Chapter XI: Part 11

Lemminkainen, full of joyance, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Took provisions in abundance, Fish and butter, bread and bacon, Hastened to the Isle of Refuge, Sailed away across the oceans, Spake these measures on departing: “Fare thee well, mine Island-dwelling, I must sail to other borders, To an island more protective, Till the second summer passes; Let the serpents keep the island, Lynxes rest within the glen-wood, Let the blue-moose roam the mountains, Let the wild-geese eat the barley. Fare thee well, my helpful mother! When the warriors of the Northland, From the dismal Sariola, Come with swords, and spears, and cross-bows, Asking for my head in vengeance, Say that I have long departed, Left my mother’s Island-dwelling, When the barley had been garnered.”

Then he launched his boat of copper, Threw the vessel to the waters, From the iron-banded rollers, From the cylinders of oak-wood, On the masts the sails he hoisted, Spread the magic sails of linen, In the stern the hero settled And prepared to sail his vessel, One hand resting on the rudder.

Then the sailor spake as follows, These the words of Lemminkainen: “Blow, ye winds, and drive me onward, Blow ye steady, winds of heaven, Toward the island in the ocean, That my bark may fly in safety To my father’s place of refuge, To the far and nameless island!”

Soon the winds arose as bidden, Rocked the vessel o’er the billows, O’er the blue-back of the waters, O’er the vast expanse of ocean; Blew two months and blew unceasing, Blew a third month toward the island, Toward his father’s Isle of Refuge.

Sat some maidens on the seaside, On the sandy beach of ocean, Turned about in all directions, Looking out upon the billows; One was waiting for her brother, And a second for her father, And a third one, anxious, waited For the coming of her suitor; There they spied young Lemminkainen, There perceived the hero’s vessel Sailing o’er the bounding billows; It was like a hanging cloudlet, Hanging twixt the earth and heaven.

Thus the island-maidens wondered, Thus they spake to one another: “What this stranger on the ocean, What is this upon the waters? Art thou one of our sea-vessels? Wert thou builded on this island? Sail thou straightway to the harbor, To the island-point of landing That thy tribe may be discovered.”

Onward did the waves propel it, Rocked his vessel o’er the billows, Drove it to the magic island, Safely landed Lemminkainen On the sandy shore and harbor.

Spake he thus when he had landed, These the words that Ahti uttered: “Is there room upon this island, Is there space within this harbor, Where my bark may lie at anchor, Where the sun may dry my vessel?”

This the answer of the virgins, Dwellers on the Isle of Refuge: “There is room within this harbor, On this island, space abundant, Where thy bark may lie at anchor, Where the sun may dry thy vessel; Lying ready are the rollers, Cylinders adorned with copper; If thou hadst a hundred vessels, Shouldst thou come with boats a thousand, We would give them room in welcome.”

Thereupon wild Lemminkainen Rolled his vessel in the harbor, On the cylinders of copper, Spake these words when he had ended: “Is there room upon this island, Or a spot within these forests, Where a hero may be hidden From the coming din of battle, From the play of spears and arrows?” Thus replied the Island-maidens: “There are places on this island, On these plains a spot befitting, Where to hide thyself in safety, Hero-son of little valor. Here are many, many castles, Many courts upon this island; Though there come a thousand heroes, Though a thousand spearmen follow, Thou canst hide thyself in safety.” Spake the hero, Lemminkainen: “Is there room upon this island, Where the birch-tree grows abundant, Where this son may fell the forest, And may cultivate the fallow?” Answered thus the Island-maidens: “There is not a spot befitting, Not a place upon the island, Where to rest thy wearied members, Not the smallest patch of birch-wood, Thou canst bring to cultivation. All our fields have been divided, All these woods have been apportioned, Fields and forests have their owners.”

Lemminkainen asked this question, These the words of Kaukomieli: “Is there room upon this island, Worthy spot in field or forest, Where to sing my songs of magic, Chant my gathered store of wisdom, Sing mine ancient songs and legends?” Answered thus the Island-maidens: “There is room upon this island, Worthy place in these dominions, Thou canst sing thy garnered wisdom, Thou canst chant thine ancient legends, Legends of the times primeval, In the forest, in the castle, On the island-plains and pastures.”

Then began the reckless minstrel To intone his wizard-sayings; Sang he alders to the waysides, Sang the oaks upon the mountains, On the oak-trees sang he branches, On each branch he sang an acorn, On the acorns, golden rollers, On each roller, sang a cuckoo; Then began the cuckoos, calling, Gold from every throat came streaming, Copper fell from every feather, And each wing emitted silver, Filled the isle with precious metals. Sang again young Lemminkainen, Conjured on, and sang, and chanted, Sang to precious stones the sea-sands, Sang the stones to pearls resplendent, Robed the groves in iridescence, Sang the island full of flowers, Many-colored as the rainbow. Sang again the magic minstrel, In the court a well he conjured, On the well a golden cover, On the lid a silver dipper, That the boys might drink the water, That the maids might lave their eyelids. On the plains he conjured lakelets, Sang the duck upon the waters, Golden-cheeked and silver-headed, Sang the feet from shining copper; And the Island-maidens wondered, Stood entranced at Ahti’s wisdom, At the songs of Lemminkainen, At the hero’s magic power.

Spake the singer, Lemminkainen, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli: “I would sing a wondrous legend, Sing in miracles of sweetness, If within some hall or chamber, I were seated at the table. If I sing not in the castle, In some spot by walls surrounded, Then I sing my songs to zephyrs, Fling them to the fields and forests.” Answered thus the Island-maidens: “On this isle are castle-chambers, Halls for use of magic singers, Courts complete for chanting legends, Where thy singing will be welcome, Where thy songs will not be scattered To the forests of the island, Nor thy wisdom lost in ether.”

