There a savage wolf created, That with beak and crooked talons
Set him on the floor before him He might tear the hen to pieces.
To destroy the bull of magic, Spake the landlord of Pohyola,
Lemminkainen, full of courage, These the words the tall man uttered:
Conjured up a snow-white rabbit, “Never will this feast be bettered
Set him on the floor before him Till the guests are less in number;
To attract the wolf ’s attention. I must do my work as landlord,
Then the landlord of Pohyola Get thee hence, thou evil stranger,
Conjured there a dog of Lempo, Cease thy conjurings of evil,
Set him on the floor before him Leave this banquet of my people,
To destroy the magic rabbit. Haste away, thou wicked wizard,
Lemminkainen, full of mischief, To thine Island-home and people!
Conjured on the roof a squirrel, Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
That by jumping on the rafters “Thus no hero will be driven,
He might catch the dog’s attention. Not a son of any courage
But the master of the Northland Will be frightened by thy presence,
Conjured there a golden marten, Will be driven from thy banquet.”
And he drove the magic squirrel Then the landlord of Pohyola
From his seat upon the rafters. Snatched his broadsword from the rafters,
Lemminkainen, full of mischief, Drew it rashly from the scabbard,
Made a fox of scarlet color, Thus addressing Lemminkainen:
And it ate the golden marten. “Ahti, Islander of evil,
The Kalevala
Thou the handsome Kaukomieli, Thou shalt make the first advances,
Let us measure then our broadswords, I am ready for thy weapon.”
Let our skill be fully tested; Thereupon Pohyola’s landlord
Surely is my broadsword better With the wondrous strength of anger,
Than the blade within thy scabbard.” Tried in vain to slay the hero,
Spake the hero, Lemminkainen. Strike the crown of Lemminkainen;
“That my blade is good and trusty, Chipped the splinters from the rafters,
Has been proved on heads of heroes, Cut the ceiling into fragments,
Has on many bones been tested; Could not touch the Island-hero.
Be that as it may, my fellow, Thereupon brave Kaukomieli,
Since thine order is commanding, Thus addressed Pohyola’s master:
Let our swords be fully tested, “Have the rafters thee offended?
Let us see whose blade is better. What the crimes they have committed,
Long ago my hero-father Since thou hewest them in pieces?
Tested well this sword in battle, Listen now, thou host of Northland,
Never failing in a conflict. Reckless landlord of Pohyola,
Should his son be found less worthy?” Little room there is for swordsmen
Then he grasped his mighty broadsword, In these chambers filled with women;
Drew the fire-blade from the scabbard We shall stain these painted rafters,
Hanging from his belt of copper. Stain with blood these floors and ceilings;
Standing on their hilts their broadswords, Let us go without the mansion,
Carefully their blades were measured, In the field is room for combat,
Found the sword of Northland’s master On the plain is space sufficient;
Longer than the sword of Ahti Blood looks fairer in the court-yard,
By the half-link of a finger. Better in the open spaces,
Spake the reckless Lemminkainen. Let it dye the snow-fields scarlet.”
“Since thou hast the longer broadsword, To the yard the heroes hasten,
The Kalevala
There they find a monstrous ox-skin, Strikes in fury, strikes unceasing,
Spread it on the field of battle; Ever aiming, ever missing.
On the ox-skin stand the swordsmen. When the skillful Lemminkainen
Spake the hero, Lemminkainen: Swings his mighty blade of magic,
“Listen well, thou host of Northland, Fire disports along his weapon,
Though thy broadsword is the longer, Flashes from his sword of honor,
Though thy blade is full of horror, Glistens from the hero’s broadsword,
Thou shalt have the first advantage; Balls of fire disporting, dancing,
Use with skill thy boasted broadsword On the blade of mighty Ahti,
Ere the final bout is given, Overflow upon the shoulders
Ere thy head be chopped in pieces; Of the landlord of Pohyola.
Strike with skill, or thou wilt perish, Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
Strike, and do thy best for Northland.” “O thou son of Sariola,
Thereupon Pohyola’s landlord See! indeed thy neck is glowing
Raised on high his blade of battle, Like the dawning of the morning,
Struck a heavy blow in anger, Like the rising Sun in ocean!”
Struck a second, then a third time, Quickly turned Pohyola’s landlord,
But he could not touch his rival, Thoughtless host of darksome Northland,
Could Dot draw a single blood-drop To behold the fiery splendor
From the veins of Lemminkainen, Playing on his neck and shoulders.
Skillful Islander and hero. Quick as lightning, Lemminkainen,
Spake the handsome Kaukomieli: With his father’s blade of battle,
“Let me try my skill at fencing, With a single blow of broadsword,
Let me swing my father’s broadsword, With united skill and power,
Let my honored blade be tested!” Lopped the head of Pohya’s master;
But the landlord of Pohyola, As one cleaves the stalks of turnips,
Does not heed the words of Ahti, As the ear falls from the corn-stalk,
The Kalevala
As one strikes the fins from salmon, Kaukomieli soon discovered
Thus the head rolled from the shoulders That the time had come for leaving,
Of the landlord of Pohyola, That his presence was unwelcome
Like a ball it rolled and circled. At the feasting of Pohyola,
In the yard were pickets standing, At the banquet of her people.
Hundreds were the sharpened pillars,
And a head on every picket,
Only one was left un-headed.
Quick the victor, Lemminkainen,
Took the head of Pohya’s landlord,
Spiked it on the empty picket.
Then the Islander, rejoicing,
Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
Quick returning to the chambers,
Crave this order to the hostess:
“Evil maiden, bring me water,
Wherewithal to cleanse my fingers
From the blood of Northland’s master,
Wicked host of Sariola.”
Ilpotar, the Northland hostess,
Fired with anger, threatened vengeance,
Conjured men with heavy broadswords,
Heroes clad in copper-armor,
Hundred warriors with their javelins,
And a thousand bearing cross-bows,
To destroy the Island-hero,
For the death of Lemminkainen.
The Kalevala
RUNE XXVIII From the warriors of Northland?
Noise is beard within the village,
MOTHER’S And a din from other homesteads,
From the battle-hosts of Louhi,
Ahti, hero of the Islands, Streaming from the doors and window,
Wild magician, Lemminkainen, Of the homesteads of Pohyola.
Also known as Kaukomieli, Thereupon young Lemminkainen,
Hastened from the great carousal, Handsome Islander and hero,
From the banquet-halls of Louhi, Changing both his form and features,
From the ever-darksome Northland, Clad himself in other raiment,
From the dismal Sariola. Changing to another body,
Stormful strode he from the mansion, Quick became a mighty eagle,
Hastened like the smoke of battle, Soared aloft on wings of magic,
From the court-yard of Pohyola, Tried to fly to highest heaven,
Left his crimes and misdemeanors But the moonlight burned his temples,
In the halls of ancient Louhi. And the sunshine singed his feathers.
Then he looked in all directions, Then entreating, Lemminkainen,
Seeking for his tethered courser, Island-hero, turned to Ukko,
Anxious looked in field and stable, This the prayer that Ahti uttered:
But he did not find his racer; “Ukko, God of love and mercy,
Found a black thing in the fallow, Thou the Wisdom of the heavens,
Proved to be a clump of willows. Wise Director of the lightning,
Who will well advise the hero, Thou the Author of the thunder,
Who will give him wise directions, Thou the Guide of all the cloudlets,
Guide the wizard out of trouble, Give to me thy cloak of vapor,
Give his hero-locks protection, Throw a silver cloud around me,
Keep his magic head from danger That I may in its protection
The Kalevala
Hasten to my native country, Straightway to his mother’s cottage,
To my mother’s Island-dwelling, In his face the look of trouble,
Fly to her that waits my coming, In his heart the pangs of sorrow.
With a mother’s grave forebodings.” Ahti’s mother ran to meet him,
Farther, farther, Lemminkainen When she spied him in the pathway,
Flew and soared on eagle-pinions, Walking toward her island-dwelling;
Looked about him, backwards, forwards, These the words the mother uttered:
Spied a gray-hawk soaring near him, “Of my sons thou art the bravest,
In his eyes the fire of splendor, Art the strongest of my children;
Like the eyes of Pohyalanders, Wherefore then comes thine annoyance,
Like the eyes of Pohya’s spearmen, On returning from Pohyola?
And the gray-hawk thus addressed him: Wert thou worsted at the banquet,
“Ho! There! hero, Lemminkainen, At the feast and great carousal?
Art thou thinking of our combat At thy cups, if thou wert injured,
With the, hero-heads of Northland?” Thou shalt here have better treatment
Thus the Islander made answer, Thou shalt have the cup thy father
These the words of Kaukomieli: Brought me from the hero-castle.”
“O thou gray-hawk, bird of beauty, Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
Fly direct to Sariola, “Worthy mother, thou that nursed me,
Fly as fast as wings can bear thee; If I had been maimed at drinking,
When thou hast arrived in safety, I the landlord would have worsted,
On the plains of darksome Northland, Would have slain a thousand heroes,
Tell the archers and the spearmen, Would have taught them useful lessons.”
They will never catch the eagle, Lemminkainen’s mother answered:
In his journey from Pohyola, “Wherefore then art thou indignant,
To his Island-borne and fortress.” Didst thou meet disgrace and insult,
Then the Ahti-eagle hastened Did they rob thee of thy courser?
The Kalevala
Buy thou then a better courser “Wherefore then are thou indignant,
With the riches of thy mother, Thus annoyed, and heavy-hearted,
With thy father’s horded treasures.” On returning from Pohyola?
Spake the hero, Lemminkainen: Was thy feasting out of season,
“Faithful mother of my being, Was the banquet-beer unworthy,
If my steed had been insulted, Were thy dreams of evil import
If for him my heart was injured, When asleep in darksome Northland?”
I the landlord would have punished, This is Lemminkainen’s answer:
Would have punished all the horsemen, “Aged women may remember
All of Pohya’s strongest riders.” What they dream on beds of trouble;
Lemminkainen’s mother answered: I have seen some wondrous visions,
“Tell me then thy dire misfortune, Since I left my Island-cottage.
What has happened to my hero, My beloved, helpful mother,
On his journey to Pohyola? Fill my bag with good provisions,
Have the Northland maidens scorned thee, Flour and salt in great abundance,
Have the women ridiculed thee? Farther must thy hero wander,
If the maidens scorned thy presence. He must leave his home behind him,
If the women gave derision, Leave his pleasant Island-dwelling,
There are others thou canst laugh at, Journey from this home of ages;
Thou canst scorn a thousand women.” Men are sharpening their broadswords,
Said the reckless Lemminkainen: Sharpening their spears and lances,
“Honored mother, fond and faithful, For the death of Lemminkainen.”
If the Northland dames had scorned me Then again the mother questioned,
Or the maidens laughed derision, Hurriedly she asked the reason:
I the maidens would have punished, “Why the men their swords were whetting,
Would have scorned a thousand women.” Why their spears are being sharpened.”
Lemminkainen’s mother answered: Spake the reckless Lemminkainen,
The Kalevala
Handsome hero, Kaukomieli: Whither wilt thou go, my hero,
“Therefore do they whet their broadswords, Whither will my loved one hasten,
Therefore sharpen they their lances: To escape thy fierce pursuers,
It is for thy son’s destruction, To escape from thy misdoings,
At his heart are aimed their lances. From thy sins to bide in safety,
In the court-yard of Pohyola, From thy crimes and misdemeanors,
There arose a great contention, That thy head be not endangered,
Fierce the battle waged against me; That thy body be not mangled,
But I slew the Northland hero, That thy locks be not outrooted?”
Killed the host of Sariola; Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
Quick to arms rose Louhi’s people, “Know I not a spot befitting,
All the spears and swords of Northland Do not know a place of safety,
Were directed at thy hero; Where to hide from my pursuers,
All of Pohya turned against me, That will give me sure protection
Turned against a single foeman.” From the crimes by me committed.
This the answer of the mother: Helpful mother of my being,
“I had told thee this beforehand, Where to flee wilt thou advise me?”
I had warned thee of this danger, This the answer of the mother:
And forbidden thee to journey “I do not know where I can send thee;
To the hostile fields of Northland. Be a pine-tree on the mountain,
Here my hero could have lingered, Or a juniper in lowlands?
Passed his life in full contentment, Then misfortune may befall thee;
Lived forever with his mother, Often is the mountain pine-tree
With his mother for protection, Cut in splints for candle-lighters;
In the court-yard with his kindred; And the juniper is often
Here no war would have arisen, Peeled for fence-posts for the pastures.
No contention would have followed. Go a birch-tree to the valleys,
The Kalevala
Or an elm-tree to the glenwood? Have their spears and cross-bows ready
Even then may trouble find thee, To destroy the wolf and black-bear.”
Misery may overtake thee; Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
Often is the lowland birch-tree “Know I well the worst of places,
Cut to pieces in the ware-house; Know where Death will surely follow,
Often is the elm-wood forest Where misfortune’s eye would find me;
Cleared away for other plantings. Since thou gavest me existence,
Be a berry on the highlands, Gavest nourishment in childhood,
Cranberry upon the heather, Whither shall I flee for safety,
Strawberry upon the mountains, Whither hide from death and danger?
Blackberry along the fences? In my view is fell destruction,
Even there will trouble find thee, Dire misfortune ‘hovers o’er me;
There misfortune overtake thee, On the morrow come the spearmen,
For the berry-maids would pluck thee, Countless warriors from Pohya,
Silver-tinselled girls would get thee. Ahti’s head their satisfaction.”
