Chapter VII: Part 7

When the ancient Wainamoinen Well had learned the magic sayings, Learned the ancient songs and legends, Learned the words of ancient wisdom, Learned the lost-words of the Master, Well had learned the secret doctrine, He prepared to leave the body Of the wisdom-bard, Wipunen, Leave the bosom of the master, Leave the wonderful enchanter. Spake the hero, Wainamoinen: “O, thou Antero Wipunen, Open wide thy mouth and fauces, I have found the magic lost-words, I will leave thee now forever, Leave thee and thy wondrous singing, Will return to Kalevala, To Wainola’s fields and firesides.” Thus Wipunen spake in answer: “Many are the things I’ve eaten, Eaten bear, and elk, and reindeer, Eaten ox, and wolf, and wild-boar, Eaten man, and eaten hero, Never, never have I eaten Such a thing as Wainamoinen; Thou hast found what thou desirest, Found the three words of the Master; Go in peace, and ne’er returning, Take my blessing on thy going.”

Thereupon the bard Wipunen Opens wide his mouth, and wider; And the good, old Wainamoinen Straightway leaves the wise enchanter, Leaves Wipunen’s great abdomen; From the mouth he glides and journeys O’er the hills and vales of Northland, Swift as red-deer of the forest, Swift as yellow-breasted marten, To the firesides of Wainola, To the plains of Kalevala.

Straightway hastes he to the smithy Of his brother, Ilmarinen, Thus the iron-artist greets him: “Hast thou found the long-lost wisdom, Hast thou heard the secret doctrine, Hast thou learned the master magic, How to fasten in the ledges, How the stern should be completed, How complete the ship’s forecastle?” Wainamoinen thus made answer: “I have learned of words a hundred, Learned a thousand incantations, Hidden deep for many ages, Learned the words of ancient wisdom, Found the keys of secret doctrine, Found the lost-words of the Master.”

Wainamoinen, magic-builder, Straightway journeys to his vessel, To the spot of magic labor, Quickly fastens in the ledges, Firmly binds the stern together And completes the boat’s forecastle. Thus the ancient Wainamoinen Built the boat with magic only, And with magic launched his vessel, Using not the hand to touch it, Using not the foot to move it, Using not the knee to turn it, Using nothing to propel it. Thus the third task was completed, For the hostess of Pohyola, Dowry for the Maid of Beauty Sitting on the arch of heaven, On the bow of many colors.

RUNE XVIII. THE RIVAL SUITORS.

Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Long considered, long debated, How to woo and win the daughter Of the hostess of Pohyola, How to lead the Bride of Beauty, Fairy maiden of the rainbow, To the meadows of Wainola, From the dismal Sariola.

Now he decks his magic vessel, Paints the boat in blue and scarlet, Trims in gold the ship’s forecastle, Decks the prow in molten silver; Sings his magic ship down gliding, On the cylinders of fir-tree; Now erects the masts of pine-wood, On each mast the sails of linen, Sails of blue, and white, and scarlet, Woven into finest fabric.

Wainamoinen, the magician, Steps aboard his wondrous vessel, Steers the bark across the waters, On the blue back of the broad-sea, Speaks these words in sailing northward, Sailing to the dark Pohyola: “Come aboard my ship, O Ukko, Come with me, thou God of mercy, To protect thine ancient hero, To support thy trusting servant, On the breasts of raging billows, On the far out-stretching waters.

“Rock, O winds, this wondrous vessel, Causing not a single ripple; Rolling waves, bear ye me northward, That the oar may not be needed In my journey to Pohyola, O’er this mighty waste of waters.”

Ilmarinen’s beauteous sister, Fair and goodly maid, Annikki, Of the Night and Dawn, the daughter, Who awakes each morning early, Rises long before the daylight, Stood one morning on the sea-shore, Washing in the foam her dresses, Rinsing out her silken ribbons, On the bridge of scarlet color, On the border of the highway, On a headland jutting seaward, On the forest-covered island. Here Annikki, looking round her, Looking through the fog and ether, Looking through the clouds of heaven, Gazing far out on the blue-sea, Sees the morning sun arising, Glimmering along the billows, Looks with eyes of distant vision Toward the sunrise on the waters, Toward the winding streams of Suomi, Where the Wina-waves were flowing.