Straightway Lemminkainen journeyed With the maidens to the castle; There he sang and conjured pitchers On the borders of the tables, Sang and conjured golden goblets Foaming with the beer of barley; Sang he many well-filled vessels, Bowls of honey-drink abundant, Sweetest butter, toothsome biscuit, Bacon, fish, and veal, and venison, All the dainties of the Northland, Wherewithal to still his hunger. But the proud-heart, Lemminkainen, Was not ready for the banquet, Did not yet begin his feasting, Waited for a knife of silver, For a knife of golden handle; Quick he sang the precious metals, Sang a blade from purest silver, To the blade a golden handle, Straightway then began his feasting, Quenched his thirst and stilled his hunger, Charmed the maidens on the island.

Then the minstrel, Lemminkainen, Roamed throughout the island-hamlets, To the joy of all the virgins, All the maids of braided tresses; Wheresoe’er he turned his footsteps, There appeared a maid to greet him; When his hand was kindly offered, There his hand was kindly taken; When he wandered out at evening, Even in the darksome places, There the maidens bade him welcome; There was not an island-village Where there were not seven castles, In each castle seven daughters, And the daughters stood in waiting, Gave the hero joyful greetings, Only one of all the maidens Whom he did not greet with pleasure.

Thus the merry Lemminkainen Spent three summers in the ocean, Spent a merry time in refuge, In the hamlets on the island, To the pleasure of the maidens, To the joy of all the daughters; Only one was left neglected, She a poor and graceless spinster, On the isle’s remotest border, In the smallest of the hamlets.

Then he thought about his journey O’er the ocean to his mother, To the cottage of his father. There appeared the slighted spinster, To the Northland son departing, Spake these words to Lemminkainen: “O, thou handsome Kaukomieli, Wisdom-bard, and magic singer, Since this maiden thou hast slighted, May the winds destroy thy vessel, Dash thy bark to countless fragments On the ocean-rocks and ledges!”

Lemminkainen’s thoughts were homeward, Did not heed the maiden’s murmurs, Did not rise before the dawning Of the morning on the island, To the pleasure of the maiden Of the much-neglected hamlet. Finally at close of evening, He resolved to leave the island, He resolved to waken early, Long before the dawn of morning; Long before the time appointed, He arose that he might wander Through the hamlets of the island, Bid adieu to all the maidens, On the morn of his departure. As he wandered hither, thither, Walking through the village path-ways To the last of all the hamlets; Saw he none of all the castles, Where three dwellings were not standing; Saw he none of all the dwellings Where three heroes were not watching; Saw he none of all the heroes, Who was not engaged in grinding Swords, and spears, and battle-axes, For the death of Lemminkainen. And these words the hero uttered: “Now alas! the Sun arises From his couch within the ocean, On the frailest of the heroes, On the saddest child of Northland; On my neck the cloak of Lempo Might protect me from all evil, Though a hundred foes assail me, Though a thousand archers follow.”

Then he left the maids ungreeted, Left his longing for the daughters Of the nameless Isle of Refuge, With his farewell-words unspoken, Hastened toward the island-harbor, Toward his magic bark at anchor; But he found it burned to ashes, Sweet revenge had fired his vessel, Lighted by the slighted spinster. Then he saw the dawn of evil, Saw misfortune hanging over, Saw destruction round about him. Straightway he began rebuilding Him a magic sailing-vessel, New and wondrous, full of beauty; But the hero needed timber, Boards, and planks, and beams, and braces, Found the smallest bit of lumber, Found of boards but seven fragments, Of a spool he found three pieces, Found six pieces of the distaff; With these fragments builds his vessel, Builds a ship of magic virtue, Builds the bark with secret knowledge, Through the will of the magician; Strikes one blow, and builds the first part, Strikes a second, builds the centre, Strikes a third with wondrous power, And the vessel is completed.

Thereupon the ship he launches, Sings the vessel to the ocean, And these words the hero utters: “Like a bubble swim these waters, Like a flower ride the billows; Loan me of thy magic feathers, Three, O eagle, four, O raven, For protection to my vessel, Lest it flounder in the ocean!”

Now the sailor, Lemminkainen, Seats himself upon the bottom Of the vessel he has builded, Hastens on his journey homeward, Head depressed and evil-humored, Cap awry upon his forehead, Mind dejected, heavy-hearted, That he could not dwell forever In the castles of the daughters Of the nameless Isle of Refuge.

Spake the minstrel, Lemminkainen, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli: “Leave I must this merry island, Leave her many joys and pleasures, Leave her maids with braided tresses, Leave her dances and her daughters, To the joys of other heroes; But I take this comfort with me: All the maidens on the island, Save the spinster who was slighted, Will bemoan my loss for ages, Will regret my quick departure; They will miss me at the dances, In the halls of mirth and joyance, In the homes of merry maidens, On my father’s Isle of Refuge.”

Wept the maidens on the island, Long lamenting, loudly calling To the hero sailing homeward: “Whither goest, Lemminkainen, Why depart, thou best of heroes? Dost thou leave from inattention, Is there here a dearth of maidens, Have our greetings been unworthy?”

Sang the magic Lemminkainen To the maids as he was sailing, This in answer to their calling: “Leaving not for want of pleasure, Do not go from dearth of women Beautiful the island-maidens, Countless as the sands their virtues. This the reason of my going, I am longing for my home-land, Longing for my mother’s cabins, For the strawberries of Northland, For the raspberries of Kalew, For the maidens of my childhood, For the children of my mother.”

Then the merry Lemminkainen Bade farewell to all the island; Winds arose and drove his vessel On the blue-back of the ocean, O’er the far-extending waters, Toward the island of his mother. On the shore were grouped the daughters Of the magic Isle of Refuge, On the rocks sat the forsaken, Weeping stood the island-maidens, Golden daughters, loud-lamenting. Weep the maidens of the island While the sail-yards greet their vision, While the copper-beltings glisten; Do not weep to lose the sail-yards, Nor to lose the copper-beltings; Weep they for the loss of Ahti, For the fleeing Kaukomieli Guiding the departing vessel. Also weeps young Lemminkainen, Sorely weeps, and loud-lamenting, Weeps while he can see the island, While the island hill-tops glisten; Does not mourn the island-mountains, Weeps he only for the maidens, Left upon the Isle of Refuge.