Be a pike then in the ocean, This the answer of the mother:
Or a troutlet in the rivers? “I can name a goodly refuge,
Then would trouble overtake thee, Name a land of small dimensions,
Would become thy life-companion; Name a distant ocean-island,
Then the fisherman would catch thee, Where my son may live in safety.
Catch thee in his net of flax-thread, Thither archers never wander,
Catch thee with his cruel fish-hook. There thy head cannot be severed;
Be a wolf then in the forest, But an oath as strong as heaven,
Or a black-bear in the thickets? Thou must swear before thy mother;
Even then would trouble find thee, Thou wilt not for sixty summers
And disaster cross thy pathway; Join in war or deadly combat,
Sable hunters of the Northland Even though thou wishest silver,
The Kalevala
Wishest gold and silver treasures.” To thy mother’s island dwelling,
Spake the grateful Lemminkainen: To thy father’s ancient mansion,
“I will swear an oath of honor, To my hero’s place of resting.”
That I’ll not in sixty summers
Draw my sword in the arena,
Test the warrior in battle;
I have wounds upon my shoulders,
On my breast two scars of broadsword,
Of my former battles, relies,
Relies of my last encounters,
On the battle-fields of Northland,
In the wars with men and heroes.”
Lemminkainen’s mother answered:
“Go thou, take thy father’s vessel,
Go and bide thyself in safety,
Travel far across nine oceans;
In the tenth, sail to the centre,
To the island, forest-covered,
To the cliffs above the waters,
Where thy father went before thee,
Where he hid from his pursuers,
In the times of summer conquests,
In the darksome days of battle;
Good the isle for thee to dwell in,
Goodly place to live and linger;
Hide one year, and then a second,
In the third return in safety
The Kalevala
RUNE XXIX Then he launched his boat of copper,
Threw the vessel to the waters,
THE ISLE OF REFUGE From the iron-banded rollers,
From the cylinders of oak-wood,
Lemminkainen, full of joyance, On the masts the sails he hoisted,
Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Spread the magic sails of linen,
Took provisions in abundance, In the stern the hero settled
Fish and butter, bread and bacon, And prepared to sail his vessel,
Hastened to the Isle of Refuge, One hand resting on the rudder.
Sailed away across the oceans, Then the sailor spake as follows,
Spake these measures on departing: These the words of Lemminkainen:
“Fare thee well, mine Island-dwelling, “Blow, ye winds, and drive me onward,
I must sail to other borders, Blow ye steady, winds of heaven,
To an island more protective, Toward the island in the ocean,
Till the second summer passes; That my bark may fly in safety
Let the serpents keep the island, To my father’s place of refuge,
Lynxes rest within the glen-wood, To the far and nameless island!”
Let the blue-moose roam the mountains, Soon the winds arose as bidden,
Let the wild-geese cat the barley. Rocked the vessel o’er the billows,
Fare thee well, my helpful mother! O’er the blue-back of the waters,
When the warriors of the Northland, O’er the vast expanse of ocean;
From the dismal Sariola, Blew two months and blew unceasing,
Come with swords, and spears, and cross-bows, Blew a third month toward the island,
Asking for my head in vengeance, Toward his father’s Isle of Refuge.
Say that I have long departed, Sat some maidens on the seaside,
Left my mother’s Island-dwelling, On the sandy beach of ocean,
When the barley had been garnered.” Turned about in all directions,
The Kalevala
Looking out upon the billows; Is there space within this harbor,
One was waiting for her brother, Where my bark may lie at anchor,
And a second for her father, Where the sun may dry my vessel?”
And a third one, anxious, waited This the answer of the virgins,
For the, coming of her suitor; Dwellers on the Isle of Refuge:
There they spied young Lemminkainen, “There is room within this harbor,
There perceived the hero’s vessel On this island, space abundant,
Sailing o’er the bounding billows; Where thy bark may lie at anchor,
It was like a hanging cloudlet, Where the sun may dry thy vessel;
Hanging twixt the earth and heaven. Lying ready are the rollers,
Thus the island-maidens wondered, Cylinders adorned with copper;
Thus they spake to one another: If thou hadst a hundred vessels,
“What this stranger on the ocean, Shouldst thou come with boats a thousand,
What is this upon the waters? We would give them room in welcome.”
Art thou one of our sea-vessels? Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
Wert thou builded on this island? Rolled his vessel in the harbor,
Sail thou straightway to the harbor, On the cylinders of copper,
To the island-point of landing Spake these words when he had ended:
That thy tribe may be discovered.” “Is there room upon this island,
Onward did the waves propel it, Or a spot within these forests,
Rocked his vessel o’er the billows, Where a hero may be hidden
Drove it to the magic island, From the coming din of battle,
Safely landed Lemminkainen From the play of spears and arrows?
On the sandy shore and harbor. Thus replied the Island-maidens:
Spake he thus when he had landed, “There are places on this island,
These the words that Ahti uttered: On these plains a spot befitting
“Is there room upon this island, Where to hide thyself in safety,
The Kalevala
Hero-son of little valor. Answered thus the Island-maidens:
Here are many, many castles, “There is room upon this island,
Many courts upon this island; Worthy place in these dominions,
Though there come a thousand heroes, Thou canst sing thy garnered wisdom,
Though a thousand spearmen. follow, Thou canst chant thine ancient legends,
Thou canst hide thyself in safety.” Legends of the times primeval,
Spake the hero, Lemminkainen: In the forest, in the castle,
“Is there room upon this island, On the island-plains and pastures.”
Where the birch-tree grows abundant, Then began the reckless minstrel
Where this son may fell the forest, To intone his wizard-sayings;
And may cultivate the fallow? “ Sang he alders to the waysides,
Answered thus the Island-maidens: Sang the oaks upon the mountains,
“There is not a spot befitting, On the oak-trees sang be branches,
Not a place upon the island, On each branch he sang an acorn,
Where to rest thy wearied members, On the acorns, golden rollers,
Not the smallest patch of birch-wood, On each roller, sang a cuckoo;
Thou canst bring to cultivation. Then began the cuckoos, calling,
All our fields have been divided, Gold from every throat came streaming,
All these woods have been apportioned, Copper fell from every feather,
Fields and forests have their owners.” And each wing emitted silver,
Lemminkainen asked this question, Filled the isle with precious metals.
These the words of Kaukomieli: Sang again young Lemminkainen,
“Is there room upon this island, Conjured on, and sang, and chanted,
Worthy spot in field or forest, Sang to precious stones the sea-sands,
Where to Sing my songs of magic, Sang the stones to pearls resplendent,
Chant my gathered store of wisdom, Robed the groves in iridescence,
Sing mine ancient songs and legends?” Sang the island full of flowers,
The Kalevala
Many-colored as the rainbow. Halls for use of magic singers,
Sang again the magic minstrel, Courts complete for chanting legends,
In the court a well he conjured, Where thy singing will be welcome,
On the well a golden cover, Where thy songs will not be scattered
On the lid a silver dipper, To the forests of the island,
That the boys might drink the water, Nor thy wisdom lost in ether.”
That the maids might lave their eyelids. Straightway Lemminkainen journeyed
On the plains he conjured lakelets, With the maidens to the castle;
Sang the duck upon the waters, There he sang and conjured pitchers
Golden-cheeked and silver-headed, On the borders of the tables,
Sang the feet from shining copper; Sang and conjured golden goblets
And the Island-maidens wondered, Foaming with the beer of barley;
Stood entranced at Ahti’s wisdom, Sang he many well-filled vessels,
At the songs of Lemminkainen, Bowls of honey-drink abundant,
At the hero’s magic power. Sweetest butter, toothsome biscuit,
Spake the singer, Lemminkainen, Bacon, fish, and veal, and venison,
Handsome hero, Kaukomieli: All the dainties of the Northland,
“I would sing a wondrous legend, Wherewithal to still his hunger.
Sing in miracles of sweetness, But the proud-heart, Lemminkainen,
If within some hall or chamber, Was not ready for the banquet,
I were seated at the table. Did not yet begin his feasting,
If I sing not in the castle, Waited for a knife of silver,
In some spot by walls surrounded For a knife of golden handle;
Then I sing my songs to zephyrs, Quick he sang the precious metals,
Fling them to the fields and forests.” Sang a blade from purest silver,
Answered thus the Island-maidens: To the blade a golden handle,
“On this isle are castle-chambers, Straightway then began his feasting,
The Kalevala
Quenched his thirst and stilled his hunger, She a poor and graceless spinster,
Charmed the maidens on the island. On the isle’s remotest border,
Then the minstrel, Lemminkainen, In the smallest of the hamlets.
Roamed throughout the island-hamlets, ‘Then he thought about his journey
To the joy of all the virgins, O’er the ocean to his mother,
All the maids of braided tresses; To the cottage of his father.
Wheresoe’er he turned his footsteps, There appeared the slighted spinster,
There appeared a maid to greet him; To the Northland son departing,
When his hand was kindly offered, Spake these words to Lemminkainen:
There his band was kindly taken; “O, thou handsome Kaukomieli,
When he wandered out at evening, Wisdom-bard, and magic singer,
Even in the darksome places, Since this maiden thou hast slighted,
There the maidens bade him welcome; May the winds destroy thy vessel,
There was not an island-village Dash thy bark to countless fragments
Where there were not seven castles, On the ocean-rocks and ledges!”
In each castle seven daughters, Lemminkainen’s thoughts were homeward,
And the daughters stood in waiting, Did not heed the maiden’s murmurs,
Gave the hero joyful greetings, Did not rise before the dawning
Only one of all the maidens Of the morning on the island,
Whom he did not greet with pleasure. To the pleasure of the maiden
Thus the merry Lemminkainen Of the much-neglected hamlet.
Spent three summers in the ocean, Finally at close of evening,
Spent a merry time in refuge, He resolved to leave the island,
In the hamlets on the island, He resolved to waken early,
To the pleasure of the maidens, Long before the dawn of morning;
To the joy of all the daughters; Long before the time appointed,
Only one was left neglected, He arose that he might wander
The Kalevala
Through the hamlets of the island, Hastened toward the island-harbor,
Bid adieu to all the maidens, Toward his magic bark at anchor;
On the morn of his departure. But he found it burned to ashes,
As he wandered hither, thither, Sweet revenge had fired his vessel,
Walking through the village path-ways Lighted by the slighted spinster.
To the last of all the hamlets; Then he saw the dawn of evil,
Saw he none of all the castle-, Saw misfortune hanging over,
Where three dwellings were not standing; Saw destruction round about him.
Saw he none of all the dwellings Straightway he began rebuilding
Where three heroes were not watching; Him a magic sailing-vessel,
Saw he none of all the heroes, New and wondrous, full of beauty;
Who was not engaged in grinding But the hero needed timber,
Swords, and spears, and battle-axes, Boards, and planks, and beams, and braces,
For the death of Lemminkainen. Found the smallest bit of lumber,
And these words the hero uttered: Found of boards but seven fragments,
“Now alas! the Sun arises Of a spool he found three pieces,
From his couch within the ocean, Found six pieces of the distaff;
On the frailest of the heroes, With these fragments builds his vessel,
On the saddest child of Northland; Builds a ship of magic virtue,
On my neck the cloak of Lempo Builds the bark with secret knowledge,
Might protect me from all evil, Through the will of the magician;
Though a hundred foes assail me, Strikes one blow, and builds the first part,
Though a thousand archers follow.” Strikes a second, builds the centre,
Then he left the maids ungreeted, Strikes a third with wondrous power,
Left his longing for the daughters And the vessel is completed.
Of the nameless Isle of Refuge, Thereupon the ship he launches,
With his farewell-words unspoken, Sings the vessel to the ocean,
The Kalevala
And these words the hero utters: Will bemoan my loss for ages,
“Like a bubble swim these waters, Will regret my quick departure;
Like a flower ride the billows; They will miss me at the dances,
Loan me of thy magic feathers, In the halls of mirth and joyance,
Three, O eagle, four, O raven, In the homes of merry maidens,
For protection to my vessel, On my father’s Isle of Refuge.”
Lest it flounder in the ocean!” Wept the maidens on the island,
Now the sailor, Lemminkainen, Long lamenting, loudly calling
Seats himself upon the bottom To the hero sailing homeward:
Of the vessel he has builded, “Whither goest, Lemminkainen,
Hastens on his journey homeward, Why depart, thou best of heroes?
Head depressed and evil-humored, Dost thou leave from inattention,
Cap awry upon his forehead, Is there here a dearth of maidens,
Mind dejected, heavy-hearted, Have our greetings been unworthy?”
That he could not dwell forever Sang the magic Lemminkainen
In the castles of the daughters To the maids as he was sailing,
Of the nameless Isle of Refuge. This in answer to their calling:
Spake the minstrel, Lemminkainen, “Leaving not for want of pleasure,
Handsome hero, Kaukomieli: Do not go from dearth of women
“Leave I must this merry island, Beautiful the island-maidens,
Leave her many joys and pleasures, Countless as the sands their virtues.
Leave her maids with braided tresses, This the reason of my going,
Leave her dances and her daughters, I am longing for my home-land,
To the joys of other heroes; Longing for my mother’s cabins,
But I take this comfort with me: For the strawberries of Northland,
All the maidens on the island, For the raspberries of Kalew,
Save the spinster who was slighted, For the maidens of my childhood,
The Kalevala
For the children of my mother.” Thereupon sailed Kaukomieli
Then the merry Lemminkainen On the blue-back of the ocean;
Bade farewell to all the island; Sailed one day, and then a second,
Winds arose and drove his vessel But, alas! upon the third day,
On the blue-back of the ocean, There arose a mighty storm-wind,
O’er the far-extending waters, And the sky was black with fury.
