maid of magic metals; Throws the harness on his courser, Binds him to his sledge of birch-wood, Seats himself upon the cross-bench, Snaps the whip above the racer, Thinking once again to journey To the mansions of Pohyola, There to woo a bride in honor, Second daughter of the Northland. On he journeyed, restless, northward, Journeyed one day, then a second, So the third from morn till evening, When he reached a Northland-village On the plains of Sariola. Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Standing in the open court-yard, Spied the hero, Ilmarinen, Thus addressed the metal-worker: "Tell me how my child is living, How the Bride of Beauty prospers, As a daughter to thy mother." Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Head bent down and brow dejected, Thus addressed the Northland hostess: "O, thou dame of Sariola, Do not ask me of thy daughter, Since, alas I in Tuonela Sleeps the Maiden of the Rainbow, Sleeps in death the Bride, of Beauty, Underneath the fragrant heather, In the kingdom of Manala. Come I for a second daughter, For the fairest of thy virgins. Beauteous hostess of Pohyola, Give to me thy youngest maiden, For my former wife's compartments, For the chambers of her sister." Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Spake these words to Ilmarinen: "Foolish was the Northland-hostess, When she gave her fairest virgin, In the bloom of youth and beauty To the blacksmith of Wainola, Only to be led to Mana, Like a lambkin to the slaughter! I shall never give my daughter, Shall not give my youngest maiden Bride of thine to be hereafter, Life-companion at thy fireside. Sooner would I give the fair one To the cataract and whirlpool, To the river of Manala, To the waters of Tuoni!" Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Drew away his head, disdainful, Shook his sable locks in anger, Entered to the inner court-room, Where the maiden sat in waiting, Spake these measures to the daughter: "Come with me, thou bright-eyed maiden, To the cottage where thy sister Lived and lingered in contentment, Baked for me the toothsome biscuit, Brewed for me the beer of barley, Kept my dwelling-place in order." On the floor a babe was lying, Thus he sang to Ilmarinen: "Uninvited, leave this mansion, Go, thou stranger, from this dwelling; Once before thou camest hither, Only bringing pain and trouble, Filling all our hearts with sorrow. Fairest daughter of my mother, Do not give this suitor welcome, Look not on his eyes with pleasure, Nor admire his form and features. In his mouth are only wolf-teeth, Cunning fox-claws in his mittens, In his shoes art only bear-claws, In his belt a hungry dagger; Weapons these of blood and murder, Only worn by the unworthy." Then the daughter spake as follows To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen: "Follow thee this maid will never, Never heed unworthy suitors; Thou hast slain the Bride of Beauty, Once the Maiden of the Rainbow, Thou wouldst also slay her sister. I deserve a better suitor, Wish a truer, nobler husband, Wish to ride in richer sledges, Have a better home-protection; Never will I sweep the cottage And the coal-place of a blacksmith." Then the hero, Ilmarinen, The eternal metal-artist, Turned his head away, disdainful, Shook his sable locks in anger, Quickly seized the trembling maiden, Held her in his grasp of iron, Hastened from the court of Louhi To his sledge upon the highway. In his sleigh he seats the virgin, Snugly wraps her in his far-robes, Snaps his whip above the racer, Gallops on the high-road homeward; With one hand the reins be tightens, With the other holds the maiden. Speaks the virgin-daughter, weeping: We have reached the lowland-berries, Here the herbs of water-borders; Leave me here to sink and perish As a child of cold misfortune. Wicked Ilmarinen, Iisten! If thou dost not quickly free me, I will break thy sledge to pieces, Throw thy fur-robes to the north-winds." Ilmarinen makes this answer: "When the blacksmith builds his snow-sledge, All the parts are hooped with iron; Therefore will the beauteous maiden Never beat my sledge to fragments." Then the silver-tinselled daughter Wept and wailed in bitter accents, Wrung her hands in desperation, Spake again to Ilmarinen: "If thou dost not quickly free me, I shall change to ocean-salmon, Be a whiting of the waters." "Thou wilt never thus escape me, As a pike I'll fleetly follow." Then the maiden of Pohyola Wept and wailed in bitter accents, Wrung her hands in desperation, Spake again to Ilmarinen; "If thou dost not quickly free me, I shall hasten to the forest, Mid the rocks become an ermine!" "Thou wilt never thus escape me, As a serpent I will follow." Then the beauty of the Northland, Wailed and wept in bitter accents, Wrung her hands in desperation, Spake once more to Ilmarinen: "Surely, if thou dost not free me, As a lark I'll fly the ether, Hide myself within the storm-clouds." "Neither wilt thou thus escape me, As an eagle I will follow." They had gone but little distance, When the courser shied and halted, Frighted at some passing object; And the maiden looked in wonder, In the snow beheld some foot-prints, Spake these words to Ilmarinen: Who has run across our highway?" "'Tis the timid hare", he answered. Thereupon the stolen maiden Sobbed, and moaned, in deeps of sorrow, Heavy-hearted, spake these measures: "Woe is me, ill-fated virgin! Happier far my life hereafter, If the hare I could but follow To his burrow in the woodlands! Crook-leg's fur to me is finer Than the robes of Ilmarinen." Ilmarinen, the magician, Tossed his head in full resentment, Galloped on the highway homeward, Travelled but a little distance, When again his courser halted, Frighted at some passing stranger. Quick the maiden looked and wondered, In the snow beheld some foot-prints, Spake these measures to the blacksmith: Who has crossed our snowy pathway?" "'Tis a fox", replied the minstrel. Thereupon the beauteous virgin Moaned again in depths of anguish, Sang these accents, heavy-hearted: "Woe is me, ill-fated maiden! Happier far my life hereafter, With the cunning fox to wander, Than with this ill-mannered suitor; Reynard's fur to me is finer Than the robes of Ilmarinen." Thereupon the metal-worker Shut his lips in sore displeasure, Hastened on the highway homeward; Travelled but a little distance, When again his courser halted. Quick the maiden looked in wonder, in the snow beheld some foot-prints, Spake these words to the magician: Who again has crossed our pathway?" "'Tis the wolf", said Ilmarinen. Thereupon the fated daughter Fell again to bitter weeping, And Intoned these words of sorrow: "Woe is me, a hapless maiden! Happier far my life hereafter, Brighter far would be my future, If these tracks I could but follow; On the wolf the hair is finer Than the furs of Ilmarinen, Faithless suitor of the Northland." Then the minstrel of Wainola Closed his lips again in anger, Shook his sable locks, resentful, Snapped the whip above the racer, And the steed flew onward swiftly, O'er the way to Kalevala, To the village of the blacksmith. Sad and weary from his journey, Ilmarinen, home-returning, Fell upon his couch in slumber, And the maiden laughed derision. In the morning, slowly waking, Head confused, and locks dishevelled, Spake the wizard, words as follow: "Shall I set myself to singing Magic songs and incantations? Shall I now enchant this maiden To a black-wolf on the mountains, To a salmon of the ocean? Shall not send her to the woodlands, All the forest would be frighted; Shall not send her to the waters, All the fish would flee in terror; This my sword shall drink her life-blood, End her reign of scorn and hatred." Quick the sword feels his intention, Quick divines his evil purpose, Speaks these words to Ilmarinen: "Was not born to drink the life-blood Of a maiden pure and lovely, Of a fair but helpless virgin." Thereupon the magic minstrel, Filled with rage, began his singing; Sang the very rocks asunder, Till the distant hills re-echoed; Sang the maiden to a sea-gull, Croaking from the ocean-ledges, Calling from the ocean-islands, Screeching on the sandy sea-coast, Flying to the winds opposing. When his conjuring had ended, Ilmarinen joined his snow-sledge, Whipped his steed upon a gallop, Hastened to his ancient smithy, To his home in Kalevala. Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Comes to meet him on the highway, Speaks these words to the magician: "Ilmarinen, worthy brother, Wherefore comest heavy-hearted From the dismal Sariola? Does Pohyola live and prosper? Spake the minstrel, Ilmarinen: "Why should not Pohyola prosper? There the Sampo grinds unceasing, Noisy rocks the lid in colors; Grinds one day the flour for eating, Grinds the second flour for selling, Grinds the third day flour for keeping; Thus it is Pohyola prospers. While the Sampo is in Northland, There is plowing, there is sowing, There is growth of every virtue, There is welfare never-ending." Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "Ilmarinen, artist-brother, Where then is the Northland-daughter, Far renowned and beauteous maiden, For whose hand thou hast been absent? These the words of Ilmarinen: "I have changed the hateful virgin To a sea-gull on the ocean; Now she calls above the waters, Screeches from the ocean-islands; On the rocks she calls and murmurs Vainly calling for a suitor."