Thereupon sailed Kaukomieli On the blue-back of the ocean; Sailed one day, and then a second, But, alas! upon the third day, There arose a mighty storm-wind, And the sky was black with fury. Blew the black winds from the north-west, From the south-east came the whirlwind, Tore away the ship’s forecastle, Tore away the vessel’s rudder, Dashed the wooden hull to pieces. Thereupon wild Lemminkainen Headlong fell upon the waters; With his head he did the steering, With his hands and feet, the rowing; Swam whole days and nights unceasing, Swam with hope and strength united, Till at last appeared a cloudlet, Growing cloudlet to the westward, Changing to a promontory, Into land within the ocean.

Swiftly to the shore swam Ahti, Hastened to a magic castle, Found therein a hostess baking, And her daughters kneading barley, And these words the hero uttered: “O, thou hostess, filled with kindness, Couldst thou know my pangs of hunger, Couldst thou guess my name and station, Thou wouldst hasten to the storehouse, Bring me beer and foaming liquor, Bring the best of thy provisions, Bring me fish, and veal, and bacon, Butter, bread, and honeyed biscuits, Set for me a wholesome dinner, Wherewithal to still my hunger, Quench the thirst of Lemminkainen. Days and nights have I been swimming, Buffeting the waves of ocean, Seemed as if the wind protected, And the billows gave me shelter.”

Then the hostess, filled with kindness, Hastened to the mountain storehouse, Cut some butter, veal, and bacon, Bread, and fish, and honeyed biscuit, Brought the best of her provisions, Brought the mead and beer of barley, Set for him a toothsome dinner, Wherewithal to still his hunger, Quench the thirst of Lemminkainen.

When the hero’s feast had ended, Straightway was a magic vessel Given by the kindly hostess To the weary Kaukomieli, Bark of beauty, new and hardy, Wherewithal to aid the stranger In his journey to his home-land, To the cottage of his mother.

Quickly sailed wild Lemminkainen On the blue-back of the ocean; Sailed he days and nights unceasing, Till at last he reached the borders Of his own loved home and country; There beheld he scenes familiar, Saw the islands, capes, and rivers, Saw his former shipping-stations, Saw he many ancient landmarks, Saw the mountains with their fir-trees, Saw the pine-trees on the hill-tops, Saw the willows in the lowlands; Did not see his father’s cottage, Nor the dwellings of his mother. Where a mansion once had risen, There the alder-trees were growing, Shrubs were growing on the homestead, Junipers within the court-yard. Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: “In this glen I played and wandered, On these stones I rocked for ages, On this lawn I rolled and tumbled, Frolicked on these woodland-borders, When a child of little stature. Where then is my mother’s dwelling, Where the castles of my father? Fire, I fear, has found the hamlet, And the winds dispersed the ashes.”

Then he fell to bitter weeping, Wept one day and then a second, Wept the third day without ceasing; Did not mourn the ancient homestead, Nor the dwellings of his father; Wept he for his darling mother, Wept he for the dear departed, For the loved ones of the island.

Then he saw the bird of heaven, Saw an eagle flying near him, And he asked the bird this question: “Mighty eagle, bird majestic, Grant to me the information, Where my mother may have wandered, Whither I may go and find her!”

But the eagle knew but little, Only knew that Ahti’s people Long ago together perished; And the raven also answered That his people had been scattered By the swords, and spears, and arrows, Of his enemies from Pohya. Spake the hero, Lemminkainen: “Faithful mother, dear departed, Thou who nursed me in my childhood, Art thou dead and turned to ashes, Didst thou perish for my follies, O’er thy head are willows weeping, Junipers above thy body, Alders watching o’er thy slumbers? This my punishment for evil, This the recompense of folly! Fool was I, a son unworthy, That I measured swords in Northland With the landlord of Pohyola. To my tribe came fell destruction, And the death of my dear mother, Through my crimes and misdemeanors.”

Then the minstrel looked about him, Anxious, looked in all directions, And beheld some gentle foot-prints, Saw a pathway lightly trodden Where the heather had been beaten. Quick as thought the path he followed, Through the meadows, through the brambles, O’er the hills, and through the valleys, To a forest, vast and cheerless; Travelled far and travelled farther, Still a greater distance travelled, To a dense and hidden glenwood, In the middle of the island; Found therein a sheltered cabin, Found a small and darksome dwelling Built between the rocky ledges, In the midst of triple pine-trees; And within he spied his mother, Found his gray-haired mother weeping.

Lemminkainen loud rejoices, Cries in tones of joyful greetings, These the words that Ahti utters: “Faithful mother, well-beloved, Thou that gavest me existence, Happy I, that thou art living, That thou hast not yet departed To the kingdom of Tuoni, To the islands of the blessed, I had thought that thou hadst perished, Hadst been murdered by my foemen, Hadst been slain with bows and arrows. Heavy are mine eyes from weeping, And my cheeks are white with sorrow, Since I thought my mother slaughtered For the sins I had committed!” Lemminkainen’s mother answered: “Long, indeed, hast thou been absent, Long, my son, hast thou been living In thy father’s Isle of Refuge, Roaming on the secret island, Living at the doors of strangers, Living in a nameless country, Refuge from the Northland foemen.” Spake the hero, Lemminkainen: “Charming is that spot for living, Beautiful the magic island, Rainbow-colored was the forest, Blue the glimmer of the meadows, Silvered were the pine-tree branches, Golden were the heather-blossoms; All the woodlands dripped with honey, Eggs in every rock and crevice, Honey flowed from birch and sorb-tree, Milk in streams from fir and aspen, Beer-foam dripping from the willows, Charming there to live and linger, All their edibles delicious. This their only source of trouble: Great the fear for all the maidens, All the heroes filled with envy, Feared the coming of the stranger; Thought that all the island-maidens, Thought that all the wives and daughters, All the good, and all the evil, Gave thy son too much attention; Thought the stranger, Lemminkainen, Saw the Island-maids too often; Yet the virgins I avoided, Shunned the good and shunned the evil, Shunned the host of charming daughters, As the black-wolf shuns the sheep-fold, As the hawk neglects the chickens.”

RUNE XXX. THE FROST-FIEND.