Toward the island of his mother. Blew the black winds from the north-west,
On the shore were grouped the daughters From the south-east came the whirlwind,
Of the magic Isle of Refuge, Tore away the ship’s forecastle,
On the rocks sat the forsaken, Tore away the vessel’s rudder,
Weeping stood the island-maidens, Dashed the wooden hull to pieces.
Golden daughters, loud-lamenting. Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
Weep the maidens of the island Headlong fell upon the waters;
While the sail-yards greet their vision, With his head he did the steering,
While the copper-beltings glisten; With his hands and feet, the rowing;
Do not weep to lose the sail-yards, Swam whole days and nights unceasing,
Nor to lose the copper-beltings; Swam with hope and strength united,
Weep they for the loss of Ahti, Till at last appeared a cloudlet,
For the fleeing Kaukomieli Growing cloudlet to the westward,
Guiding the departing vessel. Changing to a promontory,
Also weeps young Lemminkainen, Into land within the ocean.
Sorely weeps, and loud-lamenting, Swiftly to the shore swam Ahti,
Weeps while he can see the island, Hastened to a magic castle,
While the island hill-tops glisten; Found therein a hostess baking,
Does not mourn the island-mountains, And her daughters kneading barley,
Weeps he only for the maidens, And these words the hero uttered:
Left upon the Isle of Refuge. “O, thou hostess, filled with kindness,
The Kalevala
Couldst thou know my pangs of hunger, Bark of beauty, new and hardy,
Couldst thou guess my name and station, Wherewithal to aid the stranger
Thou wouldst hasten to the storehouse, In his journey to his home-land,
Bring me beer and foaming liquor, To the cottage of his mother.
Bring the best of thy provisions, Quickly sailed wild Lemminkainen
Bring me fish, and veal, and bacon, On the blue-back of the ocean;
Butter, bread, and honeyed biscuits, Sailed he days and nights unceasing,
Set for me a wholesome dinner, Till at last he reached the borders
Wherewithal to still my hunger, Of his own loved home and country;
Quench the thirst of Lemminkainen. There beheld he scenes familiar,
Days and nights have I been swimming, Saw the islands, capes, and rivers,
Buffeting the waves of ocean, Saw his former shipping-stations,
Seemed as if the wind protected, Saw he many ancient landmarks,
And the billows gave me shelter,” Saw the mountains with their fir-trees,
Then the hostess, filled with kindness, Saw the pine-trees on the hill-tops,
Hastened to the mountain storehouse, Saw the willows in the lowlands;
Cut some butter, veal, and bacon, Did not see his father’s cottage,
Bread, and fish, and honeyed biscuit, Nor the dwellings of his mother.
Brought the best of her provisions, Where a mansion once had risen,
Brought the mead and beer of barley, There the alder-trees were growing,
Set for him a toothsome dinner, Shrubs were growing on the homestead,
Wherewithal to still his hunger, Junipers within the court-yard.
Quench the thirst of Lemminkainen. Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
When the hero’s feast had ended, “In this glen I played and wandered,
Straightway was a magic vessel On these stones I rocked for ages,
Given by the kindly hostess On this lawn I rolled and tumbled,
To the weary Kaukomieli, Frolicked on these woodland-borders,
The Kalevala
When a child of little stature. Spake the hero, Lemminkainen:
Where then is my mother’s dwelling, “Faithful mother, dear departed,
Where the castles of my father? Thou who nursed me in my childhood,
Fire, I fear, has found the hamlet, Art thou dead and turned to ashes,
And the winds dispersed the ashes.” Didst thou perish for my follies,
Then he fell to bitter weeping, O’er thy head are willows weeping,
Wept one day and then a second, Junipers above thy body,
Wept the third day without ceasing; Alders watching o’er thy slumbers?
Did not mourn the ancient homestead, This my punishment for evil,
Nor the dwellings of his father; This the recompense of folly!
Wept he for his darling mother, Fool was I, a son unworthy,
Wept he for the dear departed, That I measured swords in Northland
For the loved ones of the island. With the landlord of Pohyola,
Then he saw the bird of heaven, To my tribe came fell destruction,
Saw an eagle flying near him, And the death of my dear mother,
And he asked the bird this question: Through my crimes and misdemeanors.”
“Mighty eagle, bird majestic, Then the ministrel [sic] looked about him,
Grant to me the information, Anxious, looked in all directions,
Where my mother may have wandered, And beheld some gentle foot-prints,
Whither I may go and find her!” Saw a pathway lightly trodden
But the eagle knew but little, Where the heather had been beaten.
Only knew that Ahti’s people Quick as thought the path he followed,
Long ago together perished; Through the meadows, through the brambles,
And the raven also answered O’er the hills, and through the valleys,
That his people had been scattered To a forest, vast and cheerless;
By the, swords, and spears, and arrows, Travelled far and travelled farther,
Of his enemies from Pohya. Still a greater distance travelled,
The Kalevala
To a dense and hidden glenwood, In thy father’s Isle of Refuge,
In the middle of the island; Roaming on the secret island,
Found therein a sheltered cabin, Living at the doors of strangers,
Found a small and darksome dwelling Living in a nameless country,
Built between the rocky ledges, Refuge from the Northland foemen.”
In the midst of triple pine-trees; Spake the, hero, Lemminkainen:
And within he spied his mother, “Charming is that spot for living,
Found his gray-haired mother weeping. Beautiful the magic island,
Lemminkainen loud rejoices, Rainbow-colored was the forest,
Cries in tones of joyful greetings, Blue the glimmer of the meadows,
These the words that Ahti utters: Silvered were, the pine-tree branches,
“Faithful mother, well-beloved, Golden were the heather-blossoms;
Thou that gavest me existence, All the woodlands dripped with honey,
Happy I, that thou art living, Eggs in every rock and crevice,
That thou hast not yet departed Honey flowed from birch and sorb-tree,
To the kingdom of Tuoni, Milk in streams from fir and aspen,
To the islands of the blessed, Beer-foam dripping from the willows,
I had thought that thou hadst perished, Charming there to live and linger,
Hadst been murdered by my foemen, All their edibles delicious.
Hadst been slain with bows and arrows. This their only source of trouble:
Heavy are mine eyes from weeping, Great the fear for all the maidens,
And my checks are white with sorrow, All the heroes filled with envy,
Since I thought my mother slaughtered Feared the coming of the stranger;
For the sins I had committed!” Thought that all the island-maidens,
Lemminkainen’s mother answered: Thought that all the wives and daughters,
“Long, indeed, hast thou been absent, All the good, and all the evil,
Long, my son, hast thou been living Gave thy son too much attention;
The Kalevala
Thought the stranger, Lemminkainen, RUNE XXX
Saw the Island-maids too often;
Yet the virgins I avoided, THE FROST
Shunned the good and shunned the evil,
Shunned the host of charming daughters, Lemminkainen, reckless minstrel,
As the black-wolf shuns the sheep-fold, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
As the hawk neglects the chickens.” Hastens as the dawn is breaking,
At the dawning of the morning,
To the resting-place of vessels,
To the harbor of the island,
Finds the vessels sorely weeping,
Hears the wailing of the rigging,
And the ships intone this chorus:
“Must we wretched lie forever
In the harbor of this island,
Here to dry and fall in pieces?
Ahti wars no more in Northland,
Wars no more for sixty summers,
Even should he thirst for silver,
Should he wish the gold of battle.”
Lemminkainen struck his vessels
With his gloves adorned with copper,
And addressed the ships as follows:
“Mourn no more, my ships of fir-wood,
Strong and hardy is your rigging,
To the wars ye soon may hasten,
Hasten to the seas of battle;
The Kalevala
Warriors may swarm your cabins This one I will take to help me,
Ere to-morrow’s morn has risen.!’” Magic hero of the broadsword;
Then the reckless Lemminkainen He will aid me in the combat,
Hastened to his aged mother, Will protect me from destruction.”
Spake to her the words that follow: Then he wandered to the islands,
“Weep no longer, faithful mother, On the way to Tiera’s hamlet,
Do not sorrow for thy hero, These the words that Ahti utters
Should he leave for scenes of battle, As he nears the ancient dwellings:
For the hostile fields of Pohya; Dearest friend, my noble Tiera,
Sweet revenge has fired my spirit, My, beloved hero-brother,
And my soul is well determined, Dost thou other times remember,
To avenge the shameful insult When we fought and bled together,
That the warriors of Northland On the battle-fields of Northland?
Gave to thee, defenseless woman.” There was not an island-village
To restrain him seeks his mother, Where there were not seven mansions,
Warns her son again of danger: In each mansion seven heroes,
“Do not go, my son beloved, And not one of all these foemen
To the wars in Sariola; Whom we did not slay with broadswords,
There the jaws of Death await thee, Victims of our skill and valor.”
Fell destruction lies before thee!” Near the window sat the father
Lemminkainen, little heeding, Whittling out a javelin-handle;
Still determined, speaks as follows: Near the threshold sat the mother
“Where may I secure a swordsman, Skimming cream and making butter;
Worthy of my race of heroes, Near the portal stood the brother
To assist me in the combat? Working on a sledge of birch-wood
Often I have heard of Tiera, Near the bridge-pass were the sisters
Heard of Kura of the islands, Washing out their varied garments.
The Kalevala
Spake the father from the window, Through the distant bills of Northland.
From the threshold spake the mother, Then great Tiera touched his javelin
From the portals spake the brother, To the mighty spear of Ahti,
And the sisters from the bridge-pass: Pledged his aid to Lemminkainen,
“Tiera has no time for combat, As his combatant and comrade.
And his broadsword cannot battle; Thereupon wild Kaukomieli
Tiera is but late a bridegroom, Pushed his boat upon the waters;
Still unveiled his bride awaits him.” Like the serpent through the heather,
Near the hearth was Tiera lying, Like the creeping of the adder,
Lying by the fire was Kura, Sails the boat away to Pohya,
Hastily one foot was shoeing, O’er the seas of Sariola.
While the other lay in waiting. Quick the wicked hostess, Louhi,
From the hook he takes his girdle, Sends the black-frost of the heavens
Buckles it around his body, To the waters of Pohyola,
Takes a javelin from its resting, O’er the far-extending sea-plains,
Not the largest, nor the smallest, Gave the black-frost these directions:
Buckles on his mighty scabbard, “Much-loved Frost, my son and hero,
Dons his heavy mail of copper; Whom thy mother has instructed,
On each javelin pranced a charger, Hasten whither I may send thee,
Wolves were howling from his helmet, Go wherever I command thee,
On the rings the bears were growling. Freeze the vessel of this hero,
Tiera poised his mighty javelin, Lemminkainen’s bark of magic,
Launched the spear upon its errand; On the broad back of the ocean,
Hurled the shaft across the pasture, On the far-extending waters;
To the border of the forest, Freeze the wizard in his vessel,
O’er the clay-fields of Pohyola, Freeze to ice the wicked Ahti,
O’er the green and fragrant meadows, That he never more may wander,
The Kalevala
Never waken while thou livest, Fearless grew in his invasions,
Or at least till I shall free him, Freezes everything before him;
Wake him from his icy slumber!” Sends the fiercest cold of Northland,
Frost, the son of wicked parents, Turns to ice the boundless waters.
Hero-son of evil manners, Ever thicker, thicker, thicker,
Hastens off to freeze the ocean, Grew the ice on sea and ocean,
Goes to fasten down the flood-gates, Ever deeper, deeper, deeper,
Goes to still the ocean-currents. Fell the snow on field and forest,
As he hastens on his journey, Froze the hero’s ship of beauty,
Takes the leaves from all the forest, Cold and lifeless bark of Ahti;
Strips the meadows of their verdure, Sought to freeze wild Lemminkainen,
Robs the flowers of their colors. Freeze him lifeless as his vessel,
When his journey he had ended, Asked the minstrel for his life-blood,
Gained the border of the ocean, For his ears, and feet, and fingers.
Gained the sea-shore curved and endless, Then the hero, Lemminkainen,
On the first night of his visit, Angry grew and filled with magic,
Freezes he the lakes and rivers, Hurled the black-frost to the fire-god,
Freezes too the shore of ocean, Threw him to the fiery furnace,
Freezes not the ocean-billows, Held him in his forge of iron,
Does not check the ocean-currents. Then addressed the frost as follows:
On the sea a finch is resting, “Frost, thou evil son of Northland,
Bird of song upon the waters, Dire and only son of Winter,
But his feet are not yet frozen, Let my members not be stiffened,
Neither is his head endangered. Neither ears, nor feet, nor fingers,
When the second night Frost lingered, Neither let my head be frozen.
He began to grow important, Thou hast other things to feed on,
He became a fierce intruder, Many other beads to stiffen;
The Kalevala
Leave in peace the flesh of heroes, Thou wert born upon the aspen,
Let this minstrel pass in safety, Wert conceived upon the willows,
Freeze the swamps, and lakes, and rivers, Near the borders of Pohyola,
Fens and forests, bills and valleys; In the courts of dismal Northland;
Let the cold stones grow still colder, Sin-begotten was thy father,
Freeze the willows in the waters, And thy mother was Dishonor.
