The Kalevala (complete)
by John Martin Crawford, trans.
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him?" This the answer of his tribe-folk: "To the dining-hall lead Otso, Greatest hero of the Northland. Famous Light-foot, Forest-apple, Pride and glory of the woodlands, Have no fear before these maidens, Fear not curly-headed virgins, Clad in silver-tinselled raiment Maidens hasten to their chambers When dear Otso joins their number, When the hero comes among them." This the prayer of Wainamoinen: "Grant, O Ukko, peace and plenty Underneath these painted rafters, In this ornamented dweling; Thanks be paid to gracious Ukko!" Spake again the ancient minstrel: "Whither shall we lead dear Otso, 'Whither take the fur-clad stranger? This the answer of his people: "Hither let the fur-robed Light-foot Be saluted on his coming; Let the Honey-paw be welcomed To the hearth-stone of the penthouse, Welcomed to the boiling caldrons, That we may admire his fur-robe, May behold his cloak with joyance. Have no care, thou much-loved Otso, Let not anger swell thy bosom As thy coat we view with pleasure; We thy fur shall never injure, Shall not make it into garments To protect unworthy people." Thereupon wise Wainamoinen Pulled the sacred robe from Otso, Spread it in the open court-yard, Cut the, members into fragments, Laid them in the heating caldrons, In the copper-bottomed vessels- O'er the fire the crane was hanging, On the crane were hooks of copper, On the hooks the broiling-vessels Filled with bear-steak for the feasting, Seasoned with the salt of Dwina, From the Saxon-land imported, From the distant Dwina-waters, From the salt-sea brought in shallops. Ready is the feast of Otso; From the fire are swung the kettles On the crane of polished iron; In the centers of the tables Is the bear displayed in dishes, Golden dishes, decorated; Of the fir-tree and the linden Were the tables newly fashioned; Drinking cups were forged from copper, Knives of gold and spoons of silver; Filled the vessels to their borders With the choicest bits of Light-foot, Fragments of the Forest-apple. Spake the ancient Wainamoinen "Ancient one with bosom golden, Potent voice in Tapio's councils Metsola's most lovely hostess, Hostess of the glen and forest, Hero-son of Tapiola, Stalwart youth in cap of scarlet, Tapio's most beauteous virgin, Fair Tellervo of the woodlands, Metsola with all her people, Come, and welcome, to the feasting, To the marriage-feast of Otso! All sufficient, the provisions, Food to eat and drink abundant, Plenty for the hosts assembled, Plenty more to give the village." This the question of the people: "Tell us of the birth of Otso! Was be born within a manger, Was he nurtured in the bath-room Was his origin ignoble?" This is Wainamoinen's answer: "Otso was not born a beggar, Was not born among the rushes, Was not cradled in a manger; Honey-paw was born in ether, In the regions of the Moon-land, On the shoulders of Otava, With the daughters of creation. "Through the ether walked a maiden, On the red rims of the cloudlets, On the border of the heavens, In her stockings purple-tinted, In her golden-colored sandals. In her hand she held a wool-box, With a hair-box on her shoulder; Threw the wool upon the ocean, And the hair upon the rivers; These are rocked by winds and waters, Water-currents bear them onward, Bear them to the sandy sea-shore, Land them near the Woods of honey, On an island forest-covered. "Fair Mielikki, woodland hostess, Tapio's most cunning daughter, Took the fragments from the sea-side, Took the white wool from the waters, Sewed the hair and wool together, Laid the bundle in her basket, Basket made from bark of birch-wood, Bound with cords the magic bundle; With the chains of gold she bound it To the pine-tree's topmost branches. There she rocked the thing of magic, Rocked to life the tender baby, Mid the blossoms of the pine-tree, On the fir-top set with needles; Thus the young bear well was nurtured, Thus was sacred Otso cradled On the honey-tree of Northland, In the middle of the forest. "Sacred Otso