Lemminkainen, reckless minstrel, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Hastens as the dawn is breaking, At the dawning of the morning;, To the resting-place of vessels, To the harbor of the island, Finds the vessels sorely weeping, Hears the wailing of the rigging, And the ships intone this chorus: “Must we wretched lie forever In the harbor of this island, Here to dry and fall in pieces? Ahti wars no more in Northland, Wars no more for sixty summers, Even should he thirst for silver, Should he wish the gold of battle.”

Lemminkainen struck his vessels With his gloves adorned with copper, And addressed the ships as follows: “Mourn no more, my ships of fir-wood, Strong and hardy is your rigging, To the wars ye soon may hasten, Hasten to the seas of battle; Warriors may swarm your cabins Ere to-morrow’s morn has risen.”

Then the reckless Lemminkainen Hastened to his aged mother, Spake to her the words that follow: “Weep no longer, faithful mother, Do not sorrow for thy hero, Should he leave for scenes of battle, For the hostile fields of Pohya; Sweet revenge has fired my spirit, And my soul is well determined, To avenge the shameful insult That the warriors of Northland Gave to thee, defenseless woman.”

To restrain him seeks his mother, Warns her son again of danger: “Do not go, my son beloved, To the wars in Sariola; There the jaws of Death await thee, Fell destruction lies before thee!”

Lemminkainen, little heeding, Still determined, speaks as follows: “Where may I secure a swordsman, Worthy of my race of heroes, To assist me in the combat? Often I have heard of Tiera, Heard of Kura of the islands, This one I will take to help me, Magic hero of the broadsword; He will aid me in the combat, Will protect me from destruction.”

Then he wandered to the islands, On the way to Tiera’s hamlet, These the words that Ahti utters As he nears the ancient dwellings: “Dearest friend, my noble Tiera, My beloved hero-brother, Dost thou other times remember, When we fought and bled together, On the battle-fields of Northland? There was not an island-village Where there were not seven mansions, In each mansion seven heroes, And not one of all these foemen Whom we did not slay with broadswords, Victims of our skill and valor.”

Near the window sat the father Whittling out a javelin-handle; Near the threshold sat the mother Skimming cream and making butter; Near the portal stood the brother Working on a sledge of birch-wood; Near the bridge-pass were the sisters Washing out their varied garments.

Spake the father from the window, From the threshold spake the mother, From the portals spake the brother, And the sisters from the bridge-pass: “Tiera has no time for combat, And his broadsword cannot battle; Tiera is but late a bridegroom, Still unveiled his bride awaits him.”

Near the hearth was Tiera lying, Lying by the fire was Kura, Hastily one foot was shoeing, While the other lay in waiting. From the hook he takes his girdle, Buckles it around his body, Takes a javelin from its resting, Not the largest, nor the smallest, Buckles on his mighty scabbard, Dons his heavy mail of copper; On each javelin pranced a charger, Wolves were howling from his helmet, On the rings the bears were growling. Tiera poised his mighty javelin, Launched the spear upon its errand; Hurled the shaft across the pasture, To the border of the forest, O’er the clay-fields of Pohyola, O’er the green and fragrant meadows, Through the distant hills of Northland. Then great Tiera touched his javelin To the mighty spear of Ahti, Pledged his aid to Lemminkainen, As his combatant and comrade. Thereupon wild Kaukomieli Pushed his boat upon the waters; Like the serpent through the heather, Like the creeping of the adder, Sails the boat away to Pohya, O’er the seas of Sariola.

Quick the wicked hostess, Louhi, Sends the black-frost of the heavens To the waters of Pohyola, O’er the far-extending sea-plains, Gave the black-frost these directions: “Much-loved Frost, my son and hero, Whom thy mother has instructed, Hasten whither I may send thee, Go wherever I command thee, Freeze the vessel of this hero, Lemminkainen’s bark of magic, On the broad back of the ocean, On the far-extending waters; Freeze the wizard in his vessel, Freeze to ice the wicked Ahti, That he never more may wander, Never waken while thou livest, Or at least till I shall free him, Wake him from his icy slumber!”

Frost, the son of wicked parents, Hero-son of evil manners, Hastens off to freeze the ocean, Goes to fasten down the flood-gates, Goes to still the ocean-currents. As he hastens on his journey, Takes the leaves from all the forest, Strips the meadows of their verdure, Robs the flowers of their colors. When his journey he had ended, Gained the border of the ocean, Gained the sea-shore curved and endless, On the first night of his visit, Freezes he the lakes and rivers, Freezes too the shore of ocean, Freezes not the ocean-billows, Does not check the ocean-currents. On the sea a finch is resting, Bird of song upon the waters, But his feet are not yet frozen, Neither is his head endangered. When the second night Frost lingered, He began to grow important, He became a fierce intruder, Fearless grew in his invasions, Freezes everything before him; Sends the fiercest cold of Northland, Turns to ice the boundless waters. Ever thicker, thicker, thicker, Grew the ice on sea and ocean, Ever deeper, deeper, deeper, Fell the snow on field and forest, Froze the hero’s ship of beauty, Cold and lifeless bark of Ahti; Sought to freeze wild Lemminkainen, Freeze him lifeless as his vessel, Asked the minstrel for his life-blood, For his ears, and feet, and fingers.

Then the hero, Lemminkainen, Angry grew and filled with magic, Hurled the black-frost to the fire-god, Threw him to the fiery furnace, Held him in his forge of iron, Then addressed the frost as follows: “Frost, thou evil son of Northland, Dire and only son of Winter, Let my members not be stiffened, Neither ears, nor feet, nor fingers, Neither let my head be frozen. Thou hast other things to feed on, Many other heads to stiffen; Leave in peace the flesh of heroes, Let this minstrel pass in safety, Freeze the swamps, and lakes, and rivers, Fens and forests, hills and valleys; Let the cold stones grow still colder, Freeze the willows in the waters, Let the aspens freeze and suffer, Let the bark peel from the birch-trees, Let the pines burst on the mountains, Let this hero pass in safety, Do not let his locks be stiffened.