There she sees, on the horizon, Something darkle in the sunlight, Something blue upon the billows, Speaks these words in wonder guessing: “What is this upon the surges, What this blue upon the waters, What this darkling in the sunlight? ’Tis perhaps a flock of wild-geese, Or perchance the blue-duck flying; Then upon thy wings arising, Fly away to highest heaven.

“Art thou then a shoal of sea-trout, Or perchance a school of salmon? Dive then to the deep sea-bottom, In the waters swim and frolic.

“Art thou then a cliff of granite, Or perchance a mighty oak-tree, Floating on the rough sea-billows? May the floods then wash and beat thee, Break thee to a thousand fragments.”

Wainamoinen, sailing northward, Steers his wondrous ship of magic Toward the headland jutting seaward, Toward the island forest-covered.

Now Annikki, goodly maiden, Sees it is the magic vessel Of a wonderful enchanter, Of a mighty bard and hero, And she asks this simple question: “Art thou then my father’s vessel, Or my brother’s ship of magic? Haste away then to thy harbor, To thy refuge in Wainola. Hast thou come a goodly distance? Sail then farther on thy journey, Point thy prow to other waters.”

It was not her father’s vessel, Not a sail-boat from the distance, ’Twas the ship of Wainamoinen, Bark of the eternal singer; Sails within a hailing distance, Swims still nearer o’er the waters, Brings one word and takes another, Brings a third of magic import.

Speaks the goodly maid, Annikki, Of the Night and Dawn, the daughter, To the sailor of the vessel: “Whither sailest, Wainamoinen, Whither bound, thou friend of waters, Pride and joy of Kalevala?”

From the vessel Wainamoinen Gives this answer to the maiden: “I have come to catch some sea-trout, Catch the young and toothsome whiting, Hiding in these reeds and rushes.” This the answer of Annikki:

“Do not speak to me in falsehood, Know I well the times of fishing; Long ago my honored father Was a fisherman in Northland, Came to catch the trout and whiting, Fished within these seas and rivers. Very well do I remember How the fisherman disposes, How he rigs his fishing vessel, Lines, and gaffs, and poles, and fish-nets; Hast not come a-fishing hither. Whither goest, Wainamoinen, Whither sailest, friend of waters?” Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “I have come to catch some wild-geese, Catch the hissing birds of Suomi, In these far-extending borders, In the Sachsensund dominions.” Good Annikki gives this answer: “Know I well a truthful speaker, Easily detect a falsehood; Formerly my aged father Often came a-hunting hither, Came to hunt the hissing wild-geese, Hunt the red-bill of these waters. Very well do I remember How the hunter rigs his vessel, Bows, and arrows, knives, and quiver, Dogs enchained within the vessel, Pointers hunting on the sea-shore, Setters seeking in the marshes; Tell the truth now Wainamoinen, Whither is thy vessel sailing?” Spake the hero of the Northland: “To the wars my ship is sailing, To the bloody fields of battle, Where the streams run scarlet-colored, Where the paths are paved with bodies.” These the words of fair Annikki: “Know I well the paths to battle; Formerly my aged father Often sounded war’s alarum, Often led the hosts to conquest; In each ship a hundred rowers, And in arms a thousand heroes, On the prow a thousand cross-bows, Swords, and spears, and battle-axes; Know I well the ship of battle. Speak no longer fruitless falsehoods, Whither sailest, Wainamoinen, Whither steerest, friend of waters?” These the words of Wainamoinen: “Come, O maiden, to my vessel, In my magic ship be seated, Then I’ll give thee truthful answer.”

Thus Annikki, silver-tinselled, Answers ancient Wainamoinen: “With the winds I’ll fill thy vessel, To thy bark I’ll send the storm-winds And capsize thy ship of magic, Break in pieces its forecastle, If the truth thou dost not tell me, If thou dost not cease thy falsehoods, If thou dost not tell me truly Whither sails thy magic vessel.” These the words of Wainamoinen: “Now I make thee truthful answer, Though at first I spake deception: I am sailing to the Northland To the dismal Sariola, Where the ogres live and flourish, Where they drown the worthy heroes, There to woo the Maid of Beauty Sitting on the bow of heaven, Woo and win the fairy virgin, Bring her to my home and kindred, To the firesides of Wainola.”