Let the aspens freeze and suffer, “While in infancy who fed thee
Let the bark peel from the birch-trees, While thy mother could not nurse thee?
Let the Pines burst on the mountains, Surely thou wert fed by adders,
Let this hero pass in safety, Nursed by foul and slimy serpents;
Do not let his locks be stiffened. North-winds rocked thee into slumber,
“If all these prove insufficient, Cradled thee in roughest weather,
Feed on other worthy matters; In the worst of willow-marshes,
Lot the hot stones freeze asunder, In the springs forever flowing,
Let the flaming rocks be frozen, Evil-born and evil-nurtured,
Freeze the fiery blocks of iron, Grew to be an evil genius,
Freeze to ice the iron mountains; Evil was thy mind and spirit,
Stiffen well the mighty Wuoksi, And the infant still was nameless,
Let Imatra freeze to silence; Till the name of Frost was given
Freeze the sacred stream and whirlpoo4 To the progeny of evil.
Let their boiling billows stiffen, “Then the young lad lived in hedges,
Or thine origin I’ll sing thee, Dwelt among the weeds and willows,
Tell thy lineage of evil. Lived in springs in days of summer,
Well I know thine evil nature, On the borders of the marshes,
Know thine origin and power, Tore the lindens in the winter,
Whence thou camest, where thou goest, Stormed among the glens and forests,
Know thine ancestry of evil. Raged among the sacred birch-trees,
The Kalevala
Rattled in the alder-branches, Freeze the colt beside its mother.
Froze the trees, the shoots, the grasses, “If thou shouldst not heed this order,
Evened all the plains and prairies, I shall banish thee still farther,
Ate the leaves within the woodlands, To the carbon-piles of Hisi,
Made the stalks drop down their blossoms, To the chimney-hearth of Lempo,
Peeled the bark on weeds and willows. Hurl thee to his fiery furnace,
“Thou hast grown to large proportions, Lay thee on the iron anvil,
Hast become too tall and mighty; That thy body may be hammered
Dost thou labor to benumb me, With the sledges of the blacksmith,
Dost thou wish mine ears and fingers, May be pounded into atoms,
Of my feet wouldst thou deprive me? Twixt the anvil and the hammer.
Do not strive to freeze this hero, “If thou shouldst not heed this order,
In his anguish and misfortune; Shouldst not leave me to my freedom,
In my stockings I shall kindle Know I still another kingdom,
Fire to drive thee from my presence, Know another spot of resting;
In my shoes lay flaming faggots, I shall drive thee to the summer,
Coals of fire in every garment, Lead thy tongue to warmer climates,
Heated sandstones in my rigging; There a prisoner to suffer,
Thus will hold thee at a distance. Never to obtain thy freedom
Then thine evil form I’ll banish Till thy spirit I deliver,
To the farthest Northland borders; Till I go myself and free thee.”
When thy journey is completed, Wicked Frost, the son of Winter,
When thy home is reached in safety, Saw the magic bird of evil
Freeze the caldrons in the castle, Hovering above his spirit,
Freeze the coal upon the hearthstone, Straightway prayed for Ahti’s mercy,
In the dough, the hands of women, These the words the Frost-fiend uttered:
On its mother’s lap, the infant, “Let us now agree together,
The Kalevala
Neither one to harm the other, Here the hardy Lemminkainen
Never in the course of ages, Hastened forward to the castle,
Never while the moonlight glimmers This the hero’s prayer and question;
On the snow-capped hills of Northland. “Is there food within this castle,
If thou hearest that I bring thee Fish or fowl within its larders,
Cold to freeze thy feet and fingers, To refresh us on our journey,
Hurl me to the fiery furnace, Mighty heroes, cold and weary?
Hammer me upon the anvil When the hero, Lemminkainen,
Of the blacksmith, Ilmarinen; Found no food within the castle,
Lead my tongue to warmer climates, Neither fish, nor fowl, nor bacon,
Banish me to lands of summer, Thus he cursed it and departed:
There a prisoner to suffer, “May the fire destroy these chambers,
Nevermore to gain my freedom.” May the waters flood this dwelling,
Thereupon wild Lemminkainen Wash it to the seas of Mana!”
Left his vessel in the ocean, Then they hastened onward, onward,
Frozen in the ice of Northland, Hastened on through field and forest,
Left his warlike boat forever, Over by-ways long untrodden,
Started on his cheerless journey Over unknown paths and snow-fields;
To the borders of Pohyola, Here the hardy Lemminkainen,
And the mighty Tiera followed Reckless hero, Kaukomieli,
In the tracks of his companion. Pulled the soft wool from the ledges,
On the ice they journeyed northward Gathered lichens from the tree-trunks,
Briskly walked upon the ice-plain, Wove them into magic stockings,
Walked one day, and then a second, Wove them into shoes and mittens,
Till the closing of the third day, On the settles of the hoar-frost,
When the Hunger-land approached them, In the stinging cold of Northland.
When appeared Starvation-island. Then he sought to find some pathway,
The Kalevala
That would guide their wayward footsteps, Tear the flesh of kindred corpses,
And the hero spake as follows: Often do the eagle’s talons
“O thou Tiera, friend beloved, Carry bones and trembling vitals,
Shall we reach our destination, Such as ours, to feed their nestlings,
Wandering for days together, In their rocky homes and ledges.
Through these Northland fields and forests? “Oh! my mother can but wonder,
Kura thus replies to Ahti: Never can divine the answer,
“We, alas! have come for vengeance, Where her reckless son is roaming,
Come for blood and retribution, Where her hero’s blood is flowing,
To the battle-fields of Northland, Whether in the swamps and lowlands
To the dismal Sariola, Whether in the heat of battle,
Here to leave our souls and bodies, Or upon the waves of the ocean,
Here to starve, and freeze, and perish, Or upon the hop-feld mountains,
In the dreariest of places, Or along some forest by-way.
In this sun-forsaken country! Nothing can her mind discover
Never shall we gain the knowledge, Of the frailest of her heroes,
Never learn it, never tell it, Only think that he has perished.
Which the pathway that can guide us Thus the hoary-headed mother
To the forest-beds to suffer, Weeps and murmurs in her chambers:
To the Pohya-plains to perish, ‘Where is now my son beloved,
In the home-land of the ravens, In the kingdom of Manala?
Fitting food for crows and eagles. Sow thy crops, thou dread Tuoni,
Often do the Northland vultures Harrow well the fields of Kalma!
Hither come to feed their fledgelings; Now the bow receives its respite
Hither bring the birds of heaven From the fingers of my Tiera;
Bits of flesh and blood of heroes; Bow and arrow now are useless,
Often do the beaks of ravens Now the merry birds can fatten
The Kalevala
In the fields, and fens, and forests; Whether brides were happy-wedded,
Bears may live in dens of freedom, Whether bridegrooms choose discreetly,
On the fields may sport the elk-herds.’” Whether they were wise or unwise.
Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: “But we must not grow disheartened,
“Thus it is, mine aged mother, Let the Island-maidens cheer us;
Thou that gavest me existence! Here we are not yet enchanted,
Thou hast reared thy broods of chickens, Not bewitched by magic singing,
Hatched and reared thy flights of white-swans On the paths not left to perish,
All of them the winds have scattered, Sink and perish on our journey.
Or the evil Lempo frightened; Full of youth we should not suffer,
One flew hither, and one thither, Strong, we should not die unworthy,
And a third one, lost forever! Whom the wizards have enchanted,
Think thou of our former pleasures, Have bewitched with songs of magic;
Of our better days together, Sorcerers may charm and conquer,
When I wandered like the flowers, Bury them within their dungeons,
Like the berry in the meadows. Hide them spell-bound in their cabins.
Many saw my form majestic, Let the wizards charm each other,
Many thought me well-proportioned. And bewitch their magic offspring,
Now is not as then with Ahti, Bring their tribes to fell destruction.
Into evil days have fallen, Never did my gray-haired father
Since I see but storms and darkness! Bow submission to a wizard,
Then my eyes beheld but sunshine, Offer worship to magicians.
Then we did not weep and murmur, These the words my father uttered,
Did not fill our hearts with sorrow, These the thoughts his son advances:
When the maids in joy were singing, ‘Guard us, thou O great Creator,
When the virgins twined their tresses; Shield us, thou O God of mercy,
Then the women joined in joyance, With thine arms of grace protect us,
The Kalevala
Help us with thy strength and wisdom, RUNE XXXI
Guide the minds of all thy heroes,
Keep aright the thoughts of women, KULLERWOINEN SON OF E
Keep the old from speaking evil,
Keep the young from sin and folly, In the ancient times a mother
Be to us a help forever, Hatched and raised some swans and chickens,
Be our Guardian and our Father, Placed the chickens in the brushwood,
That our children may not wander Placed her swans upon the river;
From the ways of their Creator, Came an eagle, hawk, and falcon,
From the path that God has given!’” Scattered all her swans and chickens,
Then the hero Lemminkainen, One was carried to Karyala,
Made from cares the fleetest racers, And a second into Ehstland,
Sable racers from his sorrows, Left a third at home in Pohya.
Reins he made from days of evil, And the one to Ehstland taken
From his sacred pains made saddles. Soon became a thriving merchant;
To the saddle, quickly springing, He that journeyed to Karyala
Galloped he away from trouble, Flourished and was called Kalervo;
To his dear and aged mother; He that hid away in Pohya
And his comrade, faithful Tiera, Took the name of Untamoinen,
Galloped to his Island-dwelling. Flourished to his father’s sorrow,
Now departs wild Lemminkainen, To the heart-pain of his mother.
Brave and reckless Kaukomieli, Untamoinen sets his fish-nets
From these ancient songs and legends; In the waters of Kalervo;
Only guides his faithful Kura Kullerwoinen sees the fish-nets,
To his waiting bride and kindred, Takes the fish home in his basket.
While these lays and incantations Then Untamo, evil-minded,
Shall be turned to other heroes. Angry grew and sighed for vengeance,
The Kalevala
Clutched his fingers for the combat, Hastens to begin a battle,
Bared his mighty arms for battle, Bring a war upon his brother.
For the stealing of his salmon, Kalerwoinen’s wife in beauty
For the robbing of his fish-nets. Sat beside her chamber-window,
Long they battled, fierce the struggle, Looking out along the highway,
Neither one could prove the victor; Spake these words in wonder guessing:
Should one beat the other fiercely, “Do I see some smoke arising,
He himself was fiercely beaten. Or perchance a heavy storm-cloud,
Then arose a second trouble; Near the border of the forest,
On the second and the third days, Near the ending of the prairie?”
Kalerwoinen sowed some barley It was not some smoke arising,
Near the barns of Untamoinen; Nor indeed a heavy storm-cloud,
Untamoinen’s sheep in hunger It was Untamoinen’s soldiers
Ate the crop of Kullerwoinen; Marching to the place of battle.
Kullerwoinen’s dog in malice Warriors of Untamoinen
Tore Untamo’s sheep in pieces; Came equipped with spears and arrows,
Then Untamo sorely threatened Killed the people of Kalervo,
To annihilate the people Slew his tribe and all his kindred,
Of his brother, Kalerwoinen, Burned to ashes many dwellings,
To exterminate his tribe-folk, Levelled many courts and cabins,
To destroy the young and aged, Only, left Kalervo’s daughter,
To out-root his race and kingdom; With her unborn child, survivors
Conjures men with broadswords girded, Of the slaughter of Untamo;
For the war he fashions heroes, And she led the hostile army
Fashions youth with spears adjusted, To her father’s halls and mansion,
Bearing axes on their shoulders , Swept the rooms and made them cheery,
Conjures thus a mighty army, Gave the heroes home-attentions.
The Kalevala
Time had gone but little distance, First among a thousand heroes.
Ere a boy was born in magic When. three months the boy had thriven,
Of the virgin, Untamala, He began to speak as follows:
Of a mother, trouble-laden, “When my form is full of stature,
Him the mother named Kullervo, When these arms grow strong and hardy,
“Pearl of Combat,” said Untamo. Then will I avenge the murder
Then they laid the child of wonder, Of Kalervo and his people!”
Fatherless, the magic infant, Untamoinen bears the saying,
In the cradle of attention, Speaks these words to those about him;
To be rocked, and fed, and guarded; “To my tribe he brings destruction,
But he rocked himself at pleasure, In him grows a new Kalervo!”
Rocked until his locks stood endwise; Then the heroes well considered,
Rocked one day, and then a second, And the women gave their counsel,
Rocked the third from morn till noontide; How to kill the magic infant,
But before the third day ended, That their tribe may live in safety.
Kicks the boy with might of magic, It appeared the boy would prosper;
Forwards, backwards, upwards, downwards, Finally, they all consenting,
Kicks in miracles of power, He was placed within a basket,
Bursts with might his swaddling garments And with willows firmly fastened,
Creeping from beneath his blankets, Taken to the reeds and rushes,
Knocks his cradle into fragments, Lowered to the deepest waters,
Tears to tatters all his raiment, In his basket there to perish.
Seemed that he would grow a hero, When three nights had circled over,
And his mother, Untamala, Messengers of Untamoinen
Thought that be, when full of stature, Went to see if be had perished
When he found his strength and reason, In his basket in the waters;
Would become a great magician, But the prodigy, was living,
The Kalevala
Had not perished in the rushes; Seasoned oak, a hundred measures;
He had left his willow-basket, Piled the brushwood to the tree-tops,
Sat in triumph on a billow, Set the boy upon the summit,
In his hand a rod of copper, Set on fire the pile of brushwood,
On the rod a golden fish-line, Burned one day, and then a second,
Fishing for the silver whiting, Burned the third from morn till evening.