“If all these prove insufficient, Feed on other worthy matters; Let the hot stones freeze asunder, Let the flaming rocks be frozen, Freeze the fiery blocks of iron, Freeze to ice the iron mountains; Stiffen well the mighty Wuoksi, Let Imatra freeze to silence; Freeze the sacred stream and whirlpool, Let their boiling billows stiffen, Or thine origin I’ll sing thee, Tell thy lineage of evil. Well I know thine evil nature, Know thine origin and power, Whence thou camest, where thou goest, Know thine ancestry of evil. Thou wert born upon the aspen, Wert conceived upon the willows, Near the borders of Pohyola, In the courts of dismal Northland; Sin-begotten was thy father, And thy mother was Dishonor.

“While in infancy who fed thee While thy mother could not nurse thee? Surely thou wert fed by adders, Nursed by foul and slimy serpents; North-winds rocked thee into slumber, Cradled thee in roughest weather, In the worst of willow-marshes, In the springs forever flowing, Evil-born and evil-nurtured, Grew to be an evil genius, Evil was thy mind and spirit, And the infant still was nameless, Till the name of Frost was given To the progeny of evil.

“Then the young lad lived in hedges, Dwelt among the weeds and willows, Lived in springs in days of summer, On the borders of the marshes, Tore the lindens in the winter, Stormed among the glens and forests, Raged among the sacred birch-trees, Rattled in the alder-branches, Froze the trees, the shoots, the grasses, Evened all the plains and prairies, Ate the leaves within the woodlands, Made the stalks drop down their blossoms, Peeled the bark on weeds and willows.

“Thou hast grown to large proportions, Hast become too tall and mighty; Dost thou labor to benumb me, Dost thou wish mine ears and fingers, Of my feet wouldst thou deprive me? Do not strive to freeze this hero, In his anguish and misfortune; In my stockings I shall kindle Fire to drive thee from my presence, In my shoes lay flaming faggots, Coals of fire in every garment, Heated sandstones in my rigging; Thus will hold thee at a distance. Then thine evil form I’ll banish To the farthest Northland borders; When thy journey is completed, When thy home is reached in safety, Freeze the caldrons in the castle, Freeze the coal upon the hearthstone, In the dough, the hands of women, On its mother’s lap, the infant, Freeze the colt beside its mother.

“If thou shouldst not heed this order, I shall banish thee still farther, To the carbon-piles of Hisi, To the chimney-hearth of Lempo, Hurl thee to his fiery furnace, Lay thee on the iron anvil, That thy body may be hammered With the sledges of the blacksmith, May be pounded into atoms, Twixt the anvil and the hammer.

“If thou shouldst not heed this order, Shouldst not leave me to my freedom, Know I still another kingdom, Know another spot of resting; I shall drive thee to the summer, Lead thy tongue to warmer climates, There a prisoner to suffer, Never to obtain thy freedom Till thy spirit I deliver, Till I go myself and free thee.”

Wicked Frost, the son of Winter, Saw the magic bird of evil Hovering above his spirit, Straightway prayed for Ahti’s mercy, These the words the Frost-fiend uttered: “Let us now agree together, Neither one to harm the other, Never in the course of ages, Never while the moonlight glimmers On the snow-capped hills of Northland. If thou hearest that I bring thee Cold to freeze thy feet and fingers, Hurl me to the fiery furnace, Hammer me upon the anvil Of the blacksmith, Ilmarinen; Lead my tongue to warmer climates, Banish me to lands of summer, There a prisoner to suffer, Nevermore to gain my freedom.”

Thereupon wild Lemminkainen Left his vessel in the ocean, Frozen in the ice of Northland, Left his warlike boat forever, Started on his cheerless journey To the borders of Pohyola, And the mighty Tiera followed In the tracks of his companion. On the ice they journeyed northward Briskly walked upon the ice-plain, Walked one day, and then a second, Till the closing of the third day, When the Hunger-land approached them, When appeared Starvation-island.

Here the hardy Lemminkainen Hastened forward to the castle, This the hero’s prayer and question: “Is there food within this castle, Fish or fowl within its larders, To refresh us on our journey, Mighty heroes, cold and weary?

When the hero, Lemminkainen, Found no food within the castle, Neither fish, nor fowl, nor bacon, Thus he cursed it and departed: “May the fire destroy these chambers, May the waters flood this dwelling, Wash it to the seas of Mana!”

Then they hastened onward, onward, Hastened on through field and forest, Over by-ways long untrodden, Over unknown paths and snow-fields; Here the hardy Lemminkainen, Reckless hero, Kaukomieli, Pulled the soft wool from the ledges, Gathered lichens from the tree-trunks, Wove them into magic stockings, Wove them into shoes and mittens, On the settles of the hoar-frost, In the stinging cold of Northland.

Then he sought to find some pathway, That would guide their wayward footsteps, And the hero spake as follows: “O thou Tiera, friend beloved, Shall we reach our destination, Wandering for days together, Through these Northland fields and forests?” Kura thus replies to Ahti: “We, alas! have come for vengeance, Come for blood and retribution, To the battle-fields of Northland, To the dismal Sariola, Here to leave our souls and bodies, Here to starve, and freeze, and perish, In the dreariest of places, In this sun-forsaken country! Never shall we gain the knowledge, Never learn it, never tell it, Which the pathway that can guide us To the forest-beds to suffer, To the Pohya-plains to perish, In the home-land of the ravens, Fitting food for crows and eagles. Often do the Northland vultures Hither come to feed their fledgelings; Hither bring the birds of heaven Bits of flesh and blood of heroes; Often do the beaks of ravens Tear the flesh of kindred corpses, Often do the eagle’s talons Carry bones and trembling vitals, Such as ours, to feed their nestlings, In their rocky homes and ledges.