Then Annikki, graceful maiden, Of the Night and Dawn, the daughter, As she heard the rightful answer, Knew the truth was fully spoken, Straightway left her coats unbeaten, Left unwashed her linen garments, Left unrinsed her silks and ribbons On the highway by the sea-shore, On the bridge of scarlet color; On her arm she threw her long-robes, Hastened off with speed of roebuck To the shops of Ilmarinen, To the iron-forger’s furnace, To the blacksmith’s home and smithy, Here she found the hero-artist, Forging out a bench of iron, And adorning it with silver. Soot lay thick upon his forehead, Soot and coal upon his shoulders.

On the threshold speaks Annikki, These the words his sister uses: “Ilmarinen, dearest brother, Thou eternal artist-forger, Forge me now a loom of silver, Golden rings to grace my fingers, Forge me gold and silver ear-rings, Six or seven golden girdles, Golden crosslets for my bosom, For my head forge golden trinkets, And I’ll tell a tale surprising, Tell a story that concerns thee Truthfully I’ll tell the story.”

Then the blacksmith Ilmarinen Spake and these the words he uttered: “If thou’lt tell the tale sincerely, I will forge the loom of silver, Golden rings to grace thy fingers, Forge thee gold and silver ear-rings, Six or seven golden girdles, Golden crosslets for thy bosom, For thy head forge golden trinkets; But if thou shouldst tell me falsely, I shall break thy beauteous jewels, Break thine ornaments in pieces, Hurl them to the fire and furnace, Never forge thee other trinkets.” This the answer of Annikki: “Ancient blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Dost thou ever think to marry Her already thine affianced, Beauteous Maiden of the Rainbow, Fairest virgin of the Northland, Chosen bride of Sariola? Shouldst thou wish the Maid of Beauty, Thou must forge, and forge unceasing, Hammering the days and nights through; Forge the summer hoofs for horses, Forge them iron hoofs for winter, In the long nights forge the snow-sledge, Gaily trim it in the daytime, Haste thou then upon thy journey To thy wooing in the Northland, To the dismal Sariola; Thither journeys one more clever, Sails another now before thee, There to woo thy bride affianced, Thence to lead thy chosen virgin, Woo and win the Maid of Beauty; Three long years thou hast been wooing. Wainamoinen now is sailing On the blue back of the waters, Sitting at his helm of copper; On the prow are golden carvings, Beautiful his boat of magic, Sailing fleetly o’er the billows, To the never-pleasant Northland, To the dismal Sariola.”

Ilmarinen stood in wonder, Stood a statue at the story; Silent grief had settled o’er him, Settled o’er the iron-artist; From one hand the tongs descended, From the other fell the hammer, As the blacksmith made this answer: “Good Annikki, worthy sister, I shall forge the loom of silver, Golden rings to grace thy fingers, Forge thee gold and silver ear-rings, Six or seven golden girdles, Golden crosslets for thy bosom; Go and heat for me the bath-room, Fill with heat the honey-chambers, Lay the faggots on the fire-place, Lay the smaller woods around them, Pour some water through the ashes, Make a soap of magic virtue, Thus to cleanse my blackened visage, Thus to cleanse the blacksmith’s body, Thus remove the soot and ashes.”

Then Annikki, kindly sister, Quickly warmed her brother’s bath-room, Warmed it with the knots of fir-trees, That the thunder-winds had broken; Gathered pebbles from the fire-stream, Threw them in the heating waters; Broke the tassels from the birch-trees, Steeped the foliage in honey, Made a lye from milk and ashes, Made of these a strong decoction, Mixed it with the fat and marrow Of the reindeer of the mountains, Made a soap of magic virtue, Thus to cleanse the iron-artist, Thus to beautify the suitor, Thus to make the hero worthy.

Ilmarinen, ancient blacksmith, The eternal metal-worker, Forged the wishes of his sister, Ornaments for fair Annikki, Rings, and bracelets, pins and ear-drops, Forged for her six golden girdles, Forged a weaving loom of silver, While the maid prepared the bath-room, Set his toilet-room in order.