Measuring the deeps beneath him; When Untamo sent his heralds
In the sea was little water, To inspect the pyre and wizard,
Scarcely would it fill three measures. There to learn if young Kullervo
Untamoinen then reflected, Had been burned to dust and ashes,
This the language of the wizard: There they saw the young boy sitting
“Whither shall we take this wonder, On a pyramid of embers,
Lay this prodigy of evil, In his band a rod of copper,
That destruction may o’ertake him, Raking coals of fire about him,
Where the boy will sink and perish?” To increase their heat and power;
Then his messengers he ordered Not a hair was burned nor injured,
To collect dried poles of brushwood, Not a ringlet singed nor shrivelled.
Birch-trees with their hundred branches, Then Untamo, evil-humored,
Pine-trees full of pitch and resin, Thus addressed his trusted heralds:
Ordered that a pyre be builded, “Whither shall the boy be taken,
That the boy might be cremated, To what place this thing of evil,
That Kullervo thus might perish. That destruction may o’ertake him.
High they piled the and branches, That the boy may sink and perish?”
Dried limbs from the sacred birch-tree, Then they hung him to an oak-tree,
Branches from a hundred fir-trees, Crucified him in the branches,
Knots and branches full of resign; That the wizard there might perish.
Filled with bark a thousand sledges, When three days and nights had ended,
The Kalevala
Untamoinen spake as follows: Thus addressed the boy, Kullervo:
“It is time to send my heralds “Wilt thou live a life becoming,
To inspect the mighty oak-tree, Always do my people honor,
There to learn if young Kullervo Should I keep thee in my dwelling?
Lives or dies among the branches.” Shouldst thou render servant’s duty,
Thereupon he sent his servants, Then thou wilt receive thy wages,
And the heralds brought this message: Reaping whatsoe’er thou sowest;
“Young Kullervo has not perished, Thou canst wear the golden girdle,
Has not died among the branches Or endure the tongue of censure.”
Of the oak-tree where we hung him. When the boy had grown a little,
In the oak he maketh pictures Had increased in strength and stature,
With a wand between his fingers; He was given occupation,
Pictures hang from all the branches, He was made to tend an infant,
Carved and painted by Kullervo; Made to rock the infant’s cradle.
And the heroes, thick as acorns, These the words of Untamoinen:
With their swords and spears adjuste4 “Often look upon the young child,
Fill the branches of the oak-tree, Feed him well and guard from danger,
Every leaf becomes a soldier.” Wash his linen in the river,
Who can help the grave Untamo Give the infant good attention.”
Kill the boy that threatens evil Young Kullervo, wicked wizard,
To Untamo’s tribe and country, Nurses one day then a second;
Since he will not die by water, On the morning of the third day,
Nor by fire, nor crucifixion? Gives the infant cruel treatment,
Finally it was decided Blinds its eyes and breaks its fingers;
That his body was immortal, And when evening shadows gather,
Could not suffer death nor torture. Kills the young child while it slumbers,
In despair grave Untamoinen Throws its body to the waters,
The Kalevala
Breaks and burns the infant’s cradle. And the next day makes the handle;
Untamoinen thus reflected: Then he hastens to the forest,
“Never will this fell Kullervo To the upward-sloping mountain,
Be a worthy nurse for children, To the tallest of the birches,
Cannot rock a babe in safety; To the mightiest of oak-trees;
Do not know how I can use him, There he swings his axe of copper,
What employment I can give him!” Swings his blade with might of magic,
Then he told the young magician Cuts with sharpened edge the aspen,
He must fell the standing forest, With one blow he fells the oak-tree,
And Kullervo gave this answer: With a second blow, the linden;
“Only will I be a hero, Many trees have quickly fallen,
When I wield the magic hatchet; By the hatchet of Kullervo.
I am young, and fair, and mighty, Then the wizard spake as follows:
Far more beautiful than others, “This the proper work of Lempo,
Have the skill of six magicians.” Let dire Hisi fell the forest!”
Thereupon he sought the blacksmith, In the birch he sank his hatchet,
This the order of Kullervo: Made an uproar in the woodlands,
“Listen, O thou metal-artist, Called aloud in tones, of thunder,
Forge for me an axe of copper, Whistled to the distant mountains,
Forge the mighty axe of heroes, Till they echoed to his calling,
Wherewith I may fell the forest, When Kullervo spake as follows:
Fell the birch, and oak, and aspen.” “May the forest, in the circle
This behest the blacksmith honors, Where my voice rings, fall and perish,
Forges him an axe of copper, In the earth be lost forever!
Wonderful the blade he forges. May no tree remain unlevelled,
Kullerwoinen grinds his hatchet, May no saplings grow in spring-time,
Grinds his blade from morn till evening, Never while the moonlight glimmers,
The Kalevala
Where Kullervo’s voice has echoed, Made no wicket in his fences,
Where the forest hears my calling; And Kullervo spake these measures.
Where the ground with seed is planted, “He that does not rise as eagles,
And the grain shall sprout and flourish, Does not sail on wings through ether,
May it never come to ripeness, Cannot cross Kullervo’s pickets,
Mar the ears of corn be blasted!” Nor the fences he has builded.”
When the strong man, Untamoinen, Untamoinen left his mansion
Went to look at early evening, To inspect the young boy’s labors,
How Kullervo was progressing, View the fences of Kullervo;
In his labors in the forest; Saw the fence without a pass-way,
Little was the work accomplished, Not a wicket in his fences;
Was not worthy of a here; From the earth the fence extended
Untamoinen thus reflected: To the highest clouds of heaven.
“Young Kullervo is not fitted These the words of Untamoinen:
For the work of clearing forests, “For this work be is not fitted,
Wastes the best of all the timber, Useless is the fence thus builded;
To my lands he brings destruction; Is so high that none can cross it,
I shall set him making fences.” And there is no passage through it:
Then the youth began the building He shall thresh the rye and barley.”
Of a fence for Untamoinen; Young Kullervo, quick preparing
Took the trunks of stately fir-trees, Made an oaken flail for threshing,
Trimmed them with his blade for fence-posts, Threshed the rye to finest powder,
Cut the tallest in the woodlands, Threshed the barley into atoms,
For the railing of his fences; And the straw to worthless fragments.
Made the smaller poles and cross-bars Untamoinen went at evening,
From the longest of the lindens; Went to see Kullervo’s threshing,
Made the fence without a pass-way, View the work of Kullerwoinen;
The Kalevala
Found the rye was ground to powder, RUNE XXXII
Grains of barley crushed to atoms,
And the straw to worthless rubbish. KULLERVO AS A SHEP
Untamoinen then grew angry,
Spake these words in bitter accents: Kullerwoinen, wizard-servant
“Kullerwoinen as a workman Of the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Is a miserable failure; Purchased slave from Untamoinen,
Whatsoever work he touches Magic son with sky-blue stockings.,
Is but ruined by his witchcraft; With a head of golden ringlets,
I shall carry him to Ehstland, In his shoes of marten-leather,
In Karyala I shall sell him Waiting little, asked the blacksmith,
To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Asked the host for work at morning,
There to swing the heavy hammer.” In the evening asked the hostess,
Untamoinen sells Kullervo, These the words of Kullerwoinen:
Trades him off in far Karyala, “Give me work at early morning,
To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, In the evening, occupation,
To the master of the metals, Labor worthy of thy servant.”
This the sum received in payment: Then the wife of Ilmarinen,
Seven worn and worthless sickles, Once the Maiden of the Rainbow,
Three old caldrons worse than useless, Thinking long, and long debating,
Three old scythes, and hoes, and axes, How to give the youth employment,
Recompense, indeed, sufficient How the purchased slave could labor;
For a boy that will not labor Finally a shepherd made him,
For the good of his employer. Made him keeper of her pastures;
But the over-scornful hostess,
Baked a biscuit for the herdsman,
Baked a loaf of wondrous thickness,
The Kalevala
Baked the lower-half of oat-meal, From the paths of peace and plenty.
And the upper-half of barley, As at home Thou didst protect them
Baked a flint-stone in the centre, In the shelters and the hurdles,
Poured around it liquid butter, Guard them now beneath the heavens,
Then she gave it to the shepherd, Shelter them in woodland pastures,
Food to still the herdsman’s hunger; That the herds may live and prosper
Thus she gave the youth instructions: To ‘the joy of Northland’s hostess,
“Do not eat the bread in hunger, And against the will of Lempo.
Till the herd is in the woodlands!” “If my herdsman prove unworthy,
Then the wife of Ilmarinen If the shepherd-maids seem evil,
Sent her cattle to the pasture, Let the pastures be their shepherds,
Thus addressing Kullerwoinen: Let the alders guard the cattle,
“Drive the cows to yonder bowers, Make the birch-tree their protector,
To the birch-trees and the aspens, Let the willow drive them homeward,
That they there may feed and fatten, Ere the hostess go to seek them,
Fill themselves with milk and butter, Ere the milkmaids wait and worry.
In the open forest-pastures, Should the birch-tree not protect them,
On the distant hills and mountains, Nor the aspen lend assistance,
In the glens among the birch-trees, Nor the linden be their keeper,
In the lowlands with the aspens, Nor the willow drive them homeward,
In the golden pine-tree forests, Wilt thou give them better herdsmen,
In the thickets silver-laden. Let Creation’s beauteous daughters
“Guard them, thou O kind Creator, Be their kindly shepherdesses.
Shield them, omnipresent Ukko, Thou hast many lovely maidens,
Shelter them from every danger, Many hundreds that obey thee,
And protect them from all evil, In the Ether’s spacious circles,
That they may not want, nor wander Beauteous daughters of creation.
The Kalevala
“Summer-daughter, magic maiden, That they may not find misfortune,
Southern mother of the woodlands, May not wander to destruction,
Pine-tree daughter, Kateyatar, In the marshes sink and perish,
Pihlayatar, of the aspen, Though against God’s best intentions,
Alder-maiden, Tapio’s daughter, Though against the will of Ukko.
Daughter of the glen, Millikki, “From a distance bring a bugle,
And the mountain-maid, Tellervo, Bring a shepherd’s horn from heaven,
Of my herds be ye protectors, Bring the honey-flute of Ukko,
Keep them from the evil-minded, Play the music of creation,
Keep them safe in days of summer, Blow the pipes of the magician,
In the times of fragrant flowers, Play the flowers on the highlands,
While the tender leaves are whispering, Charm the hills, and dales, and mount
While the Earth is verdure-laden. Charm the borders of the forest,
“Summer-daughter, charming maiden, Fill the forest-trees with honey,
Southern mother of the woodlands, Fill with spice the fountain-borders.
Spread abroad thy robes of safety, “For my herds give food and shelter,
Spread thine apron o’er the forest, Feed them all on honeyed pastures,
Let it cover all my cattle, Give them drink at honeyed fountains
And protect the unprotected, Feed them on thy golden grasses,
That no evil winds may harm them, On the leaves of silver saplings,
May not suffer from the storm-clouds. From the springs of life and beauty,
Guard my flocks from every danger, From the crystal-waters flowing,
Keep them from the hands of wild-beasts, From the waterfalls of Rutya,
From the swamps with sinking pathways, From the uplands green and golden,
From the springs that bubble trouble, From the glens enriched in silver.
From the swiftly running waters, Dig thou also golden fountains
From the bottom of the whirlpool, On the four sides of the willow,
The Kalevala
That the cows may drink in sweetness, Whither has the milk departed?
And their udders swell with honey, Has it gone to feed the strangers,
That their milk may flow in streamlets; Banished to the distant village,
Let the milk be caught in vessels, Gone to feed the hamlet-lover,
Let the cow’s gift be not wasted, Or perchance to feed the forest,
Be not given to Manala. Disappeared within the woodlands,
“Many are the sons of evil, Scattered o’er the hills and mountains,
That to Mana take their milkings, Mingled with the lakes and rivers?
Give their milk to evil-doers, It shall never go to Mana,
Waste it in Tuoni’s empire; Never go to feed the stranger,
Few there are, and they the worthy, Never to the village-lover;
That can get the milk from Mana; Neither shall it feed the forest,
Never did my ancient mother Nor be lost upon the mountains,
Ask for counsel in the village, Neither sprinkled in the woodlands,
Never in the courts for wisdom; Nor be mingled with the waters;
She obtained her milk from Mana, It is needed for our tables,
Took the sour-milk from the dealers, Worthy food for all our children.’
Sweet-milk from the greater distance, Summer-daughter, maid of beauty,
From the kingdom of Manala, Southern daughter of Creation,
From Tuoni’s fields and pastures; Give Suotikki tender fodder,
Brought it in the dusk of evening, To Watikki, give pure water,
Through the by-ways in the darkness, To Hermikki milk abundant,
That the wicked should not know it, Fresh provisions to Tuorikki,
That it should not find destruction. From Mairikki let the milk flow,
“This the language of my mother, Fresh milk from my cows in plenty,
And these words I also echo: Coming from the tips of grasses,
Whither does the cow’s gift wander, From the tender herbs and leaflets,
The Kalevala
From the meadows rich in honey, “Beauteous virgin of the woodlands,
From the mother of the forest, Tapio’s most charming daughter,
From the meadows sweetly dripping, Fair Tellervo, forest-maiden,
From the berry-laden branches, Softly clad in silken raiment,
From the heath of flower-maidens, Beautiful in golden ringlets,
From the verdure. maiden bowers, Do thou give my herds protection,
From the clouds of milk-providers, In the Metsola dominions,
From the virgin of the heavens, On the hills of Tapiola;
That the milk may flow abundant Shield them with thy hands of beauty,
From the cows that I have given Stroke them gently with thy fingers,
To the keeping of Kullervo. Give to them a golden lustre,
“Rise thou virgin of the valley, Make them shine like fins of salmon,
From the springs arise in beauty, Grow them robes as soft as ermine.