grew and flourished, Quickly grew with graceful movements, Short of feet, with crooked ankles, Wide of mouth and broad of forehead, Short his nose, his fur-robe velvet; But his claws were not well fashioned, Neither were his teeth implanted. Fair Mielikki, forest hostess, Spake these words in meditation: 'Claws I should be pleased to give him, And with teeth endow the wonder, Would be not abuse the favor.' "Swore the bear a promise sacred, On his knees before Mielikki, Hostess of the glen and forest, And before omniscient Ukko, First and last of all creators, That he would not harm the worthy, Never do a deed of evil. Then Mielikki, woodland hostess, Wisest maid of Tapiola, Sought for teeth and claws to give him, From the stoutest mountain-ashes, From the juniper and oak tree, From the dry knots of the alder. Teeth and claws of these were worthless, Would not render goodly service. "Grew a fir-tree on the mountain, Grew a stately pine in Northland, And the fir had silver branches, Bearing golden cones abundant; These the sylvan maiden gathered, Teeth and claws of these she fashioned In the jaws and feet of Otso, Set them for the best of uses. Then she freed her new-made creature, Let the Light-foot walk and wander, Let him lumber through the marshes, Let him amble through the forest, Roll upon the plains and pastures; Taught him how to walk a hero, How to move with graceful motion, How to live in ease and pleasure, How to rest in full contentment, In the moors and in the marshes, On the borders of the woodlands; How unshod to walk in summer, Stockingless to run in autumn; How to rest and sleep in winter In the clumps of alder-bushes Underneath the sheltering fir-tree, Underneath the pine's protection, Wrapped securely in his fur-robes, With the juniper and willow. This the origin of Otso, Honey-eater of the Northlands, Whence the sacred booty cometh. Thus again the people questioned: Why became the woods so gracious, Why so generous and friendly? Why is Tapio so humored, That he gave his dearest treasure, Gave to thee his Forest-apple, Honey-eater of his kingdom? Was he startled with thine arrows, Frightened with the spear and broadsword?" Wainamoinen, the magician, Gave this answer to the question: "Filled with kindness was the forest, Glen and woodland full of greetings, Tapio showing greatest favor. Fair Mielikki, forest hostess, Metsola's bewitching daughter, Beauteous woodland maid, Tellervo, Gladly led me on my journey, Smoothed my pathway through the glen-wood. Marked the trees upon the, mountains, Pointing me to Otso's caverns, To the Great Bear's golden island. "When my journeyings had ended, When the bear had been discovered, Had no need to launch my javelins, Did not need to aim the arrow; Otso tumbled in his vaulting, Lost his balance in his cradle, In the fir-tree where he slumbered; Tore his breast upon the branches, Freely gave his life to others. "Mighty Otso, my beloved, Thou my golden friend and hero, Take thy fur-cap from thy forehead, Lay aside thy teeth forever, Hide thy fingers in the darkness, Close thy mouth and still thine anger, While thy sacred skull is breaking. "Now I take the eyes of Otso, Lest he lose the sense of seeing, Lest their former powers shall weaken; Though I take not all his members, Not alone must these be taken. "Now I take the ears of Otso, Lest he lose the sense of 'hearing, Lest their former powers shall weaken; Though I take not all his members, Not alone must these be taken. "Now I take the nose of Otso, Lest he lose the sense of smelling, Lest its former powers shall weaken; Though I take not all his members, Not alone must this be taken. "Now I take the tongue of Otso, Lest he lose the sense of tasting Lest its former powers shall weaken; Though I take not all his members, Not alone must this be taken. "Now I take the brain of Otso, Lest he lose the means of thinking, Lest his consciousness should fail him, Lest his former instincts weaken; Though I take not all his members, Not alone must this be taken. "I will reckon him a hero, That will count the teeth of