To the maid he gave the trinkets, Gave the loom of molten silver, And the sister thus made answer: “I have heated well thy bath-room, Have thy toilet-things in order, Everything as thou desirest; Go prepare thyself for wooing, Lave thy head to flaxen whiteness, Make thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy, Lave thyself in Love’s aroma, That thy wooing prove successful.”

Ilmarinen, magic artist, Quick repairing to his bath-room, Bathed his head to flaxen whiteness, Made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy, Laved his eyes until they sparkled Like the moonlight on the waters; Wondrous were his form and features, And his cheeks like ruddy berries. These the words of Ilmarinen: “Fair Annikki, lovely sister, Bring me now my silken raiment, Bring my best and richest vesture, Bring me now my softest linen, That my wooing prove successful.”

Straightway did the helpful sister Bring the finest of his raiment, Bring the softest of his linen, Raiment fashioned by his mother; Brought to him his silken stockings, Brought him shoes of marten-leather, Brought a vest of sky-blue color, Brought him scarlet-colored trousers, Brought a coat with scarlet trimming, Brought a red shawl trimmed in ermine Fourfold wrapped about his body; Brought a fur-coat made of seal-skin, Fastened with a thousand bottons, And adorned with countless jewels; Brought for him his magic girdle, Fastened well with golden buckles, That his artist-mother fashioned; Brought him gloves with golden wristlets, That the Laplanders had woven For a head of many ringlets; Brought the finest cap in Northland, That his ancient father purchased When he first began his wooing.

Ilmarinen, blacksmith-artist, Clad himself to look his finest, When he thus addressed a servant: “Hitch for me a fleet-foot racer, Hitch him to my willing snow-sledge, For I start upon a journey To the distant shores of Pohya, To the dismal Sariola.” Spake the servant thus in answer: “Thou hast seven fleet-foot racers, Munching grain within their mangers, Which of these shall I make ready?” Spake the blacksmith, Ilmarinen: “Take the fleetest of my coursers, Put the gray steed in the harness, Hitch him to my sledge of magic; Place six cuckoos on the break-board, Seven bluebirds on the cross-bars, Thus to charm the Northland maidens, Thus to make them look and listen, As the cuckoos call and echo. Bring me too my largest bear-skin, Fold it warm about the cross-bench; Bring me then my marten fur-robes, As a cover and protection.”

Straightway then the trusty servant Of the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Put the gray steed in the harness, Hitched the racer to the snow-sledge, Placed six cuckoos on the break-board, Seven bluebirds on the cross-bars, On the front to sing and twitter; Then he brought the largest bear-skin, Folded it upon the cross-bench; Brought the finest robes of marten, Warm protection for the master.

Ilmarinen, forger-artist, The eternal metal-worker, Earnestly entreated Ukko: “Send thy snow-flakes, Ukko, father, Let them gently fall from heaven, Let them cover all the heather, Let them hide the berry-bushes, That my sledge may glide in freedom O’er the hills to Sariola!”

Ukko sent the snow from heaven, Gently dropped the crystal snow-flakes, Lending thus his kind assistance To the hero, Ilmarinen, On his journey to the Northland.

Reins in hand, the ancient artist Seats him in his metal snow-sledge, And beseeches thus his Master: “Good luck to my reins and traces, Good luck to my shafts and runners! God protect my magic snow-sledge, Be my safeguard on my journey To the dismal Sariola!”

Now the ancient Ilmarinen Draws the reins upon the racer, Snaps his whip above the courser, To the gray steed gives this order, And the charger plunges northward: “Haste away, my flaxen stallion, Haste thee onward, noble white-face, To the never-pleasant Pohya, To the dreary Sariola!”

Fast and faster flies the fleet-foot, On the curving snow-capped sea-coast, On the borders of the lowlands, O’er the alder-hills and mountains. Merrily the steed flies onward, Bluebirds singing, cuckoos calling, On the sea-shore looking northward, Through the sand and falling snow-flakes Blinding winds, and snow, and sea-foam, Cloud the hero, Ilmarinen, As he glides upon his journey, Looking seaward for the vessel Of the ancient Wainamoinen; Travels one day, then a second, Travels all the next day northward, Till the third day Ilmarinen Overtakes old Wainamoinen, Hails him in his magic vessel, And addresses thus the minstrel: “O thou ancient Wainamoinen, Let us woo in peace the maiden, Fairest daughter of the Northland, Sitting on the bow of heaven, Let each labor long to win her, Let her wed the one she chooses, Him selecting, let her follow.” Wainamoinen thus makes answer: “I agree to thy proposal, Let us woo in peace the maiden, Not by force, nor faithless measures, Shall we woo the Maid of Beauty, Let her follow him she chooses; Let the unsuccessful suitor Harbor neither wrath nor envy For the hero that she follows.”