“Oh! my mother can but wonder, Never can divine the answer, Where her reckless son is roaming, Where her hero’s blood is flowing, Whether in the swamps and lowlands, Whether in the heat of battle, Or upon the waves of the ocean, Or upon the hop-field mountains, Or along some forest by-way. Nothing can her mind discover Of the frailest of her heroes, Only think that he has perished. Thus the hoary-headed mother Weeps and murmurs in her chambers: ‘Where is now my son beloved, In the kingdom of Manala? Sow thy crops, thou dread Tuoni, Harrow well the fields of Kalma! Now the bow receives its respite From the fingers of my Tiera; Bow and arrow now are useless, Now the merry birds can fatten In the fields, and fens, and forests; Bears may live in dens of freedom, On the fields may sport the elk-herds.’” Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: “Thus it is, mine aged mother, Thou that gavest me existence! Thou hast reared thy broods of chickens, Hatched and reared thy flights of white-swans, All of them the winds have scattered, Or the evil Lempo frightened; One flew hither, and one thither, And a third one, lost forever! Think thou of our former pleasures, Of our better days together, When I wandered like the flowers, Like the berry in the meadows. Many saw my form majestic, Many thought me well-proportioned. Now is not as then with Ahti, Into evil days have fallen, Since I see but storms and darkness! Then my eyes beheld but sunshine, Then we did not weep and murmur, Did not fill our hearts with sorrow, When the maids in joy were singing, When the virgins twined their tresses; Then the women joined in joyance, Whether brides were happy-wedded, Whether bridegrooms choose discreetly, Whether they were wise or unwise.

“But we must not grow disheartened, Let the Island-maidens cheer us; Here we are not yet enchanted, Not bewitched by magic singing, On the paths not left to perish, Sink and perish on our journey. Full of youth we should not suffer, Strong, we should not die unworthy, Whom the wizards have enchanted, Have bewitched with songs of magic; Sorcerers may charm and conquer, Bury them within their dungeons, Hide them spell-bound in their cabins. Let the wizards charm each other, And bewitch their magic offspring, Bring their tribes to fell destruction. Never did my gray-haired father Bow submission to a wizard, Offer worship to magicians. These the words my father uttered, These the thoughts his son advances: ‘Guard us, thou O great Creator, Shield us, thou O God of mercy, With thine arms of grace protect us, Help us with thy strength and wisdom, Guide the minds of all thy heroes, Keep aright the thoughts of women, Keep the old from speaking evil, Keep the young from sin and folly, Be to us a help forever, Be our Guardian and our Father, That our children may not wander From the ways of their Creator, From the path that God has given!’”

Then the hero Lemminkainen, Made from cares the fleetest racers, Sable racers from his sorrows, Reins he made from days of evil, From his sacred pains made saddles. To the saddle, quickly springing, Galloped he away from trouble, To his dear and aged mother; And his comrade, faithful Tiera, Galloped to his Island-dwelling.

Now departs wild Lemminkainen, Brave and reckless Kaukomieli, From these ancient songs and legends; Only guides his faithful Kura To his waiting bride and kindred, While these lays and incantations Shall be turned to other heroes.

RUNE XXXI. KULLERWOINEN SON OF EVIL.

In the ancient times a mother Hatched and raised some swans and chickens, Placed the chickens in the brushwood, Placed her swans upon the river; Came an eagle, hawk, and falcon, Scattered all her swans and chickens, One was carried to Karyala, And a second into Ehstland, Left a third at home in Pohya. And the one to Ehstland taken Soon became a thriving merchant; He that journeyed to Karyala Flourished and was called Kalervo; He that hid away in Pohya Took the name of Untamoinen, Flourished to his father’s sorrow, To the heart-pain of his mother.

Untamoinen sets his fish-nets In the waters of Kalervo; Kullerwoinen sees the fish-nets, Takes the fish home in his basket. Then Untamo, evil-minded, Angry grew and sighed for vengeance, Clutched his fingers for the combat, Bared his mighty arms for battle, For the stealing of his salmon, For the robbing of his fish-nets. Long they battled, fierce the struggle, Neither one could prove the victor; Should one beat the other fiercely, He himself was fiercely beaten.

Then arose a second trouble; On the second and the third days, Kalerwoinen sowed some barley Near the barns of Untamoinen; Untamoinen’s sheep in hunger Ate the crop of Kullerwoinen; Kullerwoinen’s dog in malice Tore Untamo’s sheep in pieces; Then Untamo sorely threatened To annihilate the people Of his brother, Kalerwoinen, To exterminate his tribe-folk, To destroy the young and aged, To out-root his race and kingdom; Conjures men with broadswords girded, For the war he fashions heroes, Fashions youth with spears adjusted, Bearing axes on their shoulders; Conjures thus a mighty army, Hastens to begin a battle, Bring a war upon his brother.

Kalerwoinen’s wife in beauty Sat beside her chamber-window, Looking out along the highway, Spake these words in wonder guessing: “Do I see some smoke arising, Or perchance a heavy storm-cloud, Near the border of the forest, Near the ending of the prairie?”

It was not some smoke arising, Nor indeed a heavy storm-cloud, It was Untamoinen’s soldiers Marching to the place of battle. Warriors of Untamoinen Came equipped with spears and arrows, Killed the people of Kalervo, Slew his tribe and all his kindred, Burned to ashes many dwellings, Levelled many courts and cabins, Only left Kalervo’s daughter, With her unborn child, survivors Of the slaughter of Untamo; And she led the hostile army To her father’s halls and mansion, Swept the rooms and made them cheery, Gave the heroes home-attentions.

Time had gone but little distance, Ere a boy was born in magic Of the virgin, Untamala, Of a mother, trouble-laden, Him the mother named Kullervo, “Pearl of Combat,” said Untamo. Then they laid the child of wonder, Fatherless, the magic infant, In the cradle of attention, To be rocked, and fed, and guarded; But he rocked himself at pleasure, Rocked until his locks stood endwise; Rocked one day, and then a second, Rocked the third from morn till noontide; But before the third day ended, Kicks the boy with might of magic, Forwards, backwards, upwards, downwards, Kicks in miracles of power, Bursts with might his swaddling garments; Creeping from beneath his blankets, Knocks his cradle into fragments, Tears to tatters all his raiment, Seemed that he would grow a hero, And his mother, Untamala, Thought that he, when full of stature, When he found his strength and reason, Would become a great magician, First among a thousand heroes.

When three months the boy had thriven, He began to speak as follows: “When my form is full of stature, When these arms grow strong and hardy, Then will I avenge the murder Of Kalervo and his people!”