Light-foot, That will loosen Otso's fingers From their settings firmly fastened." None he finds with strength sufficient To perform the task demanded. Therefore ancient Wainamoinen Counts the teeth of sacred Otso; Loosens all the claws of Light-foot, With his fingers strong as copper, Slips them from their firm foundations, Speaking to the bear these measures: "Otso, thou my Honey-eater, Thou my Fur-ball of the woodlands, Onward, onward, must thou journey From thy low and lonely dwelling, To the court-rooms of the village. Go, my treasure, through the pathway Near the herds of swine and cattle, To the hill-tops forest covered, To the high and rising mountains, To the spruce-trees filled with needles, To the branches of the pine-tree; There remain, my Forest-apple, Linger there in lasting slumber, Where the silver bells are ringing, To the pleasure of the shepherd." Thus beginning, and thus ending, Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Hastened from his emptied tables, And the children thus addressed him: "Whither hast thou led thy booty, Where hast left thy Forest-apple, Sacred Otso of the woodlands? Hast thou left him on the iceberg, Buried him upon the snow-field? Hast thou sunk him in the quicksand, Laid him low beneath the heather?" Wainamoinen spake in answer: "Have not left him on the iceberg, Have not buried him in snow-fields; There the dogs would soon devour him, Birds of prey would feast upon him; Have not hidden him in Swamp-land, Have not buried him in heather; There the worms would live upon him, Insects feed upon his body. Thither I have taken Otso, To the summit of the Gold-hill, To the copper-bearing mountain, Laid him in his silken cradle In the summit of a pine-tree, Where the winds and sacred branches Rock him to his lasting slumber, To the pleasure of the hunter, To the joy of man and hero. To the east his lips are pointing, While his eyes are northward looking; But dear Otso looks not upward, For the fierceness of the storm-winds Would destroy his sense of vision." Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Touched again his harp of joyance, Sang again his songs enchanting, To the pleasure of the evening, To the joy of morn arising. Spake the singer of Wainola: "Light for me a torch of pine-wood, For the darkness is appearing, That my playing may be joyous And my wisdom-songs find welcome." Then the ancient sage and singer, Wise and worthy Wainamoinen, Sweetly sang and played, and chanted, Through the long and dreary evening, Ending thus his incantation: "Grant, O Ukko, my Creator, That the people of Wainola May enjoy another banquet In the company of Light-foot; Grant that we may long remember Kalevala's feast with Otso! "Grant, O Ukko, my Creator, That the signs may guide our footsteps, That the notches in the pine-tree May direct my faithful people To the bear-dens of the woodlands; That great Tapio's sacred bugle May resound through glen and forest; That the wood-nymph's call may echo, May be heard in field and hamlet, To the joy of all that listen! Let great Tapio's horn for ages Ring throughout the fen and forest, Through the hills and dales of Northland O'er the meadows and the mountains, To awaken song and gladness In the forests of Wainola, On the snowy plains of Suomi, On the meads of Kalevala, For the coming generations."



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



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



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



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