Rise thou maiden of the fountain, “When the evening star brings darkness,
Beautiful, arise in ether, When appears the hour of twilight,
Take the waters from the cloudlets, Send my lowing cattle homeward,
And my roaming herds besprinkle, Milk within their vessels coursing,
That my cows may drink and flourish, Water on their backs in lakelets.
May be ready for the coming When the Sun has set in ocean,
Of the shepherdess of evening. When the evening-bird is singing,
“O Millikki, forest-hostess, Thus address my herds of cattle:
Mother of the herds at pasture, “Ye that carry horns, now hasten
Send the tallest of thy servants, To the sheds of Ilmarinen;
Send the best of thine assistants, Ye enriched in milk go homeward,
That my herds may well be guarded, To the hostess now in waiting,
Through the pleasant days of summer, Home, the better place for sleeping,
Given us by our Creator. Forest-beds are full of danger;
The Kalevala
When the evening comes in darkness, Woodland bear, with honeyed fingers,
Straightway journey to the milkmaids Let us make a lasting treaty,
Building fires to light the pathway Make a vow for future ages,
On the turf enriched in honey, That thou wilt not kill my cattle,
In the pastures berry-laden! Wilt not eat my milk-providers;
“Thou, O Tapio’s son, Nyrikki, That I will not send my hunters
Forest-son, enrobed in purple, To destroy thee and thy kindred,
Cut the fir-trees on the mountains, Never in the days of summer,
Cut the pines with cones of beauty, The Creator’s warmest season.
Lay them o’er the streams for bridges, “Dost thou hear the tones of cow-bells,
Cover well the sloughs of quicksand, Hear the calling of the bugles,
In the swamps and in the lowlands, Ride thyself within the meadow,
That my herd may pass in safety, Sink upon the turf in slumber,
On their long and dismal journey, Bury both thine ears in clover,
To the clouds of smoke may hasten, Crouch within some alder-thicket
Where the milkmaids wait their coming. Climb between the mossy ledges,
If the cows heed not this order, Visit thou some rocky cavern,
Do not hasten home at evening, Flee away to other mountains,
Then, O service-berry maiden, Till thou canst not hear the cow-bells,
Cut a birch-rod from the glenwood, Nor the calling of the herdsmen.
From the juniper, a whip-stick, “Listen, Otso of the woodlands,
Near to Tapio’s spacious mansion, Sacred bear with honeyed fingers,
Standing on the ash-tree mountain, To approach the herd of cattle
Drive my wayward, ]owing cattle, Thou thyself art not forbidden,
Into Metsola’s wide milk-yards, But thy tongue, and teeth, and fingers,
When the evening-star is rising. Must not touch my herd in summer,
“Thou, O Otso, forest-apple, Must not harm my harmless creatures.
The Kalevala
Go around the scented meadows, Thrice to Otso was it granted,
Amble through the milky pastures, In the circuit of the summer,
From the tones of bells and shepherds. To approach the land of cow-bells,
should the herd be on the mountain, Where the herdsmen’s voices echo;
Go thou quickly to the marshes; But to thee it was not granted,
Should my cattle browse the lowlands, Otso never had permission
Sleep thou then within the thicket; To attempt a wicked action,
Should they feed upon the uplands, To begin a work of evil.
Thou must hasten to the valley; Should the blinding thing of malice
Should the herd graze at the bottom, Come upon thee in thy roamings,
Thou must feed upon the summit. Should thy bloody teeth feel hunger,
“Wander like the golden cuckoo, Throw thy malice to the mountains,
Like the dove of silver brightness, And thy hunger to the pine-trees,
Like a little fish in ocean; Sink thy teeth within the aspens,
Ride thy claws within thy hair-foot, In the dead limbs of the birches,
Shut thy wicked teeth in darkness, Prune the dry stalks from the willows.
That my herd may not be frightened, Should thy hunger still impel thee,
May not think themselves in danger. Go thou to the berry-mountain,
Leave my cows in peace and plenty, Eat the fungus of the forest,
Let them journey home in order, Feed thy hunger on the ant-hills,
Through the vales and mountain by-ways, Eat the red roots of the bear-tree,
Over plains and through the forest, Metsola’s rich cakes of honey,
Harming not my harmless creatures. Not the grass my herd would feed on.
“Call to mind our former pledges, Or if Metsola’s rich honey
At the river of Tuoni, Should ferment before the eating,
Near the waterfall and whirlpool, On the hills of golden color,
In the ears of our Creator. On the mountains filled with silver,
The Kalevala
There is other food for hunger, “Ukko, ruler in the heavens,
Other drink for thirsting Otso, Lend an ear to my entreaty,
Everlasting will the food be, Metamorphose all my cattle,
And the drink be never wanting. Through the mighty force of magic,
“Let us now agree in honor, Into stumps and stones convert them,
And conclude a lasting treaty If the enemy should wander,
That our lives may end in pleasure, Near my herd in days of summer.
May be, merry in the summer, “If I had been born an Otso,
Both enjoy the woods in common, I would never stride and amble
Though our food must be distinctive At the feet of aged women;
Shouldst thou still desire to fight me, Elsewhere there are hills and valleys,
Let our contests be in winter, Farther on are honey-pastures,
Let our wars be, on the snow-fields. Where the lazy bear may wander,
Swamps will thaw in days of summer, Where the indolent may linger;
Warm, the water in the rivers. Sneak away to yonder mountain,
Therefore shouldst thou break this treaty, That thy tender flesh may lessen,
Shouldst thou come where golden cattle In the blue-glen’s deep recesses,
Roam these woodland hills and valleys, In the bear-dens of the forest,
We will slay thee with our cross-bows; Thou canst move through fields of acorns,
Should our arrow-men be absent, Through the sand and ocean-pebbles,
We have here some archer-women, There for thee is tracked a pathway,
And among them is the hostess, Through the woodlands on the sea-coast,
That can use the fatal weapon, To the Northland’s farthest limits,
That can bring thee to destruction, To the dismal plains of Lapland,
Thus will end the days of trouble There ’tis well for thee to lumber,
That thou bringest to our people, There to live will be a pleasure.
And against the will of Ukko. Shoeless there to walk in summer,
The Kalevala
Stockingless in days of autumn, That they may not see my herdlings,
On the blue-back of the mountain, May not see my cattle grazing.
Through the swamps and fertile lowlands. “Should all this seem inefficient,
“If thou canst not journey thither, Drive away thy barking children,
Canst not find the Lapland-highway, Let them run to other forests,
Hasten on a little distance, Let them hunt in other marshes,
In the bear-path leading northward. From these verdant strips of meadow,
To the grove of Tuonela, From these far outstretching borders,
To the honey-plains of Kalma, Hide thy dogs within thy caverns,
Swamps there are in which to wander, Firmly tie thy yelping children,
Heaths in which to roam at pleasure, Tie them with thy golden fetters,
There are Kiryos, there are Karyos, With thy chains adorned with silver,
And of beasts a countless number, That they may not do me damage,’
With their fetters strong as iron, May not do a deed of mischief.
Fattening within the forest. Should all this prove inefficient,
Be ye gracious, groves and mountains, Thou, O Ukko, King of heaven.
Full of grace, ye darksome thickets, Wise director, full of mercy,
Peace and, plenty to my cattle, Hear the golden words I utter,
Through the pleasant days of summer, Hear a voice that breathes affection,
The Creator’s warmest season. From the alder make a muzzle,
“Knippana, O King of forests, For each dog, within the kennel;
Thou the gray-beard of the woodlands, Should the alder prove too feeble,
Watch thy dogs in fen and fallow, Cast a band of purest copper;
Lay a sponge within one nostril, Should the copper prove a failure,
And an acorn in the other, Forge a band of ductile iron;
That they may not scent my cattle; Should the iron snap asunder,
Tie their eyes with silken fillets, In each nose a small-ring fasten,
The Kalevala
Made of molten gold and silver, RUNE XXXIII
Chain thy dogs in forest-caverns,
That my herd may not be injured. KULLERVO AND THE CHEA
Then the wife of Ilmarinen,
Life-companion of the blacksmith, Thereupon the lad, Kullervo,
Opened all her yards and stables, Laid his luncheon in his basket,
Led her herd across the meadow, Drove the herd to mountain-pastures,
Placed them in the herdman’s keeping, O’er the hills and through the marshes,
In the care of Kullerwoinen. To their grazings in the woodlands,
Speaking as he careless wandered:
“Of the youth am I the poorest,
Hapless lad and full of trouble,
Evil luck to me befallen!
I alas! must idly wander
O’er the hills and through the valleys,
As a watch-dog for the cattle!”
Then she sat upon the greensward,
In a sunny spot selected,
Singing, chanting words as follow:
“Shine, O shine, thou Sun of heaven,
Cast thy rays, thou fire of Ukko,
On the herdsman of the blacksmith,
On the head of Kullerwoinen,
On this poor and luckless shepherd,
Not in Ilmarinen’s smithy,
Nor the dwellings of his people;
Good the table of the hostess,
The Kalevala
Cuts the best of wheaten biscuit, Set apart some wasted fragments,
Honey-cakes she cuts in slices, Leavings of the dogs at dinner,
Spreading each with golden butter; For the shepherd, home returning.
Only dry bread has the herdsman, From the woods a bird came flying,
Eats with pain the oaten bread-crusts,’ Sang this song to Kullerwoinen:
Filled with chaff his and biscuit, “’Tis the time for forest-dinners,
Feeds upon the worst of straw-bread, For the fatherless companion
Pine-tree bark, the broad he feeds on, Of the herds to eat his viands,
Sipping water from the birch-bark, Eat the good things from his basket!”
Drinking from the tips of grasses I Kullerwoinen heard the songster,
Go, O Sun, and go, O barley, Looked upon the Sun’s long shadow,
Haste away, thou light of Ukko, Straightway spake the words that follow:
Hide within the mountain pine-trees, “True, the singing of the song-bird,
Go, O wheat, to yonder thickets, It is time indeed for feasting,
To the trees of purple berries, Time to eat my basket-dinner.”
To the junipers and alders, Thereupon young Kullerwoinen
Safely lead the herdsman homeward Called his herd to rest in safety,
To the biscuit golden-buttered, Sat upon a grassy hillock,
To the honeyed cakes and viands!” Took his basket from his shoulders,
While the shepherd lad was singing Took therefrom the and oat-loaf,
Kullerwoinen’s song and echo, Turned it over in his fingers,
Ilmarinen’s wife was feasting Carefully the loaf inspected,
On the sweetest bread of Northland, Spake these words of ancient wisdom:
On the toothsome cakes of barley, “Many loaves are fine to look on,
On the richest of provisions; On the outside seem delicious,
Only laid aside some cabbage, On the inside, chaff and tan-bark!”
For the herdsman, Kullerwoinen; Then the shepherd, Kullerwoinen,
The Kalevala
Drew his knife to cut his oat-loaf, To the bear-dens, lead the other;
Cut the hard and arid biscuit; Sing the forest wolves together,
Cuts against a stone imprisoned, Sing the bears down from the mountains,
Well imbedded in the centre, Call the wolves thy little children,
Breaks his ancient knife in pieces; And the bears thy standard-bearers;
When the shepherd youth, Kullervo, Drive them like a cow-herd homeward,
Saw his magic knife had broken, Drive them home like spotted cattle,
Weeping sore, he spake as follows: Drive them to thy master’s milk-yards;
“This, the blade that I bold sacred, Thus thou wilt repay the hostess
This the one thing that I honor, For her malice and derision.”
Relic of my mother’s people! Thereupon the wizard answered,
On the stone within this oat-loaf, These the words of Kullerwoinen:
On this cheat-cake of the hostess, “Wait, yea wait, thou bride of Hisi!
I my precious knife have broken. Do I mourn my mother’s relic,
How shall I repay this insult, Mourn the keep-sake thou hast broken?
How avenge this woman’s malice, Thou thyself shalt mourn as sorely
What the wages for deception?” When thy, cows come home at evening!”
From a tree the raven answered: From the tree he cuts a birch-wand,
“O thou little silver buckle, From the juniper a whip-stick,
Only son of old Kalervo, Drives the herd across the lowlands,
Why art thou in evil humor, Through the quicksands of the marshes,
Wherefore sad in thy demeanor? To the wolves lets one half wander,
Take a young shoot from the thicket, To the bear-dens leads the other;
Take a birch-rod from the valley, Calls the wolves his little children,
Drive thy herd across the lowlands, Calls the bears his standard-bearers,
Through the quicksands of the marshes; Changes all his herd of cattle
To the wolves let one half wander, Into wolves and bears by magic.
The Kalevala
In the west the Sun is shining, On the heath she beard the bustle,
Telling that the night is coming. Spake these joyous words of welcome:
Quick the wizard, Kullerwoinen, “Be thou praised, O gracious Ukko,
Wanders o’er the pine-tree mountain, That my herd is home returning!