Thus agreeing, on they journey, Each according to his pleasure; Fleetly does the steed fly onward, Quickly flies the magic vessel, Sailing on the broad-sea northward; Ilmarinen’s fleet-foot racer Makes the hills of Northland tremble, As he gallops on his journey To the dismal Sariola.

Wainamoinen calls the South-winds, And they fly to his assistance; Swiftly sails his ship of beauty, Swiftly plows the rough sea-billows In her pathway to Pohyola.

Time had gone but little distance, Scarce a moment had passed over, Ere the dogs began their barking, In the mansions of the Northland, In the courts of Sariola, Watch-dogs of the court of Louhi; Never had they growled so fiercely, Never had they barked so loudly, Never with their tails had beaten Northland into such an uproar. Spake the master of Pohyola: “Go and learn, my worthy daughter, Why the watch-dogs have been barking, Why the black-dog signals danger.” Quickly does the daughter answer: “I am occupied, dear father, I have work of more importance, I must tend my flock of lambkins, I must turn the nether millstone, Grind to flour the grains of barley, Run the grindings through the sifter, Only have I time for grinding.”

Lowly growls the faithful watch-dog, Seldom does he growl so strangely. Spake the master of Pohyola: “Go and learn, my trusted consort, Why the Northland dogs are barking, Why the black-dog signals danger.” Thus his aged wife makes answer: “Have no time, nor inclination, I must feed my hungry household, Must prepare a worthy dinner, I must bake the toothsome biscuit, Knead the dough till it is ready, Only have I strength for kneading.” Spake the master of Pohyola: “Dames are always in a hurry, Maidens too are ever busy, Whether warming at the oven, Or asleep upon their couches; Go my son, and learn the danger, Why the black-dog growls displeasure.” Quickly does the son give answer: “Have no time, nor inclination, Am in haste to grind my hatchet; I must chop this log to cordwood, For the fire must cut the faggots, I must split the wood in fragments, Large the pile and small the fire-wood, Only have I strength for chopping.”

Still the watch-dog growls in anger, Growl the whelps within the mansion, Growl the dogs chained in the kennel, Growls the black-dog on the hill-top, Setting Northland in an uproar. Spake the master of Pohyola: “Never, never does my black-dog Growl like this without a reason; Never does he bark for nothing, Does not growl at angry billows, Nor the sighing of the pine-trees.”

Then the master of Pohyola Went himself to learn the reason For the barking of the watch-dogs; Strode he through the spacious court-yard, Through the open fields beyond it, To the summit of the uplands. Looking toward his black-dog barking, He beholds the muzzle pointed To a distant, stormy hill-top, To a mound with alders covered; There he learned the rightful reason, Why his dogs had barked so loudly, Why had growled the wool-tail bearer, Why his whelps had signalled danger. At full sail, he saw a vessel, And the ship was scarlet-colored, Entering the bay of Lempo; Saw a sledge of magic colors, Gliding up the curving sea-shore, O’er the snow-fields of Pohyola.

Then the master of the Northland Hastened straightway to his dwelling, Hastened forward to his court-room, These the accents of the master: “Often strangers journey hither, On the blue back of the ocean, Sailing in a scarlet vessel, Rocking in the bay of Lempo; Often strangers come in sledges To the honey-lands of Louhi.”

Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “How shall we obtain a token Why these strangers journey hither? My beloved, faithful daughter, Lay a branch upon the fire-place, Let it burn with fire of magic; If it trickle drops of scarlet, War and bloodshed do they bring us; If it trickle drops of water, Peace and plenty bring the strangers.”

Northland’s fair and slender maiden, Beautiful and modest daughter, Lays a sorb-branch on the fire-place, Lights it with the fire of magic; Does not trickle drops of scarlet, Trickles neither blood, nor water, From the wand come drops of honey.