Wainamoinen, old and faithful, Spake these words to Ilmarinen: "O thou wonder-working brother, Let us go to Sariola, There to gain the magic Sampo, There to see the lid in colors." Ilmarinen gave this answer: "Hard indeed to seize the Sampo, Neither can the lid be captured From the never-pleasant Northland, From the dismal Sariola. Louhi took away the Sampo, Carried off the lid in colors To the stone-mount of Pohyola; Hid it in the copper mountain, Where nine locks secure the treasure. Many young roots sprout around it, Grow nine fathoms deep in sand-earth, One great root beneath the mountain, In the cataract a second, And a third beneath the castle Built upon the mount of ages." Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "Brother mine, and wonder-worker, Let us go to Sariola, That we may secure the Sampo; Let us build a goodly vessel, Bring the Sampo to Wainola, Bring away the lid in colors, From the stone-berg of Pohyola, From the copper-bearing mountain. Where the miracle lies anchored." Ilmarinen thus made answer: "By the land the way is safer, Lempo travels on the ocean, Ghastly Death upon his shoulder; On the sea the waves will drift us, And the storm-winds wreck our vessel; Then our bands must do the rowing, And our feet must steer us homeward." Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "Safe indeed by land to journey, But the way is rough and trying, Long the road and full of turnings; Lovely is the ship on ocean, Beautiful to ride the billows, Journey easy o'er the waters, Sailing in a trusty vessel; Should the West-wind cross our pathway, Will the South-wind drive us northward. Be that as it may, my brother, Since thou dost not love the water, By the land then let us journey. Forge me now the sword of battle, Forge for me the mighty fire-sword, That I may destroy the wild-beasts, Frighten all the Northland people, As we journey for the Sampo To the cold and dismal village, To the never-pleasant Northland, To the dismal Sariola." Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, The eternal forger-artist, Laid the metals in the furnace, In the fire laid steel and iron, In the hot-coals, gold and silver, Rightful measure of the metals; Set the workmen at the furnace, Lustily they plied the bellows. Like the wax the iron melted, Like the dough the hard steel softened, Like the water ran the silver, And the liquid gold flowed after. Then the minstrel, Ilmarinen, The eternal wonder-forger, Looks within his magic furnace, On the border of his oven, There beholds the fire-sword forming, Sees the blade with golden handle; Takes the weapon from the furnace, Lays it on his heavy anvil For the falling of the hammer; Forges well the blade of magic, Well the heavy sword be tempers, Ornaments the hero-weapon With the finest gold and silver. Wainamoinen, the magician, Comes to view the blade of conquest, Lifts admiringly the fire-sword, Then these words the hero utters: "Does the weapon match the soldier, Does the handle suit the bearer? Yea, the blade and hilt are molded To the wishes of the minstrel." On the sword-point gleams the moonlight, On the blade the sun is shining, On the hilt the bright stars twinkle, On the edge a horse is neighing, On the handle plays a kitten, On the sheath a dog is barking. Wainamoinen wields his fire-sword, Tests it on the iron-mountain, And these words the hero utters: "With this broadsword I could quickly Cleave in twain the mount of Pohya, Cut the flinty rocks asunder." Spake the blacksmith, Ilmarinen: "Wherewith shall I guard from danger, How protect myself from evil, From the ills by land and water? Shall I wear an iron armor, Belt of steel around my body? Stronger is a man in armor, Safer in a mail of copper." Now the time has come to journey To the never-pleasant Northland; Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, And his brother, Ilmarinen, Hasten to the field and forest, Searching for their fiery coursers, In each shining belt a bridle, With a harness on their shoulders. In the woods they find a race; In the glen a steed of battle, Ready for his master's service. Wainamoinen, old and trusty, And the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Throw the harness on the courser, Hitch him to the sledge of conquest, Hasten on their journey Northward; Drive along the broad-sea's margin Till they bear some one lamenting On the strand hear something wailing Near the landing-place of vessels. Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Speaks these words in wonder, guessing, "This must be some maiden weeping, Some fair daughter thus lamenting; Let us journey somewhat nearer, To discover whence this wailing." Drew they nearer, nearer, nearer, Hoping thus to find a maiden Weeping on the sandy sea-shore. It was not a maiden weeping, But a vessel, sad, and lonely, Waiting on the shore and wailing. Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "Why art weeping, goodly vessel, What the cause of thy lamenting? Art thou mourning for thy row-locks, Is thy rigging ill-adjusted? Dost thou weep since thou art anchored On the shore in times of trouble?" Thus the war-ship spake in answer: "To the waters would this vessel Haste upon the well-tarred rollers, As a happy maiden journeys To the cottage of her husband. I, alas! a goodly vessel, Weep because I lie at anchor, Weep and wail because no hero Sets me free upon the waters, Free to ride the rolling billows. It was said when I was fashioned, Often sung when I was building, That this bark should be for battle, Should become a mighty war-ship, Carry in my hull great treasures, Priceless goods across the ocean. Never have I sailed to conquest, Never have I carried booty; Other vessels not as worthy To the wars are ever sailing, Sailing to the songs of battle. Three times in the summer season Come they home with treasures laden, In their hulls bring gold and silver; I, alas! a worthy vessel, Many months have lain at anchor, I, a war-ship well constructed, Am decaying in the harbor, Never having sailed to conquest; Worms are gnawing at my vitals, In my hull their dwelling-places, And ill-omened birds of heaven Build their nests within my rigging; Frogs and lizards of the forest Play about my oars and rudder; Three times better for this vessel Were he but a valley birch-tree, Or an aspen on the heather, With the squirrels in his branches, And the dogs beneath them barking!" Wainamoinen, old and faithfull Thus addressed the ship at anchor: "Weep no more, thou goodly vessel, Man-of-war, no longer murmur; Thou shalt sail to Sariola, Sing the war-songs of the Northland, Sail with us to deadly combat. Wert thou built by the Creator, Thou canst sail the roughest waters, Sidewise journey o'er the ocean; Dost not need the hand to touch thee, Dost not need the foot to turn thee, Needing nothing to propel thee." Thus the weeping boat made answer: "Cannot sail without assistance, Neither can my brother-vessels Sail unaided o'er the waters, Sail across the waves undriven." Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "Should I lead thee to the broad-sea, Wilt thou journey north unaided, Sail without the help of rowers, Sail without the aid of south-winds, Sail without the b elm to guide thee? Thus the wailing ship replying: Cannot sail without assistance, Neither can my brother-vessels Sail without the aid of rowers, Sail without the help of south-winds, Nor without the helm to guide them." These the words of Wainamoinen: "Wilt thou run with aid of oarsmen When the south-winds give assistance, Guided by a skillful pilot?" This the answer of the war-ship: "Quickly can I course these waters, When my oars are manned by rowers, When my sails are filled with south-winds, All my goodly brother-vessels Sail the ocean with assistance, When the master holds the rudder." Then the ancient Wainamoinen Left the racer on the sea-side, Tied him to the sacred birch-tree, Hung the harness on a willow, Rolled the vessel to the waters, Sang the ship upon the broad-sea, Asked the boat this simple question: "O thou vessel, well-appearing From the mighty oak constructed, Art thou strong to carry treasures As in view thou art commanding? Thus the goodly ship made answer: "Strong am I to carry treasures, In my hull a golden cargo; I can bear a hundred oarsmen, And of warriors a thousand." Wainamoinen, the magician, Then began his wondrous singing. On one side the magic vessel, Sang he youth with golden virtues, Bearded youth with strength of heroes, Sang them into mail of copper. On the other side the vessel, Sang he silver-tinselled maidens, Girded them with belts of copper, Golden rings upon their fingers. Sings again the great magician, Fills the magic ship with heroes, Ancient heroes, brave and mighty; Sings them into narrow limits, Since the young men came before them. At the helm himself be seated, Near the last beam of the vessel, Steered his goodly boat in joyance, Thus addressed the willing war-ship: "Glide upon the trackless waters, Sail away, my ship of magic, Sail across the waves before thee, Speed thou like a dancing bubble, Like a flower upon the billows!" Then the ancient Wainamoinen Set the young men to the rowing, Let the maidens sit in waiting. Eagerly the youthful heroes Bend the oars and try the row-locks, But the distance is not lessened. Then the minstrel, Wainamoinen, Set the maidens to the rowing, Let the young men rest in waiting. Eagerly the merry maidens Bend the aspen-oars in rowing, But the distance is not lessened. Then the master, Wainamoinen, Set the old men to the rowing, Let the youth remain in waiting. Lustily the aged heroes Bend and try the oars of aspen, But the distance is not lessened. Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Grasped the oars with master-magic, And the boat leaped o'er the surges, Swiftly sped across the billows; Far and wide the oars resounded, Quickly was the distance lessened. With a rush and roar of waters Ilmarinen sped his vessel, Benches, ribs, and row-locks creaking, Oars of aspen far resounding; Flap the sails like wings of moor-cocks, And the prow dips like a white-swan; In the rear it croaks like ravens, Loud the oars and rigging rattle. Straightway ancient Wainamoinen Sitting by the bending rudder, Turns his magic vessel landward, To a jutting promontory, Where appears a Northland-village. On the point stands Lemminkainen, Kaukomieli, black magician, Ahti, wizard of Wainola, Wishing for the fish of Pohya, Weeping for his fated dwelling, For his perilous adventures, Hard at work upon a vessel, On the sail-yards of a fish-boat, Near the hunger-point and island, Near the village-home deserted. Good the ears of the magician, Good the wizard's eyes for seeing; Casts his vision to the South-east, Turns his eyes upon the sunset, Sees afar a wondrous rainbow, Farther on, a cloudlet hanging; But the bow was a deception, And the cloudlet a delusion; 'Tis a vessel swiftly sailing, 'Tis a war-ship flying northward, O'er the blue-back of the broad-sea, On the far-extending waters, At the helm the master standing, At the oars a mighty hero. Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: "Do not know this wondrous vessel, Not this well-constructed war-ship, Coming from the distant Suomi, Rowing for the hostile Pohya." Thereupon wild Lemminkainen Called aloud in tones of thunder O'er the waters to the vessel; Made the distant hills re-echo With the music of his calling: "Whence this vessel on the waters, Whose the war-ship sailing hither?" Spake the master of the vessel To the reckless Lemminkainen: "Who art thou from fen or forest, Senseless wizard from the woodlands, That thou dost not know this vessel, Magic war-ship of Wainola? Dost not know him at the rudder, Nor the hero at the row-locks?" Spake the wizard, Lemminkainen: "Well I know the helm-director, And I recognize the rower; Wainamoinen, old and trusty, At the helm directs the vessel; Ilmarinen does the rowing. Whither is the vessel sailing, Whither wandering, my heroes? Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "We are sailing to the Northland, There to gain the magic Sampo, There to get the lid in colors, From the stone-berg of Pohyola, From the copper-bearing mountain." Spake the evil Lemminkainen: "O, thou good, old Wainamoinen, Take me with thee to Pohyola, Make me third of magic heroes, Since thou goest for the Sampo, Goest for the lid in colors; I shall prove a valiant soldier, When thy wisdom calls for fighting; I am skilled in arts of warfare!" Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Gave assent to Ahti's wishes; Thereupon wild Lemminkainen Hastened to Wainola's war-ship, Bringing floats of aspen-timber, To the ships of Wainamoinen. Thus the hero of the Northland Speaks to reckless Lemminkainen: "There is aspen on my vessel, Aspen-floats in great abundance, And the boat is heavy-laden. Wherefore dost thou bring the aspen To the vessel of Wainola?" Lemminkainen gave this answer: "Not through caution sinks a vessel, Nor a hay-stack by its proppings; Seas abound in hidden dangers, Heavy storms arise and threaten Fell destruction to the sailor That would brave the angry billows." Spake the good, old Wainamoinen: "Therefore is this warlike vessel Built of trusty steel and copper, Trimmed and bound in toughest iron, That the winds may, not destroy it, May not harm my ship of magic."
BIRTH OF THE HARP.
Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Onward steered his goodly vessel, From the isle of Lemminkainen, From the borders of the village; Steered his war-ship through the waters, Sang it o'er the ocean-billows, Joyful steered it to Pohyola. On the banks were maidens standing, And the daughters spake these measures: "List the music on the waters! What this wonderful rejoicing, What this singing on the billows? Far more beautiful this singing, This rejoicing on the waters, Than our ears have heard in Northland." Wainamoinen, the magician, Steered his wonder-vessel onward, Steered one day along the sea-shore, Steered the next through shallow waters, Steered the third day through the rivers. Then the reckless Lemminkainen Suddenly some words remembered, He had heard along the fire-stream Near the cataract and whirlpool, And these words the hero uttered: "Cease, O cataract, thy roaring, Cease, O waterfall, thy foaming! Maidens of the foam and current, Sitting on the rocks in water, On the stone-blocks in the river, Take the foam and white-capped billows In your arms and still their anger, That our ships may pass in safety! Aged dame beneath the eddy, Thou that livest in the sea-foam, Swimming, rise above the waters, Lift thy head above the whirlpool, Gather well the foam and billows In thine arms and still their fury, That our ship may pass in safety! Ye, O rocks beneath the current, Underneath the angry waters, Lower well your heads of danger, Sink below our magic vessel, That our ship may pass in safety! "Should this prayer prove inefficient, Kimmo, hero son of Kammo, Bore an outlet with thine auger, Cut a channel for this vessel Through the rocks beneath the waters, That our ship may pass in safety! Should all this prove unavailing, Hostess of the running water, Change to moss these rocky ledges, Change this vessel to an air-bag, That between these rocks and billows It may float, and pass in safety! "Virgin of the sacred whirlpool, Thou whose home is in the river, Spin from flax of strongest fiber, Spin a thread of crimson color, Draw it gently through the water, That the thread our ship may follow, And our vessel pass in safety! Goddess of the helm, thou daughter Of the ocean-winds and sea-foam, Take thy helm endowed with mercy, Guide our vessel through these dangers, Hasten through these floods enchanted, Passing by the house of envy, By the gates of the enchanters, That our ship may pass in safety! "Should this prayer prove inefficient, Ukko, Ruler of creation, . Guide our vessel with thy fire-sword, Guide it with thy blade of lightning, Through the dangers of these rapids, Through the cataract and whirlpool, That our ship may pass in safety!" Thereupon old Wainamoinen Steered his boat through winds and waters, Through the rocky chinks and channels, Through the surges wildly tossing; And the vessel passed in safety Through the dangers of the current, Through the sacred stream and whirlpool. As it gains the open waters, Gains at length the broad-lake's bosom, Suddenly its motion ceases, On some object firmly anchored. Thereupon young Ilmarinen, With the aid of Lemminkainen, Plunges in the lake the rudder, Struggles with the aid of magic; But he cannot move the vessel, Cannot free it from its moorings. Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Thus addresses his companion: "O thou hero, Lemminkainen, Stoop and look beneath this war-ship, See on what this boat is anchored, See on what our craft is banging, In this broad expanse of water, In the broad-lake's deepest soundings, If upon some rock or tree-snag, Or upon some other hindrance." Thereupon wild Lemminkainen Looked beneath the magic vessel, Peering through the crystal waters, Spake and these the words be uttered: "Does not rest upon a sand-bar, Nor upon a rock, nor tree-snag, But upon the back and shoulders Of the mighty pike of Northland, On the fin-bones of the monster." Wainamoinen, old and trusty, Spake these words to Lemminkainen: "Many things we find in water, Rocks, and trees, and fish, and sea-duck; Are we on the pike's broad shoulders, On the fin-bones of the monster, Pierce the waters with thy broadsword, Cut the monster into pieces." Thereupon wild Lemminkainen, Reckless wizard, filled with courage, Pulls his broadsword from his girdle, From its sheath, the bone-divider, Strikes with might of magic hero, Headlong falls into the water; And the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Lifts the wizard from the river, Speaks these words to dripping Ahti: "Accidents will come to mortals, Accidents will come to heroes, By the hundreds, by the thousands, Even to the gods above us!" Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Drew his broadsword from his girdle, From its sheath his blade of honor, Tried to slay the pike of Northland With the weapon of his forging; But he broke his sword in pieces, Did not harm the water-monster. Wainamoinen, old and trusty, Thus addresses his companions "Poor apologies for heroes! When occasion calls for victors, When we need some great magician, Need a hero filled with valor, Then the arm that comes is feeble, And the mind insane or witless, Strength and reason gone to others!" Straightway ancient Wainamoinen, Miracle of strength and wisdom, Draws his fire-sword from his girdle, Wields the mighty blade of magic, Strikes the waters as the lightning, Strikes the pike beneath the vessel, And impales, the mighty monster; Raises him above the surface, In the air the pike he circles, Cuts the monster into pieces; To the water falls the pike-tail, To the ship the head and body; Easily the ship moves onward. Wainamoinen, old and faithful, To the shore directs his vessel, On the strand the boat he anchors, Looks in every nook and corner For the fragments of the monster; Gathers well the parts together, Speaks these words to those about him: "Let the oldest of the heroes Slice for me the pike of Northland, Slice the fish to fitting morsels." Answered all the men and heroes, And the maidens spake, assenting: "Worthier the catcher's fingers, Wainamoinen's hands are sacred!" Thereupon the wise magician Drew a fish-knife from his girdle, Sliced the pike to fitting morsels, Spake again to those about him: "Let the youngest of the maidens Cook for me the pike of Northland, Set for me a goodly dinner!" All the maidens quick responded, All the virgins vied in cooking; Neither could outdo the other, Thus the pike was rendered toothsome. Feasted all the old magicians, Feasted all the younger heroes, Feasted all the men and maidens; On the rocks were left the fish-bones, Only relics of their feasting. Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Looked upon the pile of fragments, On the fish-bones looked and pondered, Spake these words in meditation: "Wondrous things might be constructed From the relies of this monster, Were they in the blacksmith's furnace, In the hands of the magician, In the hands of Ilmarinen." Spake the blacksmith of Wainola: "Nothing fine can be constructed From the bones and teeth of fishes By the skillful forger-artist, By the hands of the magician." These the words of Wainamoinen: "Something wondrous might be builded From these jaws, and teeth, and fish-bones; Might a magic harp be fashioned, Could an artist be discovered That could shape them to my wishes." But he found no fish-bone artist That could shape the harp of joyance From the relies of their feasting, From the jaw-bones of the monster, To the will of the magician. Thereupon wise Wainamoinen Set himself at work designing; Quick became a fish-bone artist, Made a harp of wondrous beauty, Lasting joy and pride of Suomi. Whence the harp's enchanting arches? From the jaw-bones of the monster. Whence the necessary harp-pins? From the pike-teeth firmly fastened. Whence the sweetly singing harp-strings? From the tail of Lempo's stallion. Thus was born the harp of magic From the mighty pike of Northland, From the relies from the feasting Of the heroes of Wainola. All the young men came to view it, All the aged with their children, Mothers with their beauteous daughters, Maidens with their golden tresses; All the people on the islands Came to view the harp of joyance, Pride and beauty of the Northland. Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Let the aged try the harp-strings, Gave it to the young magicians, To the dames and to their daughters, To the maidens, silver-tinselled, To the singers of Wainola. When the young men touched the harp-strings, Then arose the notes of discord; When the aged played upon it, Dissonance their only music. Spake the wizard, Lemminkainen: "O ye witless, worthless children, O ye senseless, useless maidens, O ye wisdom-lacking heroes, Cannot play this harp of magic, Cannot touch the notes of concord! Give to me this thing or beauty, Hither bring the harp of fish-bones, Let me try my skillful fingers." Lemminkainen touched the harp-strings, Carefully the strings adjusted, Turned the harp in all directions, Fingered all the strings in sequence, Played the instrument of wonder, But it did not speak in concord, Did not sing the notes of joyance. Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "There is none among these maidens, None among these youthful heroes, None among the old magicians That can play the harp of magic, Touch the notes of joy and pleasure. Let us take the harp to Pohya, There to find a skillful player That can touch the strings in concord." Then they sailed to Sariola, To Pohyola took the wonder, There to find the harp a master. All the heroes of Pohyola, All the boys and all the maidens, Ancient dames, and bearded minstrels, Vainly touched the harp of beauty. Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Took the harp-strings in her fingers; All the youth of Sariola, Youth of every tribe and station, Vainly touched the harp of fish-bone; Could not find the notes of joyance, Dissonance their only pleasure; Shrieked the harp-strings like the whirlwinds, All the tones wore harsh and frightful. In a corner slept a blind man, Lay a gray-beard on the oven, Rousing from his couch of slumber, Murmured thus within his corner: "Cease at once this wretched playing, Make an end of all this discord; It benumbs mine ears for hearing, Racks my brain, despoils my senses, Robs me of the sweets of sleeping. If the harp of Suomi's people True delight cannot engender, Cannot bring the notes of pleasure, Cannot sing to sleep the aged, Cast the thing upon the waters, Sink it in the deeps of ocean, Take it back to Kalevala, To the home of him that made it, To the bands of its creator." Thereupon the harp made answer, To the blind man sang these measures: "Shall not fall upon the waters, Shall not sink within the ocean; I will play for my creator, Sing in melody and concord In the fingers of my master." Carefully the harp was carried To the artist that had made it To the hands of its creator, To the feet of Wainamoinen.
Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, The eternal wisdom-singer, Laves his hands to snowy whiteness, Sits upon the rock of joyance, On the stone of song be settles, On the mount of silver clearness, On the summit, golden colored; Takes the harp by him created, In his hands the harp of fish-bone, With his knee the arch supporting, Takes the harp-strings in his fingers, Speaks these words to those assembled: "Hither come, ye Northland people, Come and listen to my playing, To the harp's entrancing measures, To my songs of joy and gladness." Then the singer of Wainola Took the harp of his creation, Quick adjusting, sweetly tuning, Deftly plied his skillful fingers To the strings that he had fashioned. Now was gladness rolled on gladness, And the harmony of pleasure Echoed from the hills and mountains: Added singing to his playing, Out of joy did joy come welling, Now resounded marvelous music, All of Northland stopped and listened. Every creature in the forest, All the beasts that haunt the woodlands, On their nimble feet came bounding, Came to listen to his playing, Came to hear his songs of joyance. Leaped the squirrels from the branches, Merrily from birch to aspen; Climbed the ermines on the fences, O'er the plains the elk-deer bounded, And the lynxes purred with pleasure; Wolves awoke in far-off swamp-lands, Bounded o'er the marsh and heather, And the bear his den deserted, Left his lair within the pine-wood, Settled by a fence to listen, Leaned against the listening gate-posts, But the gate-posts yield beneath him; Now he climbs the fir-tree branches That he may enjoy and wonder, Climbs and listens to the music Of the harp of Wainamoinen. Tapiola's wisest senior, Metsola's most noble landlord, And of Tapio, the people, Young and aged, men and maidens, Flew like red-deer up the mountains There to listen to the playing, To the harp, of Wainamoinen. Tapiola's wisest mistress, Hostess of the glen and forest, Robed herself in blue and scarlet, Bound her limbs with silken ribbons, Sat upon the woodland summit, On the branches of a birch-tree, There to listen to the playing, To the high-born hero's harping, To the songs of Wainamoinen. All the birds that fly in mid-air Fell like snow-flakes from the heavens, Flew to hear the minstrel's playing, Hear the harp of Wainamoinen. Eagles in their lofty eyrie Heard the songs of the enchanter; Swift they left their unfledged young ones, Flew and perched around the minstrel. From the heights the hawks descended, From the, clouds down swooped the falcon, Ducks arose from inland waters, Swans came gliding from the marshes; Tiny finches, green and golden, Flew in flocks that darkened sunlight, Came in myriads to listen ' Perched upon the head and shoulders Of the charming Wainamoinen, Sweetly singing to the playing Of the ancient bard and minstrel. And the daughters of the welkin, Nature's well-beloved daughters, Listened all in rapt attention; Some were seated on the rainbow, Some upon the crimson cloudlets, Some upon the dome of heaven. In their hands the Moon's fair daughters Held their weaving-combs of silver; In their hands the Sun's sweet maidens Grasped the handles of their distaffs, Weaving with their golden shuttles, Spinning from their silver spindles, On the red rims of the cloudlets, On the bow of many colors. As they hear the minstrel playing, Hear the harp of Wainamoinen, Quick they drop their combs of silver, Drop the spindles from their fingers, And the golden threads are broken, Broken are the threads of silver. All the fish in Suomi-waters Heard the songs of the magician, Came on flying fins to listen To the harp of Wainamoinen. Came the trout with graceful motions, Water-dogs with awkward movements, From the water-cliffs the salmon, From the sea-caves came the whiting, From the deeper caves the bill-fish; Came the pike from beds of sea-fern, Little fish with eyes of scarlet, Leaning on the reeds and rushes, With their heads above the surface; Came to bear the harp of joyance, Hear the songs of the enchanter. Ahto, king of all the waters, Ancient king with beard of sea-grass, Raised his head above the billows, In a boat of water-lilies, Glided to the coast in silence, Listened to the wondrous singing, To the harp of Wainamoinen. These the words the sea-king uttered: "Never have I heard such playing, Never heard such strains of music, Never since the sea was fashioned, As the songs of this enchanter, This sweet singer, Wainamoinen." Satko's daughters from the blue-deep, Sisters of the wave-washed ledges, On the colored strands were sitting, Smoothing out their sea-green tresses With the combs of molten silver, With their silver-handled brushes, Brushes forged with golden bristles. When they hear the magic playing, Hear the harp of Wainamoinen, Fall their brushes on the billows, Fall their combs with silver handles To the bottom of the waters, Unadorned their heads remaining, And uncombed their sea-green tresses. Came the hostess of the waters, Ancient hostess robed in flowers, Rising from her deep sea-castle, Swimming to the shore in wonder, Listened to the minstrel's playing, To the harp of Wainamoinen. As the magic tones re-echoed, As the singer's song out-circled, Sank the hostess into slumber, On the rocks of many colors, On her watery couch of joyance, Deep the sleep that settled o'er her. Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Played one day and then a second, Played the third from morn till even. There was neither man nor hero, Neither ancient dame, nor maiden, Not in Metsola a daughter, Whom he did not touch to weeping; Wept the young, and wept the aged, Wept the mothers, wept the daughters Wept the warriors and heroes At the music of his playing, At the songs of the magician. Wainamoinen's tears came flowing, Welling from the master's eyelids, Pearly tear-drops coursing downward, Larger than the whortle-berries, Finer than the pearls of ocean, Smoother than the eggs of moor-hens, Brighter than the eyes of swallows. From his eves the tear-drops started, Flowed adown his furrowed visage, Falling from his beard in streamlets, Trickled on his heaving bosom, Streaming o'er his golden girdle, Coursing to his garment's border, Then beneath his shoes of ermine, Flowing on, and flowing ever, Part to earth for her possession, Part to water for her portion. As the tear-drops fall and mingle, Form they streamlets from the eyelids Of the minstrel, Wainamoinen, To the blue-mere's sandy margin, To the deeps of crystal waters, Lost among the reeds and rushes. Spake at last the ancient minstrel: "Is there one in all this concourse, One in all this vast assembly That can gather up my tear-drops From the deep, pellucid waters?" Thus the younger heroes answered, Answered thus the bearded seniors: "There is none in all this concourse, None in all this vast assembly, That can gather up thy tear-drops From the deep, pellucid waters." Spake again wise Wainamoinen: "He that gathers up my tear-drops From the deeps of crystal waters Shall receive a beauteous plumage." Came a raven, flying, croaking, And the minstrel thus addressed him: "Bring, O raven, bring my tear-drops From the crystal lake's abysses; I will give thee beauteous plumage, Recompense for golden service." But the raven failed his master. Came a duck upon the waters, And the hero thus addressed him: "Bring O water-bird, my tear-drops; Often thou dost dive the deep-sea, Sink thy bill upon the bottom Of the waters thou dost travel; Dive again my tears to gather, I will give thee beauteous plumage, Recompense for golden service." Thereupon the duck departed, Hither, thither, swam, and circled, Dived beneath the foam and billow, Gathered Wainamoinen's tear-drops From the blue-sea's pebbly bottom, From the deep, pellucid waters; Brought them to the great magician, Beautifully formed and colored, Glistening in the silver sunshine, Glimmering in the golden moonlight, Many-colored as the rainbow, Fitting ornaments for heroes, Jewels for the maids of beauty. This the origin of sea-pearls, And the blue-duck's beauteous plumage.
CAPTURE OF THE SAMPO.
Wainamoinen, old and truthful, With the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, With the reckless son of Lempo, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, On the sea's smooth plain departed, On the far-extending waters, To the village, cold and dreary, To the never-pleasant Northland, Where the heroes fall and perish. Ilmarinen led the rowers On one side the magic war-ship, And the reckless Lemminkainen Led the rowers on the other. Wainamoinen, old and trusty, Laid his hand upon the rudder, Steered his vessel o'er the waters, Through the foam and angry billows To Pohyola's place of landing, To the cylinders of copper, Where the war-ships lie at anchor. When they had arrived at Pohya, When their journey they had ended, On the land they rolled their vessel, On the copper-banded rollers, Straightway journeyed to the village, Hastened to the halls and hamlets Of the dismal Sariola. Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Thus addressed the stranger-heroes: Magic heroes of Wainola, What the tidings ye are bringing To the people of my village?" Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel. Gave this answer to the hostess: "All the hosts of Kalevala Are inquiring for the Sampo, Asking for the lid in colors; Hither have these heroes journeyed To divide the priceless treasure. Thus the hostess spake in answer: "No one would divide a partridge, Nor a squirrel, with three heroes; Wonderful the magic Sampo, Plenty does it bring to Northland; And the colored lid re-echoes From the copper-bearing mountains, From the stone-berg of Pohyola, To the joy of its possessors." Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Thus addressed the ancient Louhi: "If thou wilt not share the Sampo, Give to us an equal portion, We will take it to Wainola, With its lid of many colors, Take by force the hope of Pohya." Thereupon the Northland hostess Angry grew and sighed for vengeance; Called her people into council, Called the hosts of Sariola, Heroes with their trusted broadswords, To destroy old Wainamoinen With his people of the Northland. Wainamoinen, wise and ancient, Hastened to his harp of fish-bone, And began his magic playing; All of Pohya stopped and listened, Every warrior was silenced By the notes of the magician; Peaceful-minded grew the soldiers, All the maidens danced with pleasure, While the heroes fell to weeping, And the young men looked in wonder. Wainamoinen plays unceasing, Plays the maidens into slumber, Plays to sleep the young and aged, All of Northland sleeps and listens. Wise and wondrous Wainamoinen, The eternal bard and singer, Searches in his pouch of leather, Draws therefrom his slumber-arrows, Locks the eyelids of the sleepers, Of the heroes of Pohyola, Sings and charms to deeper slumber All the warriors of the Northland. Then the heroes of Wainola Hasten to obtain the Sampo, To procure the lid in colors From the copper-bearing mountains. From behind nine locks of copper, In the stone-berg of Pohyola. Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Then began his wondrous singing, Sang in gentle tones of magic, At the entrance to the mountain, At the border of the stronghold; Trembled all the rocky portals, And the iron-banded pillars Fell and crumbled at his singing. Ilmarinen, magic blacksmith, Well anointed all the hinges, All the bars and locks anointed, And the bolts flew back by magic, All the gates unlocked in silence, Opened for the great magician. Spake the minstrel Wainamoinen: "O thou daring Lemminkainen, Friend of mine in times of trouble, Enter thou within the mountain, Bring away the wondrous Sampo, Bring away the lid in colors!" Quick the reckless Lemminkainen, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Ever ready for a venture, Hastens to the mountain-caverns, There to find the famous Sampo, There to get the lid in colors; Strides along with conscious footsteps, Thus himself he vainly praises: "Great am I and full of glory, Wonder-hero, son of Ukko, I will bring away the Sampo, Turn about the lid in colors, Turn it on its magic hinges!" Lemminkainen finds the wonder, Finds the Sampo in the mountain, Labors long with strength heroic, Tugs with might and main to turn it; Motionless remains the treasure, Deeper sinks the lid in colors, For the roots have grown about it, Grown nine fathoms deep in sand-earth. Lived a mighty ox in Northland, Powerful in bone and sinew, Beautiful in form and color, Horns the length of seven fathoms, Mouth and eyes of wondrous beauty. Lemminkainen, reckless hero, Harnesses the ox in pasture, Takes the master-plow of Pohya, Plows the roots about the Sampo, Plows around the lid in colors, And the sacred Sampo loosens, Falls the colored lid in silence. Straightway ancient Wainamoinen Brings the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Brings the daring Lemminkainen, Lastly brings the magic Sampo, From the stone-berg of Pohyola, From the copper-bearing mountain, Hides it in his waiting vessel, In the war-ship of Wainola. Wainamoinen called his people, Called his crew of men and maidens, Called together all his heroes, Rolled his vessel to the water, Into billowy deeps and dangers. Spake the blacksmith, Ilmarinen: "Whither shall we take the Sampo, Whither take the lid in colors, From the stone-berg of Pohyola, From this evil spot of Northland?" Wainamoinen, wise and faithful, Gave this answer to the question: "Thither shall we take the Sampo, Thither take the lid in colors, To the fog-point on the waters, To the island forest-covered; There the treasure may be hidden, May remain in peace for ages, Free from trouble, free from danger, Where the sword will not molest it." Then the minstrel, Wainamoinen, Joyful, left the Pohya borders, Homeward sailed, and happy-hearted, Spake these measures on departing: "Turn, O man-of-war, from Pohya, Turn thy back upon the strangers, Turn thou to my distant country! Rock, O winds, my magic vessel, Homeward drive my ship, O billows, Lend the rowers your assistance, Give the oarsmen easy labor, On this vast expanse of waters! Give me of thine oars, O Ahto, Lend thine aid, O King of sea-waves, Guide as with thy helm in safety, Lay thy hand upon the rudder, And direct our war-ship homeward; Let the hooks of metal rattle O'er the surging of the billows, On the white-capped waves' commotion." Then the master, Wainamoinen, Guided home his willing vessel; And the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, With the lively Lemminkainen, Led the mighty host of rowers, And the war-ship glided homeward O'er the sea's unruffled surface, O'er the mighty waste of waters. Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: "Once before I rode these billows, There were viands for the heroes, There was singing for the maidens; But to-day I hear no singing, Hear no songs upon the vessel, Hear no music on the waters." Wainamoinen, wise and ancient, Answered thus wild Lemminkainen: "Let none sing upon the blue-sea, On the waters, no rejoicing; Singing would prolong our journey, Songs disturb the host of rowers; Soon will die the silver sunlight, Darkness soon will overtake us, On this evil waste of waters, On this blue-sea, smooth and level." These the words of Lemminkainen: "Time will fly on equal pinions Whether we have songs or silence; Soon will disappear the daylight, And the night as quickly follow, Whether we be sad or joyous." Wainamoinen, the magician, O'er the blue backs of the billows, Steered one day, and then a second, Steered the third from morn till even, When the wizard, Lemminkainen, Once again addressed the master: "Why wilt thou, O famous minstrel, Sing no longer for thy people, Since the Sampo thou hast captured, Captured too the lid in colors?" These the words of Wainamoinen: "'Tis not well to sing too early! Time enough for songs of joyance When we see our home-land mansions, When our journeyings have ended!" Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: "At the helm, if I were sitting, I would sing at morn and evening, Though my voice has little sweetness; Since thy songs are not forthcoming Listen to my wondrous singing!" Thereupon wild Lemminkainen, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Raised his voice above the waters, O'er the sea his song resounded; But his measures were discordant, And his notes were harsh and frightful. Sang the wizard, Lemminkainen, Screeched the reckless Kaukomieli, Till the mighty war-ship trembled; Far and wide was heard his singing, Heard his songs upon the waters, Heard within the seventh village, Heard beyond the seven oceans. Sat a crane within the rushes, On a hillock clothed in verdure, And the crane his toes was counting; Suddenly he heard the singing Of the wizard, Lemminkainen; And the bird was justly frightened At the songs of the magician. Then with horrid voice, and screeching, Flew the crane across the broad-sea To the lakes of Sariola, O'er Pohyola's hills and hamlets, Screeching, screaming, over Northland, Till the people of the darkness Were awakened from their slumbers. Louhi hastens to her hurdles, Hastens to her droves of cattle, Hastens also to her garners, Counts her herds, inspects her store-house; Undisturbed she finds her treasures. Quick she journeys to the entrance To the copper-bearing mountain, Speaks these words as she approaches: "Woe is me, my life hard-fated, Woe to Louhi, broken-hearted! Here the tracks of the destroyers, All my locks and bolts are broken By the hands of cruel strangers! Broken are my iron hinges, Open stand the mountain-portals Leading to the Northland-treasure. Has Pohyola lost her Sampo?" Then she hastened to the chambers Where the Sampo had been grinding; But she found the chambers empty, Lid and Sampo gone to others, From the stone-berg of Pohyola, From behind nine locks of copper, In the copper-bearing mountain. Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Angry grew and cried for vengeance; As she found her fame departing, Found her-strength fast disappearing, Thus addressed the sea-fog virgin: "Daughter of the morning-vapors, Sift thy fogs from distant cloud-land, Sift the thick air from the heavens, Sift thy vapors from the ether, On the blue-back of the broad-sea, On the far extending waters, That the ancient Wainamoinen, Friend of ocean-wave and billow, May not baffle his pursuers! "Should this prayer prove unavailing, Iku-Turso, son of Old-age, Raise thy head above the billows, And destroy Wainola's heroes, Sink them to thy deep sea-castles, There devour them at thy pleasure; Bring thou back the golden Sampo To the people of Pohyola! "Should these words be ineffective, Ukko, mightiest of rulers, Golden king beyond the welkin, Sitting on a throne of silver, Fill thy skies with heavy storm-clouds, Call thy fleetest winds about thee, Send them o'er the seven broad-seas, There to find the fleeing vessel, That the ancient Wainamoinen May not baffle his pursuers!" Quick the virgin of the vapors Breathed a fog upon the waters, Made it settle on the war-ship Of the, heroes of the Northland, Held the minstrel, Wainamoinen, Anchored in the fog and darkness; Bound him one day, then a second, Then a third till dawn of morning, In the middle of the blue-sea, Whence he could not flee in safety From the wrath of his pursuers. When the third night had departed, Resting in the sea, and helpless, Wainamoinen spake as follows, "Not a man of strength and courage, Not the weakest of the heroes, Who upon the sea will suffer, Sink and perish in the vapors, Perish in the fog and darkness!" With his sword he smote the billows, From his magic blade flowed honey; Quick the vapor breaks, and rises, Leaves the waters clear for rowing; Far extend the sky and waters, Large the ring of the horizon, And the troubled sea enlarges. Time had journeyed little distance, Scarce a moment had passed over, When they heard a mighty roaring, Heard a roaring and a rushing Near the border of the vessel, Where the foam was shooting skyward O'er the boat of Wainamoinen. Straightway youthful Ilmarinen Sank in gravest apprehension, From his cheeks the blood departed; Pulled his cap down o'er his forehead, Shook and trembled with emotion. Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Casts his eyes upon the waters Near the broad rim of his war-ship; There perceives an ocean-wonder With his head above the sea-foam. Wainamoinen, brave and mighty, Seizes quick the water-monster, Lifts him by his ears and questions: "Iku-Turso, son of Old-age, Why art rising from the blue-sea? Wherefore dost thou leave thy castle, Show thyself to mighty heroes, To the heroes of Wainola?" Iku-Turso, son of Old-age, Ocean monster, manifested Neither pleasure, nor displeasure, Was not in the least affrighted, Did not give the hero answer. Whereupon the ancient minstrel, Asked the second time the monster, Urgently inquired a third time: "Iku-Turso, son of Old-age, Why art rising from the waters, Wherefore dost thou leave the blue-sea? Iku-Turso gave this answer: For this cause I left my castle Underneath the rolling billows: Came I here with the intention To destroy the Kalew-heroes, And return the magic Sampo To the people of Pohyola. If thou wilt restore my freedom, Spare my life, from pain and sorrow, I will quick retrace my journey, Nevermore to show my visage To the people of Wainola, Never while the moonlight glimmers On the hills of Kalevala!" Then the singer, Wainamoinen, Freed the monster, Iku-Turso, Sent him to his deep sea-castles, Spake these words to him departing: "Iku-Turso, son of Old-age, Nevermore arise from ocean, Nevermore let Northland-heroes See thy face above the waters I Nevermore has Iku-Turso Risen to the ocean-level; Never since have Northland sailors Seen the head of this sea-monster. Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Onward rowed his goodly vessel, Journeyed but a little distance, Scarce a moment had passed over, When the King of all creators, Mighty Ukko of the heavens, Made the winds blow full of power, Made the storms arise in fury, Made them rage upon the waters. From the west the winds came roaring, From the north-east came in anger, Winds came howling from the south-west, Came the winds from all directions, In their fury, rolling, roaring, Tearing branches from the lindens, Hurling needles from the pine-trees, Blowing flowers from the heather, Grasses blowing from the meadow, Tearing up the very bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea. Roared the winds and lashed the waters Till the waves were white with fury; Tossed the war-ship high in ether, Tossed away the harp of fish-bone, Magic harp of Wainamoinen, To the joy of King Wellamo, To the pleasure of his people, To the happiness of Ahto, Ahto, rising from his caverns, On the floods beheld his people Carry off the harp of magic To their home below the billows. Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Heavy-hearted, spake these measures: "I have lost what I created, I have lost the harp of joyance; Now my strength has gone to others, All my pleasure too departed, All my hope and comfort vanished! Nevermore the harp of fish-bone Will enchant the hosts of Suomi!" Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Sorrow-laden, spake as follows: "Woe is me, my life hard-fated! Would that I had never journeyed On these waters filled with dangers, On the rolling waste before me, In this war-ship false and feeble. Winds and storms have I encountered, Wretched days of toil and trouble, I have witnessed in the Northland; Never have I met such dangers On the land, nor on the ocean, Never in my hero life-time!" Then the ancient Wainamoinen Spake and these the words he uttered: "Weep no more, my goodly comrades, In my bark let no one murmur; Weeping cannot mend disaster, Tears can never still misfortune, Mourning cannot save from evil. "Sea, command thy warring forces, Bid thy children cease their fury! Ahto, still thy surging billows! Sink, Wellamo, to thy slumber, That our boat may move in safety. Rise, ye storm-winds, to your kingdoms, Lift your heads above the waters, To the regions of your kindred, To your people and dominions; Cut the trees within the forest, Bend the lindens of the valley, Let our vessel sail in safety!" Then the reckless Lemminkainen, Handsome wizard, Kaukomieli, Spake these words in supplication: "Come, O eagle, Turyalander, Bring three feathers from thy pinions, Three, O raven, three, O eagle, To protect this bark from evil!" All the heroes of Wainola Call their forces to the rescue, And repair the sinking vessel. By the aid of master-magic, Wainamoinen saved his war-ship, Saved his people from destruction, Well repaired his ship to battle With the roughest seas of Northland; Steers his mighty boat in safety Through the perils of the whirlpool, Through the watery deeps and dangers.
THE SAMPO LOST IN THE SEA.
Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Called her many tribes together, Gave the archers bows and arrows, Gave her brave men spears and broadswords; Fitted out her mightiest war-ship, In the vessel placed her army, With their swords a hundred heroes, With their bows a thousand archers; Quick erected masts and sail-yards, On the masts her sails of linen Hanging like the clouds of heaven, Like the white-clouds in the ether, Sailed across the seas of Pohya, To re-take the wondrous Sampo From the heroes of Wainola. Wainamoinen, old and faithful, Sailed across the deep, blue waters, Spake these words to Lemminkainen: "O thou daring son of Lempo, Best of all my friends and heroes, Mount the highest of the topmasts, Look before you into ether, Look behind you at the heavens, Well examine the horizon, Whether clear or filled with trouble." Climbed the daring Lemminkainen, Ever ready for a venture, To the highest of the mastheads; Looked he eastward, also westward, Looked he northward, also southward, Then addressed wise Wainamoinen. "Clear the sky appears before me, But behind a dark horizon; In the north a cloud is rising, And a longer cloud at north-west." Wainamoinen thus made answer: Art thou speaking truth or fiction? I am fearful that the war-ships Of Pohyola are pursuing; Look again with keener vision." Thereupon wild Lemminkainen Looked again and spake as follows: "In the distance seems a forest, In the south appears an island, Aspen-groves with falcons laden, Alders laden with the wood-grouse." Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "Surely thou art speaking falsehood; 'Tis no forest in the distance, Neither aspen, birch, nor alders, Laden with the grouse, or falcon; I am fearful that Pohyola Follows with her magic armies; Look again with keener vision." Then the daring Lemminkainen Looked the third time from the topmast, Spake and these the words be uttered: "From the north a boat pursues us, Driven by a hundred rowers, Carrying a thousand heroes!" Knew at last old Wainamoinen, Knew the truth of his inquiry, Thus addressed his fleeing people: "Row, O blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Row, O mighty Lemminkainen, Row, all ye my noble oarsmen, That our boat may skim the waters, May escape from our pursuers!" Rowed the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Rowed the mighty Lemminkainen, With them rowed the other heroes; Heavily groaned the helm of birch-wood, Loudly rattled all the row-locks; All the vessel shook and trembled, Like a cataract it thundered As it plowed the waste of waters, Tossing sea-foam to the heavens. Strongly rowed Wainola's forces, Strongly were their arms united; But the distance did not widen Twixt the boat and their pursuers. Quick the hero, Wainamoinen, Saw misfortune hanging over, Saw destruction in the distance Heavy-hearted, long reflecting, Trouble-laden, spake as follows: "Only is there one salvation, Know one miracle for safety!" Then he grasped his box of tinder, From the box he took a flint-stone, Of the tinder took some fragments, Cast the fragments on the waters, Spake these words of master-magic. "Let from these arise a mountain From the bottom of the deep-sea, Let a rock arise in water, That the war-ship of Pohyola, With her thousand men and heroes, May be wrecked upon the summit, By the aid of surging billows." Instantly a reef arises, In the sea springs up a mountain, Eastward, westward, through the waters. Came the war-ship of the Northland, Through the floods the boat came steering, Sailed against the mountain-ledges, Fastened on the rocks in water, Wrecked upon the Mount of Magic. In the deep-sea fell the topmasts, Fell the sails upon the billows, Carried by the winds and waters O'er the waves of toil and trouble. Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Tries to free her sinking vessel, Tries to rescue from destruction; But she cannot raise the war-ship, Firmly fixed upon the mountain; Shattered are the ribs and rudder, Ruined is the ship of Pohya. Then the hostess of the Northland, Much disheartened, spake as follows: "Where the force, in earth or heaven, That will help a soul in trouble?" Quick she changes form and feature, Makes herself another body; Takes five sharpened scythes of iron, Also takes five goodly sickles, Shapes them into eagle-talons; Takes the body of the vessel, Makes the frame-work of an eagle; Takes the vessel's ribs and flooring Makes them into wings and breastplate; For the tail she shapes the rudder; In the wings she plants a thousand Seniors with their bows and arrows; Sets a thousand magic heroes In the body, armed with broadswords In the tail a hundred archers, With their deadly spears and cross-bows, Thus the bird is hero-feathered. Quick she spreads her mighty pinions, Rises as a monster-eagle, Flies on high, and soars, and circles With one wing she sweeps the heavens, While the other sweeps the waters. Spake the hero's ocean-mother: "O thou ancient Wainamoinen, Turn thy vision to the north-east, Cast thine eyes upon the sunrise, Look behind thy fleeing vessel, See the eagle of misfortune!" Wainamoinen turned as bidden, Turned his vision to the north-east, Cast his eyes upon the sunrise, There beheld the Northland-hostess, Wicked witch of Sariola, Flying as a monster-eagle, Swooping on his mighty war-ship; Flies and perches on the topmast, On the sail-yards firmly settles; Nearly overturns the vessel Of the heroes of Wainola, Underneath the weight of envy. Then the hero, Ilmarinen, Turned to Ukko as his refuge, Thus entreated his Creator: "Ukko, thou O God in heaven, Thou Creator full of mercy, Guard us from impending danger, That thy children may not perish, May not meet with fell destruction. Hither bring thy magic fire-cloak, That thy people, thus protected, May resist Pohyola's forces, Well may fight against the hostess Of the dismal Sariola, May not fall before her weapons, May not in the deep-sea perish!" Then the ancient Wainamoinen Thus addressed the ancient Louhi: "O thou hostess of Pohyola, Wilt thou now divide the Sampo, On the fog-point in the water, On the island forest-covered? Thus the Northland hostess answered: "I will not divide the Sampo, Not with thee, thou evil wizard, Not with wicked Wainamoinen!" Quick the mighty eagle, Louhi, Swoops upon the lid in colors, Grasps the Sampo in her talons; But the daring Lemminkainen Straightway draws his blade of battle, Draws his broadsword from his girdle, Cleaves the talons of the eagle, One toe only is uninjured, Speaks these magic words of conquest: "Down, ye spears, and down, ye broadswords, Down, ye thousand witless heroes, Down, ye feathered hosts of Louhi!" Spake the hostess of Pohyola, Calling, screeching, from the sail-yards: "O thou faithless Lemminkainen, Wicked wizard, Kaukomieli, To deceive thy trusting mother! Thou didst give to her thy promise, Not to go to war for ages, Not to war for sixty summers, Though desire for gold impels thee, Though thou wishest gold and silver! Wainamoinen, ancient hero, The eternal wisdom-singer, Thinking he had met destruction, Snatched the rudder from the waters, With it smote the monster-eagle, Smote the, eagle's iron talons, Smote her countless feathered heroes. From her breast her hosts descended, Spearmen fell upon the billows, From the wings descend a thousand, From the tail, a hundred archers. Swoops again the bird of Pohya To the bottom of the vessel, Like the hawk from birch or aspen, Like the falcon from the linden; Grasps the Sampo with one talon, Drags the treasure to the waters, Drops the magic lid in colors From the red rim of the war-ship To the bottom of the deep-sea, Where the Sampo breaks in pieces, Scatters through the Alue-waters, In the mighty deeps for ages, To increase the ocean's treasures, Treasures for the hosts of Ahto. Nevermore will there be wanting Richness for the Ahto-nation, Never while the moonlight brightens On the waters of the Northland. Many fragments of the Sampo Floated on the purple waters, On the waters deep and boundless, Rocked by winds and waves of Suomi, Carried by the rolling billows To the sea-sides of Wainola. Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Saw the fragments of the treasure Floating on the billows landward, Fragments of the lid in colors, Much rejoicing, spake as follows: "Thence will come the sprouting seed-grain, The beginning of good fortune, The unending of resources, From the plowing and the sowing, From the glimmer of the moonlight, From the splendor of the sunshine, On the fertile plains of Suomi, On the meads of Kalevala." Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Thus addressed old Wainamoinen: "Know I other mighty measures, Know I means that are efficient, And against thy golden moonlight, And the splendor of thy sunshine, And thy plowing, and thy reaping; In the rocks I'll sink the moonbeams, Hide the sun within the mountain, Let the frost destroy thy sowings, Freeze the crops on all thy corn-fields; Iron-hail I'll send from heaven, On the richness of thine acres, On the barley of thy planting; I will drive the bear from forests, Send thee Otso from the thickets, That he may destroy thy cattle, May annihilate thy sheep-folds, May destroy thy steeds at pasture. I will send thee nine diseases, Each more fatal than the other, That will sicken all thy people, Make thy children sink and perish, Nevermore to visit Northland, Never while the moonlight glimmers On the plains of Kalevala!" Thus the ancient bard made answer: "Not a Laplander can banish Wainamoinen and his people; Never can a Turyalander Drive my tribes from Kalevala; God alone has power to banish, God controls the fate of nations, Never trusts the arms of evil, Never gives His strength to others. As I trust in my Creator, Call upon benignant Ukko, He will guard my crops from danger Drive the Frost-fiend from my corn-fields, Drive great Otso to his caverns. "Wicked Louhi of Pohyola, Thou canst banish evil-doers, In the rocks canst hide the wicked, In thy mountains lock the guilty; Thou canst never hide the moonlight, Never bide the silver sunshine, In the caverns of thy kingdom. Freeze the crops of thine own planting, Freeze the barley of thy sowing, Send thine iron-hail from heaven To destroy the Lapland corn-fields, To annihilate thy people, To destroy the hosts of Pohya; Send great Otso from the heather, Send the sharp-tooth from the forest, To the fields of Sariola, On the herds and flocks of Louhi!" Thus the wicked hostess answered: "All my power has departed, All my strength has gone to others, All my hope is in the deep-sea; In the waters lies my Sampo!" Then the hostess of Pohyola Home departed, weeping, wailing, To the land of cold and darkness; Only took some worthless fragments Of the Sampo to her people; Carried she the lid to Pohya, In the blue-sea left the handle; Hence the poverty of Northland, And the famines of Pohyola. Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Hastened to the broad-sea's margin, Stepped upon the shore in joyance; Found there fragments of the Sampo, Fragments of the lid in colors, On the borders of the waters, On the curving sands and sea-sides; Gathered well the Sampo-relics From the waters near the fog-point, On the island forest-covered. Spake the ancient Wainamoinen, Spake these words in supplication: "Grant, O Ukko, our Creator, Grant to us, thy needful children, Peace, and happiness, and plenty, That our lives may be successful, That our days may end in honor, On the vales and hills of Suomi, On the prairies of Wainola, In the homes of Kalevala! "Ukko, wise and good Creator, Ukko, God of love and mercy, Shelter and protect thy people From the evil-minded heroes, From the wiles of wicked women, That our country's plagues may leave us, That thy faithful tribes may prosper. Be our friend and strong protector, Be the helper of thy children, In the night a roof above them, In the day a shield around them, That the sunshine may not vanish, That the moonlight may not lessen, That the killing frosts may leave them, And destructive hail pass over. Build a metal wall around us, From the valleys to the heavens; Build of stone a mighty fortress On the borders of Wainola, Where thy people live and labor, As their dwelling-place forever, Sure protection to thy people, Where the wicked may not enter, Nor the thieves break through and pilfer, Never while the moonlight glistens, And the Sun brings golden blessings To the plains of Kalevala."
BIRTH OF THE SECOND HARP.
Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Long reflecting, sang these measures: "It is now the time befitting To awaken joy and gladness, Time for me to touch the harp-strings, Time to sing the songs primeval, In these spacious halls and mansions, In these homes of Kalevala; But, alas! my harp lies hidden, Sunk upon the deep-sea's bottom, To the salmon's hiding-places, To the dwellings of the whiting, To the people of Wellamo, Where the Northland-pike assemble. Nevermore will I regain it, Ahto never will return it, Joy and music gone forever! "O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Forge for me a rake of iron, Thickly set the teeth of copper, Many fathoms long the handle; Make a rake to search the waters, Search the broad-sea to the bottom, Rake the weeds and reeds together, Rake them to the curving sea-shore, That I may regain my treasure, May regain my harp of fish-bow From the whiting's place of resting, From the caverns of the salmon, From the castles of Wellamo." Thereupon young Ilmarinen, The eternal metal-worker, Forges well a rake of iron, Teeth in length a hundred fathoms, And a thousand long the handle, Thickly sets the teeth of copper. Straightway ancient Wainamoinen Takes the rake of magic metals, Travels but a little distance, To the cylinders of oak-wood, To the copper-banded rollers, Where be finds two ships awaiting, One was new, the other ancient. Wainamoinen, old and faithful, Thus addressed the new-made vessel: "Go, thou boat of master-magic, Hasten to the willing waters, Speed away upon the blue-sea, And without the hand to move thee; Let my will impel thee seaward." Quick the boat rolled to the billows On the cylinders of oak-wood, Quick descended to the waters, Willingly obeyed his master. Wainamoinen, the magician, Then began to rake the sea-beds, Raked up all the water-flowers, Bits of broken reeds and rushes, Deep-sea shells and colored pebbles, Did not find his harp of fish-bone, Lost forever to Wainola! Thereupon the ancient minstrel Left the waters, homeward hastened, Cap pulled clown upon his forehead, Sang this song with sorrow laden: "Nevermore shall I awaken With my harp-strings, joy and gladness! Nevermore will Wainamoinen Charm the people of the Northland With the harp of his creation! Nevermore my songs will echo O'er the hills of Kalevala!" Thereupon the ancient singer Went lamenting through the forest, Wandered through the sighing pine-woods, Heard the wailing of a birch-tree, Heard a juniper complaining; Drawing nearer, waits and listens, Thus the birch-tree he addresses: "Wherefore, brother, art thou weeping, Merry birch enrobed in silver, Silver-leaved and silver-tasselled? Art thou shedding tears of sorrow, Since thou art not led to battle, Not enforced to war with wizards? Wisely does the birch make answer: "This the language of the many, Others speak as thou, unjustly, That I only live in pleasure, That my silver leaves and tassels Only whisper my rejoicings; That I have no cares, no sorrows, That I have no hours unhappy, Knowing neither pain nor trouble. I am weeping for my smallness, Am lamenting for my weakness, Have no sympathy, no pity, Stand here motionless for ages, Stand alone in fen and forest, In these woodlands vast and joyless. Others hope for coming summers, For the beauties of the spring-time; I, alas! a helpless birch-tree, Dread the changing of the seasons, I must give my bark to, others, Lose my leaves and silken tassels. Men come the Suomi children, Peel my bark and drink my life-blood: Wicked shepherds in the summer, Come and steal my belt of silver, Of my bark make berry-baskets, Dishes make, and cups for drinking. Oftentimes the Northland maidens Cut my tender limbs for birch-brooms,' Bind my twigs and silver tassels Into brooms to sweep their cabins; Often have the Northland heroes Chopped me into chips for burning; Three times in the summer season, In the pleasant days of spring-time, Foresters have ground their axes On my silver trunk and branches, Robbed me of my life for ages; This my spring-time joy and pleasure, This my happiness in summer, And my winter days no better! When I think of former troubles, Sorrow settles on my visage, And my face grows white with anguish; Often do the winds of winter And the hoar-frost bring me sadness, Blast my tender leaves and tassels, Bear my foliage to others, Rob me of my silver raiment, Leave me naked on the mountain, Lone, and helpless, and disheartened!" Spake the good, old Wainamoinen: "Weep no longer, sacred birch-tree, Mourn no more, my friend and brother, Thou shalt have a better fortune; I will turn thy grief to joyance, Make thee laugh and sing with gladness." Then the ancient Wainamoinen Made a harp from sacred birch-wood, Fashioned in the days of summer, Beautiful the harp of magic, By the master's hand created On the fog-point in the Big-Sea, On the island forest-covered, Fashioned from the birch the archings, And the frame-work from the aspen. These the words of the magician: "All the archings are completed, And the frame is fitly finished; Whence the hooks and pins for tuning, That the harp may sing in concord?" Near the way-side grew an oak-tree, Skyward grew with equal branches, On each twig an acorn growing, Golden balls upon each acorn, On each ball a singing cuckoo. As each cuckoo's call resounded, Five the notes of song that issued From the songster's throat of joyance; From each throat came liquid music, Gold and silver for the master, Flowing to the hills and hillocks, To the silvery vales and mountains; Thence he took the merry harp-pins, That the harp might play in concord. Spake again wise Wainamoinen: "I the pins have well completed, Still the harp is yet unfinished; Now I need five strings for playing, Where shall I procure the harp-strings?" Then the ancient bard and minstrel Journeyed through the fen and forest. On a hillock sat a maiden, Sat a virgin of the valley; And the maiden was not weeping, Joyful was the sylvan daughter, Singing with the woodland songsters, That the eventide might hasten, In the hope that her beloved Would the sooner sit beside her. Wainamoinen, old and trusted, Hastened, tripping to the virgin, Asked her for her golden ringleta, These the words of the magician. "Give me, maiden, of thy tresses, Give to me thy golden ringlets; I will weave them into harp-strings, To the joy of Wainamoinen, To the pleasure of his people." Thereupon the forest-maiden Gave the singer of her tresses, Gave him of her golden ringlets, And of these he made the harp-strings. Sources of eternal pleasure To the people of Wainola. Thus the sacred harp is finished, And the minstrel, Wainamoinen, Sits upon the rock of joyance, Takes the harp within his fingers, Turns the arch up, looking skyward; With his knee the arch supporting, Sets the strings in tuneful order, Runs his fingers o'er the harp-strings, And the notes of pleasure follow. Straightway ancient Wainamoinen, The eternal wisdom-singer, Plays upon his harp of birch-wood. Far away is heard the music, Wide the harp of joy re-echoes; Mountains dance and valleys listen, Flinty rocks are tom asunder, Stones are hurled upon the waters, Pebbles swim upon the Big-Sea, Pines and lindens laugh with pleasure, Alders skip about the heather, And the aspen sways in concord. All the daughters of Wainola Straightway leave their shining needles, Hasten forward like the current, Speed along like rapid rivers, That they may enjoy and wonder. Laugh the younger men and maidens, Happy-hearted are the matrons Flying swift to bear the playing, To enjoy the common pleasure, Hear the harp of Wainamoinen. Aged men and bearded seniors, Gray-haired mothers with their daughters Stop in wonderment and listen. Creeps the babe in full enjoyment As he hears the magic singing, Hears the harp of Wainamoinen. All of Northland stops in wonder, Speaks in unison these measures: "Never have we heard such playing, Never heard such strains of music, Never since the earth was fashioned, As the songs of this magician, This sweet singer, Wainamoinen!" Far and wide the sweet tones echo, Ring throughout the seven hamlets, O'er the seven islands echo; Every creature of the Northland Hastens forth to look and listen, Listen to the songs of gladness, To the harp of Wainamoinen. All the beasts that haunt the woodlands Fall upon their knees and wonder At the playing of the minstrel, At his miracles of concord. All the songsters of the forests Perch upon the trembling branches, Singing to the wondrous playing Of the harp of Wainamoinen. All the dwellers of the waters Leave their beds, and eaves, and grottoes, Swim against the shore and listen To the playing of the minstrel, To the harp of Wainamoinen. All the little things in nature, Rise from earth, and fall from ether, Come and listen to the music, To the notes of the enchanter, To the songs of the magician, To the harp of Wainamoinen. Plays the singer of the Northland, Plays in miracles of sweetness, Plays one day, and then a second, Plays the third from morn till even; Plays within the halls and cabins, In the dwellings of his people, Till the floors and ceilings echo, Till resound the roofs of pine-wood, Till the windows speak and tremble, Till the portals echo joyance, And the hearth-stones sing in pleasure. As he journeys through the forest, As he wanders through the woodlands, Pine and sorb-tree bid him welcome, Birch and willow bend obeisance, Beech and aspen bow submission; And the linden waves her branches To the measure of his playing, To the notes of the magician. As the minstrel plays and wanders, Sings upon the mead and heather, Glen and hill his songs re-echo, Ferns and flowers laugh in pleasure, And the shrubs attune their voices To the music of the harp-strings, To the songs of Wainamoinen.
BIRTH OF THE NINE DISEASES.
Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Heard the word in Sariola, Heard the Dews with ears of envy, That Wainola lives and prospers, That Osmoinen's wealth increases, Through the ruins of the Sampo, Ruins of the lid in colors. Thereupon her wrath she kindled, Well considered, long reflected, How she might prepare destruction For the people of Wainola, For the tribes of Kalevala. With this prayer she turns to Ukko, Thus entreats the god of thunder: "Ukko, thou who art in heaven, Help me slay Wainola's people With thine iron-hail of justice, With thine arrows tipped with lightning, Or from sickness let them perish, Let them die the death deserving; Let the men die in the forest, And the women in the hurdles!" The blind daughter of Tuoni, Old and wicked witch, Lowyatar, Worst of all the Death-land women, Ugliest of Mana's children, Source of all the host of evils, All the ills and plagues of Northland, Black in heart, and soul, and visage, Evil genius of Lappala, Made her couch along the wayside, On the fields of sin and sorrow; Turned her back upon the East-wind, To the source of stormy weather, To the chilling winds of morning. When the winds arose at evening, Heavy-laden grew Lowyatar, Through the east-wind's impregnation, On the sand-plains, vast and barren. Long she bore her weight of trouble, Many morns she suffered anguish, Till at last she leaves the desert, Makes her couch within the forest, On a rock upon the mountain; Labors long to leave her burden By the mountain-springs and fountains, By the crystal waters flowing, By the sacred stream and whirlpool, By the cataract and fire-stream; But her burden does not lighten. Blind Lowyatar, old and ugly, Knew not where to look for succor, How to lose her weight of sorrow, Where to lay her evil children. Spake the Highest from the heavens, These, the words of mighty Ukko: "Is a triangle in Swamp-field, Near the border of the ocean, In the never-pleasant Northland, In the dismal Sariola; Thither go and lay thy burden, In Pohyola leave thine offspring; There the Laplanders await thee, There will bid thy children welcome." Thereupon the blind Lowyatar, Blackest daughter of Tuoni, Mana's old and ugly maiden, Hastened on her journey northward, To the chambers of Pohyola, To the ancient halls of Louhi, There to lay her heavy burdens, There to leave her evil offspring. Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Old and toothless witch of Pohya, Takes Lowyatar to her mansion; Silently she leads the stranger To the bath-rooms of her chamber, Pours the foaming beer of barley, Lubricates the bolts and hinges, That their movements may be secret, Speaks these measures to Lowyatar: "Faithful daughter of Creation, Thou most beautiful of women, First and last of ancient mothers, Hasten on thy feet to ocean, To the ocean's centre hasten, Take the sea-foam from the waters, Take the honey of the mermaids, And anoint thy sacred members, That thy labors may be lightened. "Should all this be unavailing, Ukko, thou who art in heaven, Hasten hither, thou art needed, Come thou to thy child in trouble, Help the helpless and afflicted. Take thy golden-colored sceptre, Charm away opposing forces, Strike the pillars of the stronghold, Open all resisting portals, That the great and small may wander From their ancient hiding-places, Through the courts and halls of freedom." Finally the blind Lowyatar, Wicked witch of Tuonela, Was delivered of her burden, Laid her offspring in the cradle, Underneath the golden covers. Thus at last were born nine children, In an evening of the summer, From Lowyatar, blind and ancient, Ugly daughter of Tuoni. Faithfully the virgin-mother Guards her children in affection, As an artist loves and nurses What his skillful hands have fashioned. Thus Lowyatar named her offspring, Colic, Pleurisy, and Fever, Ulcer, Plague, and dread Consumption, Gout, Sterility, and Cancer. And the worst of these nine children Blind Lowyatar quickly banished, Drove away as an enchanter, To bewitch the lowland people, To engender strife and envy. Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Banished all the other children To the fog-point in the ocean, To the island forest-covered; Banished all the fatal creatures, Gave these wicked sons of evil To the people of Wainola, To the youth of Kalevala, For the Kalew-tribe's destruction. Quick Wainola's maidens sicken, Young and aged, men and heroes, With the worst of all diseases, With diseases new and nameless; Sick and dying is Wainola. Thereupon old Wainamoinen, Wise and wonderful enchanter, Hastens to his people's rescue, Hastens to a war with Mana, To a conflict with Tuoni, To destroy the evil children Of the evil maid, Lowyatar. Wainamoinen heats the bath-rooms, Heats the blocks of healing-sandstone With the magic wood of Northland, Gathered by the sacred river; Water brings in covered buckets From the cataract and whirlpool; Brooms he brings enwrapped with ermine, Well the bath the healer cleanses, Softens well the brooms of birch-wood; Then a honey-heat be wakens, Fills the rooms with healing vapors, From the virtue of the pebbles Glowing in the heat of magic, Thus he speaks in supplication: "Come, O Ukko, to my rescue, God of mercy, lend thy presence, Give these vapor-baths new virtues, Grant to them the powers of healing, And restore my dying people; Drive away these fell diseases, Banish them to the unworthy, Let the holy sparks enkindle, Keep this heat in healing limits, That it may not harm thy children, May not injure the afflicted. When I pour the sacred waters On the heated blocks of sandstone, May the water turn to honey Laden with the balm of healing. Let the stream of magic virtues Ceaseless flow to all my children, From this bath enrolled in sea-moss, That the guiltless may not suffer, That my tribe-folk may not perish, Till the Master gives permission, Until Ukko sends his minions, Sends diseases of his choosing, To destroy my trusting people. Let the hostess of Pohyola, Wicked witch that sent these troubles, Suffer from a gnawing conscience, Suffer for her evil doings. Should the Master of Wainola Lose his magic skill and weaken, Should he prove of little service To deliver from misfortune, To deliver from these evils, Then may Ukko be our healer, Be our strength and wise Physician. "Omnipresent God of mercy, Thou who livest in the heavens, Hasten hither, thou art needed, Hasten to thine ailing children, To observe their cruel tortures, To dispel these fell diseases, Drive destruction from our borders. Bring with thee thy mighty fire-sword, Bring to me thy blade of lightning, That I may subdue these evils, That these monsters I may banish, Send these pains, and ills, and tortures, To the empire of Tuoni, To the kingdom of the east-winds, To the islands of the wicked, To the caverns of the demons, To the rocks within the mountains, To the hidden beds of iron, That the rocks may fall and sicken, And the beds of iron perish. Rocks and metals do not murmur At the hands of the invader. "Torture-daughter of Tuoni, Sitting on the mount of anguish, At the junction of three rivers, Turning rocks of pain and torture, Turn away these fell diseases Through the virtues of the blue-stone; Lead them to the water-channels, Sink them in the deeps of ocean, Where the winds can never find them, Where the sunlight never enters. "Should this prayer prove unavailing, O, Health-virgin, maid of beauty Come and heal my dying people, Still their agonies and anguish., Give them consciousness and comfort, Give them healthful rest and slumber; These diseases take and banish, Take them in thy copper vessel, To thy eaves within the mountains, To the summit of the Pain-rock, Hurl them to thy boiling caldrons. In the mountain is a touch-stone, Lucky-stone of ancient story, With a hole bored through the centre, Through this pour these pains and tortures, Wretched feelings, thoughts of evil, Human ailments, days unlucky, Tribulations, and misfortunes, That they may not rise at evening, May not see the light of morning." Ending thus, old Wainamoinen, The eternal, wise enchanter, Rubbed his sufferers with balsams, Rubbed the tissues, red and painful, With the balm of healing flowers, Balsams made of herbs enchanted, Sprinkled all with healing vapors, Spake these words in supplication. "Ukko, thou who art in heaven, God of justice, and of mercy, Send us from the east a rain-cloud, Send a dark cloud from the North-west, From the north let fall a third one, Send us mingled rain and honey, Balsam from the great Physician, To remove this plague of Northland. What I know of healing measures, Only comes from my Creator; Lend me, therefore, of thy wisdom, That I may relieve my people, Save them from the fell destroyer, If my hands should fall in virtue, Let the hands of Ukko follow, God alone can save from trouble. Come to us with thine enchantment, Speak the magic words of healing, That my people may not perish; Give to all alleviation From their sicknesses and sorrows; In the morning, in the evening, Let their wasting ailments vanish; Drive the Death-child from Wainola, Nevermore to visit Northland, Never in the course of ages, Never while the moonlight glimmers O'er the lakes of Kalevala." Wainamoinen, the enchanter, The eternal wisdom-singer, Thus expelled the nine diseases, Evil children or Lowyatar, Healed the tribes of Kalevala, Saved his people from destruction.
OTSO THE HONEY-EATER.
Came the tidings to Pohyola, To the village of the Northland, That Wainola had recovered From her troubles and misfortunes, From her sicknesses and sorrows. Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Toothless dame of Sariola, Envy-laden, spake these measures: "Know I other means of trouble, I have many more resources; I will drive the bear before me, From the heather and the mountain, Drive him from the fen and forest, Drive great Otso from the glen-wood On the cattle of Wainola, On the flocks of Kalevala." Thereupon the Northland hostess Drove the hungry bear of Pohya From his cavern to the meadows, To Wainola's plains and pastures. Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, To his brother spake as follows: "O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Forge a spear from magic metals, Forge a lancet triple-pointed, Forge the handle out of copper, That I may destroy great Otso, Slay the mighty bear of Northland, That he may not eat my horses, Nor destroy my herds of cattle, Nor the flocks upon my pastures." Thereupon the skillful blacksmith Forged a spear from magic metals, Forged a lancet triple-pointed, Not the longest, nor the shortest, Forged the spear in wondrous beauty. On one side a bear was sitting, Sat a wolf upon the other, On the blade an elk lay sleeping, On the shaft a colt was running, Near the hilt a roebuck bounding. Snows had fallen from the heavens, Made the flocks as white as ermine Or the hare, in days of winter, And the minstrel sang these measures: "My desire impels me onward To the Metsola-dominions, To the homes of forest-maidens, To the courts of the white virgins; I will hasten to the forest, Labor with the woodland-forces. "Ruler of the Tapio-forests, Make of me a conquering hero, Help me clear these boundless woodlands. O Mielikki, forest-hostess, Tapio's wife, thou fair Tellervo, Call thy dogs and well enchain them, Set in readiness thy hunters, Let them wait within their kennels. "Otso, thou O Forest-apple, Bear of honey-paws and fur-robes, Learn that Wainamoinen follows, That the singer comes to meet thee; Hide thy claws within thy mittens, Let thy teeth remain in darkness, That they may not harm the minstrel, May be powerless in battle. Mighty Otso, much beloved, Honey-eater of the mountains, Settle on the rocks in slumber, On the turf and in thy caverns; Let the aspen wave above thee, Let the merry birch-tree rustle O'er thy head for thy protection. Rest in peace, thou much-loved Otso, Turn about within thy thickets, Like the partridge at her brooding, In the spring-time like the wild-goose." When the ancient Wainamoinen Heard his dog bark in the forest, Heard his hunter's call and echo, He addressed the words that follow: "Thought it was the cuckoo calling, Thought the pretty bird was singing; It was not the sacred cuckoo, Not the liquid notes of songsters, 'Twas my dog that called and murmured, 'Twas the echo of my hunter At the cavern-doors of Otso, On the border of the woodlands." Wainamoinen, old and trusty, Finds the mighty bear in waiting, Lifts in joy the golden covers, Well inspects his shining fur-robes; Lifts his honey-paws in wonder, Then addresses his Creator: "Be thou praised, O mighty Ukko, As thou givest me great Otso, Givest me the Forest-apple, Thanks be paid to thee unending." To the bear he spake these measures: "Otso, thou my well beloved, Honey-eater of the woodlands, Let not anger swell thy bosom; I have not the force to slay thee, Willingly thy life thou givest As a sacrifice to Northland. Thou hast from the tree descended, Glided from the aspen branches, Slippery the trunks in autumn, In the fog-days, smooth the branches. Golden friend of fen and forest, In thy fur-robes rich and beauteous, Pride of woodlands, famous Light-foot, Leave thy cold and cheerless dwelling, Leave thy home within the alders, Leave thy couch among the willows, Hasten in thy purple stockings, Hasten from thy walks restricted, Come among the haunts of heroes, Join thy friends in Kalevala. We shall never treat thee evil, Thou shalt dwell in peace and plenty, Thou shalt feed on milk and honey, Honey is the food of strangers. Haste away from this thy covert, From the couch of the unworthy, To a couch beneath the rafters Of Wainola's ancient dwellings. Haste thee onward o'er the snow-plain, As a leaflet in the autumn; Skip beneath these birchen branches, As a squirrel in the summer, As a cuckoo in the spring-time." Wainamoinen, the magician, The eternal wisdom-singer, O'er the snow-fields hastened homeward, Singing o'er the hills and mountains, With his guest, the ancient Otso, With his friend, the, famous Light-foot, With the Honey-paw of Northland. Far away was heard the singing, Heard the playing of the hunter, Heard the songs of Wainamoinen; All the people heard and wondered, Men and maidens, young and aged, From their cabins spake as follows: "Hear the echoes from the woodlands, Hear the bugle from the forest, Hear the flute-notes of the songsters, Hear the pipes of forest-maidens!" Wainamoinen, old and trusty, Soon appears within the court-yard. Rush the people from their cabins, And the heroes ask these questions: "Has a mine of gold been opened, Hast thou found a vein of silver, Precious jewels in thy pathway? Does the forest yield her treasures, Give to thee the Honey-eater? Does the hostess of the woodlands, Give to thee the lynx and adder, Since thou comest home rejoicing, Playing, singing, on thy snow-shoes?" Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Gave this answer to his people: "For his songs I caught the adder, Caught the serpent for his wisdom; Therefore do I come rejoicing, Singing, playing, on my snow-shoes. Not the mountain lynx, nor serpent, Comes, however, to our dwellings; The Illustrious is coming, Pride and beauty of the forest, 'Tis the Master comes among us, Covered with his friendly fur-robe. Welcome, Otso, welcome, Light-foot, Welcome, Loved-one from the glenwood! If the mountain guest is welcome, Open wide the gates of entry; If the bear is thought unworthy, Bar the doors against the stranger." This the answer of the tribe-folk: "We salute thee, mighty Otso, Honey-paw, we bid thee welcome, Welcome to our courts and cabins, Welcome, Light-foot, to our tables Decorated for thy coming! We have wished for thee for ages, Waiting since the days of childhood, For the notes of Tapio's bugle, For the singing of the wood-nymphs, For the coming of dear Otso, For the forest gold and silver, Waiting for the year of plenty, Longing for it as for summer, As the shoe waits for the snow-fields, As the sledge for beaten highways, As the, maiden for her suitor, And the wife her husband's coming; Sat at evening by the windows, At the gates have, sat at morning, Sat for ages at the portals, Near the granaries in winter, Vanished, Till the snow-fields warmed and Till the sails unfurled in joyance, Till the earth grew green and blossomed, Thinking all the while as follows: "Where is our beloved Otso, Why delays our forest-treasure? Has he gone to distant Ehstland, To the upper glens of Suomi?" Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "Whither shall I lead the stranger, Whither take the golden Light-foot? Shall I lead him to the garner, To the house of straw conduct