Hastens through the forest homeward, But I hear a bugle sounding,
Drives the wolves and bears before him ’Tis the playing of my herdsman,
Toward the milk-yards of the hostess; Playing on a magic cow-horn,
To the herd he speaks as follows, Bursting all our ears with music!”
As they journey on together: Kullerwoinen, drawing nearer,
“Tear and kill the wicked hostess, To the hostess spake as follows:
Tear her guilty flesh in pieces, “Found the bugle in the woodlands,
When she comes to view her cattle, And the flute among the rushes;
When she stoops to do her milking!” All thy herd are in the passage,
Then the wizard, Kullerwoinen, All thy cows within the hurdles,
From an ox-bone makes a bugle, This the time to build the camp-fire,
Makes it from Tuonikki’s cow-horn, This the time to do the milking!”
Makes a flute from Kiryo’s shin-bone, Ilmarinen’s wife, the hostess,
Plays a song upon his bugle, Thus addressed an aged servant:
Plays upon his flute of magic, “Go, thou old one, to the milking,
Thrice upon the home-land hill-tops, Have the care of all my cattle,
Six times near the coming gate-ways. Do not ask for mine assistance,
Ilmarinen’s wife and hostess Since I have to knead the biscuit.”
Long had waited for the coming Kullerwoinen spake as follows:
Of her herd with Kullerwoinen, “Always does the worthy hostess,
Waited for the milk at evening, Ever does the wisdom-mother
Waited for the new-made butter, Go herself and do the milking,
Heard the footsteps in the cow-path, Tend the cows within the hurdles!”
The Kalevala
Then the wife of Ilmarinen “Have I evil done as shepherd,
Built a field-fire in the passage, Worse the conduct of the hostess;
Went to milk her cows awaiting, Baked a stone inside my oat-cake,
Looked upon her herd in wonder, On the inside, rock and tan-bark,
Spake these happy words of greeting: On the stone my knife, was broken,
“Beautiful, my herd of cattle, Treasure of my mother’s household,
Glistening like the skins of lynxes, Broken virtue of my people!”
Hair as soft as fur of ermine, Ilmarinen’s wife made answer:
Peaceful waiting for the milk-pail!” “Noble herdsman, Kullerwoinen,
On the milk-stool sits the hostess, Change, I pray thee, thine opinion,
Milks one moment, then a second, Take away thine incantations,
Then a third time milks and ceases; From the bears and wolves release me,
When the bloody wolves disguising, Save me from this spell of torture
Quick attack the hostess milking, I will give thee better raiment,
And the bears lend their assistance, Give the best of milk and butter,
Tear and mutilate her body Set for thee the sweetest table;
With their teeth and sharpened fingers. Thou shalt live with me in welcome,
Kullerwoinen, cruel wizard, Need not labor for thy keeping.
Thus repaid the wicked hostess, If thou dost not free me quickly,
Thus repaid her evil treatment. Dost not break this spell of magic,
Quick the wife of Ilmarinen I shall sink into the Death-land,
Cried aloud in bitter anguish, Shall return to Tuonela.”
Thus addressed the youth, Kullervo: This is Kullerwoinen’s answer:
“Evil son, thou bloody herdsman, “It is best that thou shouldst perish,
Thou hast brought me wolves in malice, Let destruction overtake thee,
Driven bears within my hurdles! There is ample room in Mana,
These the words of Kullerwoinen: Room for all the dead in Kalma,
The Kalevala
There the worthiest must slumber, Thus the death of Northland’s hostess,
There must rest the good and evil.” Cherished wife of Ilmarinen,
Ilmarinen’s wife made answer: Once the Maiden of the Rainbow,
“Ukko, thou O God in heaven, Wooed and watched for many summers,
Span the strongest of thy cross-bows, Pride and joy of Kalevala!
Test the weapon by thy wisdom,
Lay an arrow forged from copper,
On the cross-bow of thy forging;
Rightly aim thy flaming arrow,
With thy magic hurl the missile,
Shoot this wizard through the vitals,
Pierce the heart of Kullerwoinen
With the lightning of the heavens,
With thine arrows tipped with copper.”
Kullerwoinen prays as follows:
“Ukko, God of truth and justice.
Do not slay thy magic servant,
Slay the wife of Ilmarinen,
Kill in her the worst of women,
In these hurdles let her perish,
Lest she wander hence in freedom,
To perform some other mischief,
Do some greater deed of malice!”
Quick as lightning fell the hostess,
Quick the wife of Ilmarinen
Fell and perished in the hurdles,
On the ground before her cottage
The Kalevala
RUNE XXXIV If perchance he might discover
What was playing on the heather,
KULLERV What was sounding through the forest.
Quick he learned the cruel story,
Kullerwoinen, young magician, Learned the cause of the rejoicing,
In his beauteous, golden ringlets, Saw the hostess dead before him,
In his magic shoes of deer-skin, Knew his beauteous wife had perished,
Left the home of Ilmarinen Saw the lifeless form extended,
Wandered forth upon his journey, In the court-yard of his dwelling.
Ere the blacksmith heard the tidings Thereupon the metal-artist
Of the cruel death and torture Fell to bitter tears and wailings,
Of his wife and joy-companion, Wept through all the dreary night-time,
Lest a bloody fight should follow. Deep the grief that settled o’er him,
Kullerwoinen left the smithy, Black as night his darkened future,
Blowing on his magic bugle, Could not stay his tears of sorrow.
Joyful left the lands of Ilma, Kullerwoinen hastened onward,
Blowing blithely on the heather, Straying, roaming, hither, thither,
Made the distant hills re-echo, Wandered on through field and forest,
Made the swamps and mountains tremble, O’er the Hisi-plains and woodlands.
Made the heather-blossoms answer When the darkness settled o’er him,
To the music of his cow-horn, When the bird of night was flitting,
In its wild reverberations, Sat the fatherless at evening,
To the magic of his playing. The forsaken sat and rested
Songs were heard within the smithy, On a hillock of the forest.
And the blacksmith stopped and listened, Thus he murmured, heavy-hearted:
Hastened to the door and window, “Why was I, alas! created,
Hastened to the open court-yard, Why was I so ill-begotten,
The Kalevala
Since for months and years I wander, On the shore, perhaps the gray-duck
Lost among the ether-spaces? Left me in the sand to perish.
Others have their homes to dwell in, Young was I and small of stature,
Others hasten to their firesides When my mother left me orphaned;
As the evening gathers round them: Dead, my father and my mother,
But my home is in the forest, Dead, my honored tribe of heroes;
And my bed upon the heather, Shoes they left me that are icy,
And my bath-room is the rain-cloud. Stockings filled with frosts of ages,
“Never didst thou, God of mercy, Let me on the freezing ice-plains
Never in the course of ages, Fall to perish in the rushes;
Give an infant birth unwisely; From the giddy heights of mountains
Wherefore then was I created, Let me tumble to destruction.
Fatherless to roam in ether, “O, thou wise and good Creator,
Motherless and lone to wander? Why my birth and what my service?
Thou, O Ukko, art my father, I shall never fall and perish
Thou hast given me form and feature; On the ice-plains, in the marshes,
As the sea-gull on the ocean, Never be a bridge in swamp-land,
As the duck upon the waters, Not while I have arms of virtue
Shines the Sun upon the swallow, That can serve my honored kindred!”
Shines as bright upon the sparrow, Then Kullervo thought to journey
Gives the joy-birds song and gladness, To the village of Untamo,
Does not shine on me unhappy; To avenge his father’s murder,
Nevermore will shine the sunlight, To avenge his mother’s tortures,
Never will the moonlight glimmer And the troubles of his tribe-folk.
On this hapless son and orphan; These the words of Kullerwoinen:
Do not know my hero-father, “Wait, yea wait, thou Untamoinen,
Cannot tell who was my mother; Thou destroyer of my people;
The Kalevala
When I meet thee in the combat, On the farthest shore of Northland,
I will slay thee and thy kindred, On the long-point of the fish-lake!”
I will burn thy homes to ashes!” “Tell me, O thou woodland-mother,
Came a woman on the highway, How to journey to my people,
Dressed in blue, the aged mother, How to find mine honored tribe-folk.”
To Kullervo spake as follows: “Easy is the way for strangers:
“Whither goest, Kullerwoinen, Thou must journey through the forest,
Whither hastes the wayward hero? Hasten to the river-border,
Kullerwoinen gave this answer: Travel one day, then a second,
“I have thought that I would journey And the third from morn till even,
To the far-off land of strangers, To the north-west, thou must journey.
To the village of Untamo, If a mountain comes to meet thee,
To avenge my father’s murder, Go around the nearing mountain,
To avenge my mother’s tortures, Westward bold thy weary journey,
And the troubles of my tribe-folk.” Till thou comest to a river,
Thus the gray-haired woman answered: On thy right hand flowing eastward;
“Surely thou dost rest in error, Travel to the river border,
For thy tribe has never perished, Where three water-falls will greet thee;
And thy mother still is living When thou comest to a headland,
With thy father in the Northland, On the point thou’lt see a cottage
Living with the old Kalervo.” Where the fishermen assemble;
“O, thou ancient dame beloved, In this cottage is thy father,
Worthy mother of the woodlands, With thy mother and her daughters,
Tell me where my father liveth, Beautiful thy maiden sisters.”
Where my loving mother lingers!” Kullerwoinen, the magician,
“Yonder lives thine aged father, Hastens northward on his journey,
And thy loving mother with him, Walks one day, and then a second,
The Kalevala
Walks the third from morn till evening; “O my worthy son, beloved,
To the north-west walks Kullervo, O my precious silver-buckle,
Till a mountain comes to meet him, Hast thou with thy mind of magic,
Walks around the nearing mountain; Wandered through the fields of Northland
Westward, westward, holds his journey, Searching for thy home and kindred?
Till he sees a river coming; As one dead I long have mourned thee,
Hastens to the river border, Had supposed thee, in Manala.
Walks along the streams and rapids Once I had two sons and heroes,
Till three waterfalls accost him; Had two good and beauteous daughters,
Travels till he meets a headland, Two of these have long been absent,
On the point he spies a cottage, Elder son and elder daughter;
Where the fishermen assemble. For the wars my son departed,
Quick he journeys to the cabin, While my daughter strayed and perished
Quick he passes through the portals If my son is home returning,
Of the cottage on the headland, Yet my daughter still is absent,
Where he finds his long-lost kindred; Kullerwoinen asked his mother:
No one knows the youth, Kullervo, “Whither did my sister wander,
No one knows whence comes the stranger, What direction did she journey ?
Where his home, nor where he goeth. This the answer of the mother:
These the words of young Kullervo: “This the story of thy sister:
“Dost thou know me not, my mother, Went for berries to the woodlands,
Dost thou know me not, my father? To the mountains went my daughter,
I am hapless Kullerwoinen Where the lovely maiden vanished,
Whom the heroes of Untamo Where my pretty berry perished,
Carried to their distant country, Died some death beyond my knowledge,
When my height was but a hand-breadth.” Nameless is the death she suffered.
Quick the hopeful mother answers: Who is mourning for the daughter?
The Kalevala
No one mourns her as her mother, RUNE XXXV
Walks and wanders, Mourns and searches,
For her fairest child and daughter; KULLERVO’S E
Therefore did the mother wander,
Searching for thy lovely sister, Kullerwionen, youthful wizard,
Like the bear she roamed the forest, In his blue and scarlet stockings,
Ran the glenways like the adder, Henceforth lingered with his parents;
Searched one day and then a second, But he could not change his nature,
Searched the third from morn till even, Could not gain a higher wisdom,
Till she reached the mountain-summit, Could not win a better judgment;
There she called and called her daughter, As a child he was ill-nurtured,
Till the distant mountains answered, Early rocked in stupid cradles,
Called to her who had departed: By a nurse of many follies,
I Where art thou, my lovely maiden, By a minister of evil.
Come my daughter to thy mother!’ To his work went Kullerwoinen,
“Thus I called, and sought thy sister, Strove to make his labors worthy;
This the answer of the mountains, First, Kullervo went a-fishing,
Thus the hills and valleys echoed: Set his fishing-nets in ocean;
‘Call no more, thou weeping mother, With his hands upon the row-locks,
Weep no more for the departed; Kullerwoinen spake as follows:
Nevermore in all thy lifetime, “Shall I pull with all my forces,
Never in the course of ages, Pull with strength of youthful heroes,
Will she join again her kindred, Or with weakness of the aged?”
At her brother’s landing-places, From the stern arose a gray-beard,
In her father’s humble dwelling.’” And he answered thus Kullervo:
“Pull with all thy youthful vigor;
Shouldst thou row with magic power,
The Kalevala
Thou couldst not destroy this vessel, Shouldst thou use but little power
Couldst not row this boat to fragments.” In the frighting of the salmon!”
Thereupon the youth, Kullervo, Kullerwoinen does as bidden,
Rowed with all his youthful vigor, Scares the salmon with the forces
With the mighty force of magic, Of his mighty arms and shoulders,
Rowed the bindings from the vessel, With the strength of youth and magic,
Ribs of juniper he shattered, Stirs the water thick with black-earth,
Rowed the aspen-oars to pieces. Beats the scare-net into pieces,
When the aged sire, Kalervo, Into pulp he beats the salmon.