From the corner spake Suowakko, This the language of the wizard: “If the wand is dripping honey, Then the strangers that are coming Are but worthy friends and suitors.”

Then the hostess of the Northland, With the daughter of the hostess, Straightway left their work, and hastened From their dwelling to the court-yard; Looked about in all directions, Turned their eyes upon the waters, Saw a magic-colored vessel Rocking slowly in the harbor, Having sailed the bay of Lempo, Triple sails, and masts, and rigging, Sable was the nether portion, And the upper, scarlet-colored, At the helm an ancient hero Leaning on his oars of copper; Saw a fleet-foot racer running, Saw a red sledge lightly follow, Saw the magic sledge emblazoned, Guided toward the courts of Louhi; Saw and heard six golden cuckoos Sitting on the break-board, calling, Seven bluebirds richly colored Singing from the yoke and cross-bar; In the sledge a magic hero, Young, and strong, and proud, and handsome, Holding reins upon the courser. Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “Dearest daughter, winsome maiden, Dost thou wish a noble suitor? Should these heroes come to woo thee, Wouldst thou leave thy home and country, Be the bride of him that pleases, Be his faithful life-companion?

“He that comes upon the waters, Sailing in a magic vessel, Having sailed the bay of Lempo, Is the good, old Wainamoinen; In his ship are countless treasures, Richest presents from Wainola.

“He that rides here in his snow-sledge In his sledge of magic beauty, With the cuckoos and the bluebirds, Is the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Cometh hither empty-handed, Only brings some wisdom-sayings. When they come within the dwelling, Bring a bowl of honeyed viands, Bring a pitcher with two handles, Give to him that thou wouldst follow; Give it to old Wainamoinen, Him that brings thee countless treasures, Costly presents in his vessel, Priceless gems from Kalevala.”

Spake the Northland’s lovely daughter, This the language of the maiden: “Good, indeed, advice maternal, But I will not wed for riches, Wed no man for countless treasures; For his worth I’ll choose a husband, For his youth and fine appearance, For his noble form and features; In the olden times the maidens Were not sold by anxious mothers To the suitors that they loved not. I shall choose without his treasures Ilmarinen for his wisdom, For his worth and good behavior, Him that forged the wondrous Sampo, Hammered thee the lid in colors.” Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “Senseless daughter, child of folly, Thus to choose the ancient blacksmith, From whose brow drips perspiration, Evermore to rinse his linen, Lave his hands, and eyes, and forehead, Keep his ancient house in order; Little use his wit and wisdom When compared with gold and silver.” This the answer of the daughter: “I will never, never, never, Wed the ancient Wainamoinen With his gold and priceless jewels; Never will I be a helpmate To a hero in his dotage, Little thanks my compensation.”

Wainamoinen, safely landing In advance of Ilmarinen, Pulls his gaily-covered vessel From the waves upon the sea-beach, On the cylinders of birch-wood, On the rollers copper-banded, Straightway hastens to the guest-room Of the hostess of Pohyola, Of the master of the Northland, Speaks these words upon the threshold To the famous Maid of Beauty: “Come with me, thou lovely virgin, Be my bride and life-companion, Share with me my joys and sorrows, Be my honored wife hereafter!” This the answer of the maiden: “Hast thou built for me the vessel, Built for me the ship of magic From the fragments of the distaff, From the splinters of the spindle?” Wainamoinen thus replying: “I have built the promised vessel, Built the wondrous ship for sailing, Firmly joined the parts by magic; It will weather roughest billows, Will outlive the winds and waters, Swiftly glide upon the blue-back Of the deep and boundless ocean; It will ride the waves in beauty, Like an airy bubble rising, Like a cork on lake and river, Through the angry seas of Northland, Through Pohyola’s peaceful waters.”

Northland’s fair and slender daughter Gives this answer to her suitor: “Will not wed a sea-born hero, Do not care to rock the billows, Cannot live with such a husband; Storms would bring us pain and trouble, Winds would rack our hearts and temples; Therefore thee I cannot follow, Cannot keep thy home in order, Cannot be thy life-companion, Cannot wed old Wainamoinen.”

RUNE XIX. ILMARINEN’S WOOING.