Aar'ni (Ar'ni). The guardian of hidden treasures. A-ha'va. The West-wind; the father of the swift dogs. Ah'ti. The same as Lemminkainen. Ah'to. The great god of the waters. Ah'to-la. The water-castle of Ahto and his people. Ah'to-lai'set. The inhabitants of Ahtola. Ai-nik'ki. A sister of Ahti. Ai'no (i'no). Youkahainen's sister. An'te-ro. A goddess of the waves. Ai'ue-lake. The lake into which the Fire-child falls. An-nik'ki. Ilmarinen's sister. An'te-ro. Another name for Wipanen, or Antero Wipunen. Dus'ter-land. The Northland; Pimentola. Et'e-le'tar. A daugter of the South-wind. Fire-Child. A synonym of Panu. Frost. The English for Pakkanen. Hal'lap-yo'ra. A lake in Finland. Hal'ti-a (plural Haltiat). The Genius of Finnish mythology. Het'e-wa'ne. The Finnish name of the Pleiades. Hi'si (original Hiisi). The Evil Principle; also called Jutas, Lempo, and Piru. Mon'ja-tar. The daughter of the Pine-tree. Hor'na. A sacred rock in Finland. I'ku-Tur'so. An evil giant of the sea. Il'ma-ri'nem. The worker of the metals; a brother of Wainamoinen. Il'ma-tar. Daughter of the Air, and mother of Wainamoinen. Il'po-tar. Believed to be the daughter of the Snow flake; the same as Louhi. Im-a'tra. A celebrated waterfall near Wiborg. In'ger-land. The present St. Petersburg. Ja'men (Ya'men). A river of Finland. Jor'dan. Curiously, the river of Palestine. Jou'ka-hai'nen (You-ka-hai'nen). A celebrated minstrel of Pohyola. Jou-ko'la (You-ko'la). The home or dwelling of Youkahainen. Ju-ma'la (You-ma'la). Originally the heavens, then the god of the heavens, and finally God. Ju'tas (yu'tas). The Evil Principle; Hisi, Piru, and Lempo are synonyms, Kai'to-lai'nen. A son of the god of metals; from his spear came the tongue of the serpent. Ka-ler'vo. The father of Kullervo. Ka-le'va (Kalewai'nen). The father of heroes; a hero in general. Kal'e-va'la (kaleva, hero, and la, the place of). The land of heroes; the name of the epic poem of Finland. Kal'e-va'tar (Kalewa'tar). Daughter of Kaleva. Kal-e'vo. The same as Kaleva. Ka'lew. Often used for Kaleva. Kal'ma. The god of death. Kam'mo. The father of Kimmo. Kan'ka-hat'ta-ret. The goddesses of weaving. Ka'pe. A synonym of Ilmatar, the mother of Wainamoinen. Ka'po. A synonym of Osmotar. Ka-re'len. A province of Finland. Kar-ja'la, (karya'la). The seat of the waterfall, Kaatrakoski. Kat'e-ja'tar (kataya'tar). The daughter of the Pine-tree. Kat'ra-kos'ki (Kaatrakos'ki). A waterfall in Karjala. Kau'ko. The same as Kaukomieli. Kau'ko-miel'li. The same as Lemminkainen. Kaup'pi. The Snowshoe-builder; Lylikki. Ke'mi. A river of Finland. Kim'mo. A name for the cow; the daughter of Kammo, the patron of the rocks. Ki'pu-ki'vi. The name of the rock at Hell-river, beneath which the spirits of all diseases are imprisoned. Kir'kon-Woe'ki. Church dwarfs living under altars. Knik'ka-no. Same as Knippana. Knip'pa-no. Same as Tapio. Koot'a-moi'nen. The Moon. Kos'ken-nei'ti. The goddess of the cataract. Kul-ler'vo. The vicious son of Kalervo. Kul'ler-woi'nen. The same as Kullervo. Kul'li. A beautiful daughter of Sahri. Kun. The Moon, and the Moon-god. Kun'tar. One of the daughters of the Moon. Ku'ra (Kuura). The Hoar-frost; also called Tiera, a ball of ice. Kul-lik'ki (also Kyl'li). The Sahri-maiden whom Lemminkainen kidnapped. Lak'ka. Mother of Ilmarinen. Lak-ko. The hostess of Kalevala. Lem'min-kai'nen. One of the brothers of Wainamoinen; a son of Lempi. Lem'pi-bay. A bay of Finland. Lem'po. The Evil Principle; same as Hisi, Piru, and Jutas. Lin'nun-ra'ta (Bird-way). The Milky-way. Lou'hi. The hostess of Pohyola. Low-ya'tar. Tuoni's blind daughter, and the originator of the Plagues. Lu'on-no'tar. One of the mystic maidens, and the nurse of Wainamoinen. Lu'o-to'la. A bay of Finland, named with Joukola. Ly-lik'ki (Lyylik'ki). Maker of the snow-shoe. Maan-e'mo (man-e'mo). The mother of the Earth. Ma'hi-set (Maa'hi-set). The invisibly small deities of Finnish mythology. Mam'me-lai'nen. The goddess of hidden treasures. Ma'na. A synonym of Tuoni, the god of death. Man'a-lai'nen. The same as Mana. Masr'i-at'ta (marja, berry). The Virgin Mary of Finnish mythology. Mat'ka-Tep'po. The road-god. Meh'i-lai'nen. The honey-bee. Mel'a-tar. The goddess of the helm. Met'so-la. The same as Tapiola, the abode of the god of the forest, Mie-lik'ki. The hostess of the forest. Mi-merk'ki. A synonym of Mielikki. Mosk'va. A province of Suomi. Mu-rik'ki (Muurik'ki). The name of the cow. Ne'wa. A river of Finland. Ny-rik'ki. A son of Tapio. 