Saw the work of Kullerwoinen, When the aged sire, Kalervo,
He addressed his son as follows: Saw the work of Kullerwoinen,
“Dost not understand the rowing; To his son these words he uttered:
Thou hast burst the bands asunder, “Dost not understand this labor,
Bands of juniper and willow, For this work thou art not suited,
Rowed my aspen-boat to pieces; Canst not scare the perch and salmon
To the fish-nets drive the salmon, To the fish-nets of thy father;
This, perchance, will suit thee better.” Thou hast ruined all my fish-nets,
Thereupon the son, Kullervo, Torn my scare-net into tatters,
Hastened to his work as bidden, Beaten into pulp the whiting,
Drove the salmon to the fish-nets, Torn my net-props into fragments,
Spake in innocence as follows: Beaten into bits my wedges.
“Shall I with my youthful vigor Leave the fishing to another;
Scare the salmon to the fish-nets, See if thou canst pay the tribute,
Or with little magic vigor Pay my yearly contribution;
Shall I drive them to their capture? See if thou canst better travel,
Spake the master of the fish-nets: On the way show better judgment!”
“That would be but work of women, Thereupon the son, Kullervo,
The Kalevala
Hapless youth in purple vestments, Thereupon the youth, Kullervo,
In his magic shoes of deer-skin, Snapped his whip above the courser;
In his locks of golden color, Fleet as wind he gallops homeward,
Sallied forth to pay the taxes, Dashes down along the highway;
Pay the tribute for his people. With the roar of falling waters,
When the youth had paid the tribute, Gallops onward, onward, onward,
Paid the yearly contribution, O’er the broad-back of the ocean,
He returned to join the snow-sledge, O’er the icy plains of Lapland.
Took his place upon the cross-bench, Comes a winsome maid to meet him,
Snapped his whip above the courser, Golden-haired, and wearing snow-shoes,
And began his journey homeward; On the far outstretching ice-plains;
Rattled on along the highway, Quick the wizard checks his racer,
Measured as he galloped onward Charmingly accosts the maiden,
Wainamoinen’s hills and valleys, Chanting carefully these measures:
And his fields in cultivation. “Come, thou beauty, to my snow-sledge,
Came a golden maid to meet him, Hither come, and rest, and linger!
On her snow-shoes came a virgin, Tauntingly the maiden answered:
O’er the hills of Wainamoinen, “Take Tuoni to thy snow-sledge,
O’er his cultivated lowlands. At thy side let Manalainen
Quick the wizard-son, Kullervo, Sit with thee, and rest, and linger!”
Checked the motion of his racer, Quick the wizard, Kullerwoinen,
Thus addressed the charming maiden Struck his fiery, prancing racer,
“Come, sweet maiden, to my snow-sledge, With the birch-whip of his father.
In my fur-robes rest and linger!” Like the lightning flew the fleet-foot,
As she ran, the maiden answered: Galloped on the highway homeward;
“Let the Death-maid sit beside thee, O’er the hills the snow-sledge bounded,
Rest and linger in thy fur-robes!” And the coming mountains trembled.
The Kalevala
Kullerwoinen, wild magician, Quickly in his furs enwrapped her;
Measures, on his journey homeward, And the tin-adorned made answer,
Northland’s far-extending borders, These the accents of the maiden:
And the fertile plains of Pohya. “Loose me from thy magic power,
Comes a beauteous maid to meet him, Let me leave at once thy presence,
With a tin-pin on her bosom, Lest I speak in wicked accents,
On the heather of Pohyola, Lest I say the prayer of evil;
O’er the Pohya-hills and moorlands. Free me now as I command thee,
Quick the wizard son, Kullervo, Or I’ll tear thy sledge to pieces,
Holds the bridle of his courser, Throw these fur-robes to the north-winds.”
Charmingly intones these measures: Straightway wicked Kullerwoinen,
“Come, fair maiden, to my snow-sledge, Evil wizard and magician,
In these fur-robes rest, and linger; Opens all his treasure-boxes,
Eat with me the golden apples, Shows the maiden gold and silver,
Eat the hazel-nut in joyance, Shows her silken wraps of beauty,
Drink with me the beer delicious, Silken hose with golden borders,
Eat the dainties that I give thee.” Golden belts with silver buckles,
This the answer of the maiden Jewelry that dims the vision,
With the tin-pin on her bosom: Blunts the conscience of the virgin.
“I have scorn to give thy snow-sledge, Silver leads one to destruction,
Scorn for thee, thou wicked wizard; Gold entices from uprightness.
Cold is it beneath thy fur-robes, Kullerwoinen, wicked wizard,
And thy sledge is chill and cheerless. Flatters lovingly the maiden,
Thereupon the youth, Kullervo, One hand on the reins of leather,
Wicked wizard of the Northland, One upon the maiden’s shoulder;
Drew the maiden to his snow-sledge, Thus they journey through the evening,
Drew her to a seat beside him, Pass the night in merry-making.
The Kalevala
When the day-star led the morning, Went for raspberries to uplands,
When the second day was dawning, Gathered strawberries on mountains,
Then the maid addressed Kullervo, Gathered one day then a second;
Questioned thus the wicked wizard: But, alas! upon the third day,
“Of what tribe art thou descended, Could not find the pathway homeward,
Of what race thy hero-father? Forestward the highways led me,
Tell thy lineage and kindred.‘ All the footpaths, to the woodlands.
This, Kullervo’s truthful answer: Long I sat in bitter weeping,
“Am not from a mighty nation, Wept one day and then a second,
Not the greatest, nor the smallest, Wept the third from morn till even.
But my lineage is worthy: Then I climbed a. lofty mountain,
Am Kalervo’s son of folly, There I called in wailing accents,
Am a child of contradictions, And the woodlands gave this answer,
Hapless son of cold misfortune. Thus the distant hills re-echoed:
Tell me of thy race of heroes, ‘Call no longer, foolish virgin,
Tell thine origin and kindred.” All thy calls and tears are useless;
This the answer of the maiden: There is none to give thee answer,
“Came not from a race primeval, Far away, thy home and people.’
Not the largest, nor the smallest, “On the third and on the fourth days,
But my lineage is worthy; On the fifth, and sixth, and seventh,
Am Kalervo’s wretched daughter, Constantly I sought to perish;
Am his long-lost child of error, But in vain were all my efforts,
Am a maid of contradictions, Could not die upon the mountains.
Hapless daughter of misfortune. If this wretched maid had perished,
“When a child I lived in plenty In the summer of the third year,
In the dwellings of my mother; She had fed earth’s vegetation,
To the woods I went for berries, She had blossomed as a flower,
The Kalevala
Knowing neither pain nor sorrow.” Sickness sinned in passing by me,
Scarcely had the maiden spoken, Should have slain me in the cradle,
When she bounded from the snow-sledge, When the seventh day had ended!”
Rushed upon the rolling river, Thereupon he slips the collar
To the cataract’s commotion, Of his prancing royal racer,
To the fiery stream and whirlpool. Mounts the silver-headed fleet-foot,
Thus Kullervo’s lovely sister Gallops like the lightning homeward;
Hastened to her own destruction, Gallops only for a moment,
To her death by fire and water, When he halts his foaming courser
Found her peace in Tuonela, At the cabin of his father.
In the sacred stream of Mana. In the court-yard stood the mother,
Then the wicked Kullerwoinen Thus the wicked son addressed her:
Fell to weeping, sorely troubled, “Faithful mother, fond and tender,
Wailed, and wept, and heavy-hearted, Hadst thou slain me when an infant,
Spake these words in bitter sorrow: Smoked my life out in the chamber,
“Woe is me, my life hard-fated! In a winding-sheet hadst thrown me
I have slain my virgin-sister, To the cataract and whirlpool,
Shamed the daughter of my mother; In the fire hadst set my cradle,
Woe to thee, my ancient father! After seven nights had ended,
Woe to thee, my gray-haired mother! Worthy would have been thy service.
Wherefore was I born and nurtured, Had the village-maidens asked thee:
Why this hapless child’s existence? ‘Where is now the little cradle,
Better fate to Kullerwoinen, Wherefore is the bath-room empty?’
Had he never seen the daylight, This had been a worthy answer:
Or, if born, had never thriven ‘I have burned the wizard’s cradle,
In these mournful days of evil! Cast the infant to the fire-dogs;
Death has failed to do his duty, In the bath-room corn is sprouting,
The Kalevala
From the barley malt is brewing.’” Where thy sinful son may perish;
Thereupon the aged mother Tell me, all-forgiving mother,
Asks her wizard-son these questions: Where to end my life of trouble;
“What has happened to my hero, Let me stop the black-wolf’s howling,
What new fate has overcome thee? Let me satisfy the hunger
Comest thou as from Tuoni, Of the vicious bear of Northland;
From the castles of Manala?” Let the shark or hungry sea-dog
This, Kullervo’s frank confession: Be my dwelling-place hereafter!”
“Infamous the tale I bring thee, This the answer of the mother:
My confession is dishonor: “Do not go to stop the howling
On the way I met a maiden, Of the hungry wolf of Northland;
Met thy long-lost, wayward daughter, Do not haste to still the black-bear
Did not recognize my sister, Growling in his forest-cavern;
Fatal was the sin committed! Let not shark, nor vicious sea-dog
When the taxes had been settled, Be thy dwelling-place hereafter.
When the tribute had been gathered, Spacious are the rooms of Suomi,
Came a matchless maid to meet me, Limitless the Sawa-borders,
Whom I witless led to sorrow, Large enough to hide transgression,
This my mother’s long-lost daughter. Man’s misdeeds to hide for ages,
When she saw in me her brother, With his sins and evil actions.
Quick she bounded from the snow-sledge, Six long years man’s sins lie hidden
Hastened to the roaring waters, In the border-land of Kalma,
To the cataract’s commotion, Even nine for magic heroes,
To the fiery stream and whirlpool, Till the years bring consolation,
Hastened to her full destruction. Till they quiet all his mourning.”
“Now, alas! must I determine, Kullerwoinen, wicked wizard,
Now must find a spot befitting, Answers thus his grieving mother:
The Kalevala
“I can never hide from sorrow, RUNE XXXVI
Cannot flee from my misconduct;
To the jaws of death I hasten, KULLERWOINEN’S VICT
To the open courts of Kalma,
To the hunting-grounds of Pohya, Kullerwionen, wicked wizard,
To the battle-fields of heroes. In his purple-colored stockings,
Untamoinen still is living, Now prepares himself for battle;
Unmolested roams the wicked, Grinds a long time on his broadsword,
Unavenged my father’s grievance, Sharpens well his trusty weapon,
Unavenged my mother’s tortures, And his mother speaks as follows:
Unavenged the wrongs I suffer!” “Do not go, my son beloved,
Go not to the wars, my hero,
Struggle not with hostile spearsmen.
Whoso goes to war for nothing,
Undertakes a fearful combat,
Undertakes a fatal issue;
Those that war without a reason
Will be slaughtered for their folly,
Easy prey to bows and arrows.
Go thou with a goat to battle,
Shouldst thou go to fight the roebuck,
’Tis the goat that will be vanquished,
And the roebuck will be slaughtered;
With a frog thou’lt journey homeward,
Victor, with but little honor!”
These the words of Kullerwoinen:
“Shall not journey through the marshes,
The Kalevala
Shall not sink upon the heather, Sleep his life away unheeded!”
On the home-land of the raven, “Who will comfort then thy sister,
Where the eagles scream at day-break. Who will aid her in affliction?”
When I yield my life forever, “Let her sink beneath the waters,
Bravely will I fall in battle, Perish in the crystal fountain,
Fall upon the field of glory, Where the brook flows on in beauty,
Beautiful to die in armor, Like a silver serpent winding
And the clang and clash of armies, Through the valley to the ocean!”
Beautiful the strife for conquest! Thereupon the wild Kullervo
Thus Kullervo soon will hasten Hastens from his home to battle,
To the kingdom of Tuoni, To his father speaks, departing:
To the realm of the departed, “Fare thou well, my aged father!
Undeformed by wasting sickness.” Wilt thou weep for me, thy hero,
This the answer of the mother: When thou hearest I have perished,
“If thou diest in the conflict, Fallen from thy tribe forever,
Who will stay to guard thy father, Perished on the field of glory?”
Who will give thy sire protection?” Thus the father speaks in answer:
These the words of Kullerwoinen: “I shall never mourn the downfall
“Let him die upon the court-yard, Of my evil son, Kullervo;
Sleeping out his life of sorrow!” Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
“Who then will protect thy mother, Shall beget a second hero
Be her shield in times of danger?” That will do me better service,
“Let her die within the stable, That will think and act in wisdom.”
Or the cabin where she lingers!” Kullerwoinen gives this answer:
“Who then will defend thy brother, “Neither shall I mourn thy downfall,
Give him aid in times of trouble?” Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
“Let him die within the forest, I shall make a second father,
The Kalevala
Make the head from loam and sandstone, Surely thou wilt mourn my downfall,
Make the eyes from swamp-land berries, Weep for me when I have perished,
Make the beard from withered sea-grass, When thou hearest I have fallen
Make the feet from roots of willow, In the heat and din of battle,
Make the form from birch-wood fungus.” Fallen from thy race forever!”
Thereupon the youth, Kullervo, But the sister makes this answer:
To his brother speaks as follows: “Never shall I mourn thy downfall,
“Fare thou well, beloved brother! Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
Wilt thou weep for me departed, I shall seek a second brother,
Shouldst thou hear that I have perished,