Untamoinen hears the saying, Speaks these words to those about him: “To my tribe he brings destruction, In him grows a new Kalervo!”

Then the heroes well considered, And the women gave their counsel, How to kill the magic infant, That their tribe may live in safety. It appeared the boy would prosper; Finally, they all consenting, He was placed within a basket, And with willows firmly fastened, Taken to the reeds and rushes, Lowered to the deepest waters, In his basket there to perish.

When three nights had circled over, Messengers of Untamoinen Went to see if he had perished In his basket in the waters; But the prodigy was living, Had not perished in the rushes; He had left his willow-basket, Sat in triumph on a billow, In his hand a rod of copper, On the rod a golden fish-line, Fishing for the silver whiting, Measuring the deeps beneath him; In the sea was little water, Scarcely would it fill three measures.

Untamoinen then reflected, This the language of the wizard: “Whither shall we take this wonder, Lay this prodigy of evil, That destruction may o’ertake him, Where the boy will sink and perish?”

Then his messengers he ordered To collect dried poles of brushwood, Birch-trees with their hundred branches, Pine-trees full of pitch and resin, Ordered that a pyre be builded, That the boy might be cremated, That Kullervo thus might perish. High they piled the arid branches, Dried limbs from the sacred birch-tree, Branches from a hundred fir-trees, Knots and branches full of resign; Filled with bark a thousand sledges, Seasoned oak, a hundred measures; Piled the brushwood to the tree-tops, Set the boy upon the summit, Set on fire the pile of brushwood, Burned one day, and then a second, Burned the third from morn till evening.

When Untamo sent his heralds To inspect the pyre and wizard, There to learn if young Kullervo Had been burned to dust and ashes, There they saw the young boy sitting On a pyramid of embers, In his hand a rod of copper, Raking coals of fire about him, To increase their heat and power; Not a hair was burned nor injured, Not a ringlet singed nor shrivelled.

Then Untamo, evil-humored, Thus addressed his trusted heralds: “Whither shall the boy be taken, To what place this thing of evil, That destruction may o’ertake him. That the boy may sink and perish?”

Then they hung him to an oak-tree, Crucified him in the branches, That the wizard there might perish.

When three days and nights had ended, Untamoinen spake as follows: “It is time to send my heralds To inspect the mighty oak-tree, There to learn if young Kullervo Lives or dies among the branches.”

Thereupon he sent his servants, And the heralds brought this message: “Young Kullervo has not perished, Has not died among the branches Of the oak-tree where we hung him. In the oak he maketh pictures With a wand between his fingers; Pictures hang from all the branches, Carved and painted by Kullervo; And the heroes, thick as acorns, With their swords and spears adjusted, Fill the branches of the oak-tree, Every leaf becomes a soldier.”

Who can help the grave Untamo Kill the boy that threatens evil To Untamo’s tribe and country, Since he will not die by water, Nor by fire, nor crucifixion? Finally it was decided That his body was immortal, Could not suffer death nor torture.

In despair grave Untamoinen Thus addressed the boy, Kullervo: “Wilt thou live a life becoming, Always do my people honor, Should I keep thee in my dwelling? Shouldst thou render servant’s duty, Then thou wilt receive thy wages, Reaping whatsoe’er thou sowest; Thou canst wear the golden girdle, Or endure the tongue of censure.”

When the boy had grown a little, Had increased in strength and stature, He was given occupation, He was made to tend an infant, Made to rock the infant’s cradle. These the words of Untamoinen: “Often look upon the young child, Feed him well and guard from danger, Wash his linen in the river, Give the infant good attention.”

Young Kullervo, wicked wizard, Nurses one day then a second; On the morning of the third day, Gives the infant cruel treatment, Blinds its eyes and breaks its fingers; And when evening shadows gather, Kills the young child while it slumbers, Throws its body to the waters, Breaks and burns the infant’s cradle. Untamoinen thus reflected: “Never will this fell Kullervo Be a worthy nurse for children, Cannot rock a babe in safety; Do not know how I can use him, What employment I can give him!”

Then he told the young magician He must fell the standing forest, And Kullervo gave this answer: “Only will I be a hero, When I wield the magic hatchet; I am young, and fair, and mighty, Far more beautiful than others, Have the skill of six magicians.”

Thereupon he sought the blacksmith, This the order of Kullervo: “Listen, O thou metal-artist, Forge for me an axe of copper, Forge the mighty axe of heroes, Wherewith I may fell the forest, Fell the birch, and oak, and aspen.”

This behest the blacksmith honors, Forges him an axe of copper, Wonderful the blade he forges. Kullerwoinen grinds his hatchet, Grinds his blade from morn till evening, And the next day makes the handle; Then he hastens to the forest, To the upward-sloping mountain, To the tallest of the birches, To the mightiest of oak-trees; There he swings his axe of copper, Swings his blade with might of magic, Cuts with sharpened edge the aspen, With one blow he fells the oak-tree, With a second blow, the linden; Many trees have quickly fallen, By the hatchet of Kullervo. Then the wizard spake as follows: “This the proper work of Lempo, Let dire Hisi fell the forest!”

In the birch he sank his hatchet, Made an uproar in the woodlands, Called aloud in tones of thunder, Whistled to the distant mountains, Till they echoed to his calling, When Kullervo spake as follows: “May the forest, in the circle Where my voice rings, fall and perish, In the earth be lost forever! May no tree remain unlevelled, May no saplings grow in spring-time, Never while the moonlight glimmers, Where Kullervo’s voice has echoed, Where the forest hears my calling; Where the ground with seed is planted, And the grain shall sprout and flourish, May it never come to ripeness, May the ears of corn be blasted!”

When the strong man, Untamoinen, Went to look at early evening, How Kullervo was progressing, In his labors in the forest; Little was the work accomplished, Was not worthy of a hero; Untamoinen thus reflected: “Young Kullervo is not fitted For the work of clearing forests, Wastes the best of all the timber, To my lands he brings destruction; I shall set him making fences.”