0s'mo. The same as Osmoinen. Os-noi'nen. A synonym of Wainola's hero. Os'mo-tar. The daughter of Osmo; she directs the brewing of the beer for Ilmarinen's wedding-feast. O-ta'va. The Great Bear of the heavens. Ot'so. The bear of Finland. Poe'ivoe. The Sun, and the Sun god. Pai'va-tar. The goddess of the summer. Pak'ka-nen. A synonym of Kura. Pal-woi'nen. A synonym of Turi, and also of Wirokannas. Pa'nu. The Fire-Child, born from the sword of Ukko. Pa'ra. A tripod-deity, presiding over milk and cheese. Pel'ler-woi'nen. The sower of the forests. Pen'i-tar. A blind witch of Pohyola; and the mother of the dog. Pik'ku Mies. The water-pigmy that felled the over-spreading oak-tree for Wainamoinen. Pil'a-ya'tar (Pilaja'tar). The daughter of the Aspen; and the goddess of the Mountain-ash. Pilt'ti. The maid-servant of Mariatta. Pi'men-to'la. A province of Finland; another name for Pohyola. Pi'ru. The same as Lempo, Jutas, and Hisi. Pi'sa. A mountain of Finland. Poh'ya (Poh'ja). An abbreviated form for Pohyola. Poh-yo'la (Poh-jo'la). The Northland; Lapland. Pok-ka'nen. The Frost, the son of Puhuri; a synonym of Tiera. Puh-hu'ri. The North-wind; the father of Pokkanen. Rem'men. The father of the hop-vine. Re'mu. The same as Remmen. Ru-o'tus. A persecutor of the Virgin Mariatta. Rut'ya (Rut'ja). A waterfall of Northland. Sah'ri (Saari). The home of Kyllikki. Sam'po. The jewel that Ilmarinen forges from the magic metals; a talisman of success to the possessor; a continual source of strife between the tribes of the North. Samp'sa. A synonym of Pellerwoinen. Sa'ra. The same as Sariola. Sar'i-o'la. The same as Pohyola. Sat'ka. A goddess of the sea. Sa'wa (Sa'wo). The eastern part of Finland. Sim'a Pil'li (Honey-flute). The flute of Sima-suu. Sim'a-Suu. One of the maidens of Tapio. Sin'e-tar. The goddess of the blue sky. Si-net'ta-ret. The goddesses of dyeing. Suk'ka-mie'li. The goddess of love. Suo'mi (swo'mi). The ancient abode of the Finns. Suo'ne-tar (swone-tar). The goddess of the veins. Suo-wak'ko. An old wizard of Pohyola. Suo'ya-tar (Syo'jatar). The mother of the serpent. Su've-tar (Suve, summer). Goddess of the South-wind Su-wan'to-lai'nen. Another name for Wainamoinen. Taeh'ti. The Polar Star. Ta-he'tar. The daughter of the Stars. Tai'vas. The firmament in general. Ta-ni'ka. A magic mansion of Pohja. Ta'pi-o. The god of the forest. Tel-le'rvo. A daughter of Tapio. Ter'he-ne'tar. Daughter of the Fog. Tie'ra. Same as Kura; the Hoar-frost. Tont'tu. A little house-spirit. Tu'a-me'tar. Daughter of the Alder-tree. Tu-le'tar (Tuule'tar). A goddess of the winds. Tu-lik'ki (Tuullk'ki). One of the daughters of Tapio. Tu'o-ne'la. The abode of Tuoni. Tuo'nen Poi'ka. The son of Tuoni. Tu'o-ne'tar. The hostess of Death-land; a daughter of Tuoni. Tu-o'ni. The god of death. Tu'ri (Tuuri). The god of the Honey-land. Turja (tur'ya). Another name for Pohya. Tur'ya-lan'der. An epithet for one of the tribe of Louhi. Tur'ya (Tyrja). A name for the waterfall of Rutya. Uk'ko. The Great Spirit of Finnish mythology; his abode is in Jumala. Uk'on-koi'va (Ukko's dog). The messenger of Ukko; the butterfly. U'lap-pa'la. Another term for the abode of Tuoni. Un'du-tar. Goddess of the fog. U'ni. The god of sleep. Un'ta-ma'la. A synonym for "the dismal Sariola." Un-ta'mo. The god of dreams; the dreamer; a brother of Kalervo, and his enemy. Un'tar. The same as Undutar. Un'to. The same as Untamo. Utu-tyt'to. The same as Undutar. Wai'nam-oi'nen (Vainamoinen). The chief hero of the Kalevala; the hero of Wainola, whose mother, Ilmatar, fell from the air into the ocean. Wai'no (Vai'no). The same as Wainamoinen. Wai-no'la. The home of Wainamoinen and his people; a synonym of Kalevala. Wel-la'mo. The hostess of the waters. Wet'e-hi'nen. An evil god of the sea. Wi-pu'nen (Vipu'nen). An old song-giant that swallowed Wainamoinen searching for the "lost words." Wi'ro-kan'nas (Virokan'nas). Ruler of the wilderness; the slayer of the huge bull of Suomi; the priest that baptizes the son of Mariatta. Wo'ya-lan'der (Vuojalan'der). An epithet for Laplander. Wuok'sen (Vuo'ksen). A river in the east of Finland. Wuok'si. The same as Wuoksen.


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