Then the youth began the building Of a fence for Untamoinen; Took the trunks of stately fir-trees, Trimmed them with his blade for fence-posts, Cut the tallest in the woodlands, For the railing of his fences; Made the smaller poles and cross-bars From the longest of the lindens; Made the fence without a pass-way, Made no wicket in his fences, And Kullervo spake these measures: “He that does not rise as eagles, Does not sail on wings through ether, Cannot cross Kullervo’s pickets, Nor the fences he has builded.”

Untamoinen left his mansion To inspect the young boy’s labors, View the fences of Kullervo; Saw the fence without a pass-way, Not a wicket in his fences; From the earth the fence extended To the highest clouds of heaven. These the words of Untamoinen: “For this work he is not fitted, Useless is the fence thus builded; Is so high that none can cross it, And there is no passage through it: He shall thresh the rye and barley.”

Young Kullervo, quick preparing, Made an oaken flail for threshing, Threshed the rye to finest powder, Threshed the barley into atoms, And the straw to worthless fragments.

Untamoinen went at evening, Went to see Kullervo’s threshing, View the work of Kullerwoinen; Found the rye was ground to powder, Grains of barley crushed to atoms, And the straw to worthless rubbish.

Untamoinen then grew angry, Spake these words in bitter accents: “Kullerwoinen as a workman Is a miserable failure; Whatsoever work he touches Is but ruined by his witchcraft; I shall carry him to Ehstland, In Karyala I shall sell him To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, There to swing the heavy hammer.”

Untamoinen sells Kullervo, Trades him off in far Karyala, To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, To the master of the metals, This the sum received in payment: Seven worn and worthless sickles, Three old caldrons worse than useless, Three old scythes, and hoes, and axes, Recompense, indeed, sufficient For a boy that will not labor For the good of his employer.

RUNE XXXII. KULLERVO AS A SHEPHERD.

Kullerwoinen, wizard-servant Of the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Purchased slave from Untamoinen, Magic son with sky-blue stockings, With a head of golden ringlets, In his shoes of marten-leather, Waiting little, asked the blacksmith, Asked the host for work at morning, In the evening asked the hostess, These the words of Kullerwoinen: “Give me work at early morning, In the evening, occupation, Labor worthy of thy servant.”

Then the wife of Ilmarinen, Once the Maiden of the Rainbow, Thinking long, and long debating, How to give the youth employment, How the purchased slave could labor; Finally a shepherd made him, Made him keeper of her pastures; But the over-scornful hostess, Baked a biscuit for the herdsman, Baked a loaf of wondrous thickness, Baked the lower-half of oat-meal, And the upper-half of barley, Baked a flint-stone in the centre, Poured around it liquid butter, Then she gave it to the shepherd, Food to still the herdsman’s hunger; Thus she gave the youth instructions: “Do not eat the bread in hunger, Till the herd is in the woodlands!”

Then the wife of Ilmarinen Sent her cattle to the pasture, Thus addressing Kullerwoinen: “Drive the cows to yonder bowers, To the birch-trees and the aspens, That they there may feed and fatten, Fill themselves with milk and butter, In the open forest-pastures, On the distant hills and mountains, In the glens among the birch-trees, In the lowlands with the aspens, In the golden pine-tree forests, In the thickets silver-laden.

“Guard them, thou O kind Creator, Shield them, omnipresent Ukko, Shelter them from every danger, And protect them from all evil, That they may not want, nor wander From the paths of peace and plenty. As at home Thou didst protect them In the shelters and the hurdles, Guard them now beneath the heavens, Shelter them in woodland pastures, That the herds may live and prosper To the joy of Northland’s hostess, And against the will of Lempo.

“If my herdsman prove unworthy, If the shepherd-maids seem evil, Let the pastures be their shepherds, Let the alders guard the cattle, Make the birch-tree their protector, Let the willow drive them homeward, Ere the hostess go to seek them, Ere the milkmaids wait and worry. Should the birch-tree not protect them, Nor the aspen lend assistance, Nor the linden be their keeper, Nor the willow drive them homeward, Wilt thou give them better herdsmen, Let Creation’s beauteous daughters Be their kindly shepherdesses. Thou hast many lovely maidens, Many hundreds that obey thee, In the Ether’s spacious circles, Beauteous daughters of creation.

“Summer-daughter, magic maiden, Southern mother of the woodlands, Pine-tree daughter, Kateyatar, Pihlayatar, of the aspen, Alder-maiden, Tapio’s daughter, Daughter of the glen, Millikki, And the mountain-maid, Tellervo, Of my herds be ye protectors, Keep them from the evil-minded, Keep them safe in days of summer, In the times of fragrant flowers, While the tender leaves are whispering, While the Earth is verdure-laden.

“Summer-daughter, charming maiden, Southern mother of the woodlands, Spread abroad thy robes of safety, Spread thine apron o’er the forest, Let it cover all my cattle, And protect the unprotected, That no evil winds may harm them, May not suffer from the storm-clouds. Guard my flocks from every danger, Keep them from the hands of wild-beasts, From the swamps with sinking pathways, From the springs that bubble trouble, From the swiftly running waters, From the bottom of the whirlpool, That they may not find misfortune, May not wander to destruction, In the marshes sink and perish, Though against God’s best intentions, Though against the will of Ukko.

“From a distance bring a bugle, Bring a shepherd’s horn from heaven, Bring the honey-flute of Ukko, Play the music of creation, Blow the pipes of the magician, Play the flowers on the highlands, Charm the hills, and dales, and mountains, Charm the borders of the forest, Fill the forest-trees with honey, Fill with spice the fountain-borders.

“For my herds give food and shelter, Feed them all on honeyed pastures, Give them drink at honeyed fountains Feed them on thy golden grasses, On the leaves of silver saplings, From the springs of life and beauty, From the crystal-waters flowing, From the waterfalls of Rutya, From the uplands green and golden, From the glens enriched in silver. Dig thou also golden fountains On the four sides of the willow, That the cows may drink in sweetness, And their udders swell with honey, That their milk may flow in streamlets; Let the milk be caught in vessels, Let the cow’s gift be not wasted, Be not given to Manala.