Ilmarinen, hero-blacksmith, The eternal metal-worker, Hastens forward to the court-room Of the hostess of Pohyola, Of the master of the Northland, Hastens through the open portals Into Louhi’s home and presence. Servants come with silver pitchers, Filled with Northland’s richest brewing; Honey-drink is brought and offered To the blacksmith of Wainola, Ilmarinen thus replying: “I shall not in all my life-time Taste the drink that thou hast brought me, Till I see the Maid of Beauty, Fairy Maiden of the Rainbow; I will drink with her in gladness, For whose hand I journey hither.” Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “Trouble does the one selected Give to him that wooes and watches; Not yet are her feet in sandals, Thine affianced is not ready. Only canst thou woo my daughter, Only canst thou win the maiden, When thou hast by aid of magic Plowed the serpent-field of Hisi, Plowed the field of hissing vipers, Touching neither beam nor handles. Once this field was plowed by Piru, Lempo furrowed it with horses, With a plowshare made of copper, With a beam of flaming iron; Never since has any hero Brought this field to cultivation.”

Ilmarinen of Wainola Straightway hastens to the chamber Of the Maiden of the Rainbow, Speaks these words in hesitation: “Thou of Night and Dawn the daughter, Tell me, dost thou not remember When for thee I forged the Sampo, Hammered thee the lid in colors? Thou didst swear by oath the strongest, By the forge and by the anvil, By the tongs and by the hammer, In the ears of the Almighty, And before omniscient Ukko, Thou wouldst follow me hereafter, Be my bride, my life-companion, Be my honored wife forever. Now thy mother is exacting, Will not give to me her daughter, Till by means of magic only, I have plowed the field of serpents, Plowed the hissing soil of Hisi.”

The affianced Bride of Beauty Gives this answer to the suitor: “O, thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen, The eternal wonder-forger, Forge thyself a golden plowshare, Forge the beam of shining silver, And of copper forge the handles; Then with ease, by aid of magic, Thou canst plow the field of serpents, Plow the hissing soil of Hisi.”

Ilmarinen, welcome suitor, Straightway builds a forge and smithy, Places gold within the furnace, In the forge he lays the silver, Forges then a golden plowshare, Forges, too, a beam of silver, Forges handles out of copper, Forges boots and gloves of iron, Forges him a mail of metal, For his limbs a safe protection, Safe protection for his body. Then a horse of fire selecting, Harnesses the flaming stallion, Goes to plow the field of serpents, Plow the viper-lands of Hisi. In the field were countless vipers, Serpents there of every species, Crawling, writhing, hissing, stinging, Harmless all against the hero, Thus he stills the snakes of Lempo: “Vipers, ye by God created, Neither best nor worst of creatures, Ye whose wisdom comes from Ukko, And whose venom comes from Hisi, Ukko is your greater Master, By His will your heads are lifted; Get ye hence before my plowing, Writhe ye through the grass and stubble, Crawl ye to the nearest thicket, Keep your heads beneath the heather, Hunt your holes to Mana’s kingdom If your poison-heads be lifted, Then will mighty Ukko smite them With his iron-pointed arrows, With the lightning of his anger.”

Thus the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Safely plows the field of serpents, Lifts the vipers in his plowing, Buries them beneath the furrow, Harmless all against his magic. When the task had been completed, Ilmarinen, quick returning, Thus addressed Pohyola’s hostess: “I have plowed the field of Hisi, Plowed the field of hissing serpents, Stilled and banished all the vipers; Give me, ancient dame, thy daughter, Fairest maiden of the Northland.” Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “Shall not grant to thee my daughter, Shall not give my lovely virgin, Till Tuoni’s bear is muzzled, Till Manala’s wolf is conquered, In the forests of the Death-land, In the boundaries of Mana. Hundreds have been sent to hunt him, So one yet has been successful, All have perished in Manala.”

Thereupon young Ilmarinen To the maiden’s chamber hastens, Thus addresses his affianced: “Still another test demanded, I must go to Tuonela, Bridle there the bear of Mana, Bring him from the Death-land forests, From Tuoni’s grove and empire!” This advice the maiden gives him: “O thou artist, Ilmarinen, The eternal metal-worker, Forge of steel a magic bridle, On a rock beneath the water, In the foaming triple currents; Make the straps of steel and copper, Bridle then the bear of Mana, Lead him from Tuoni’s forests.”

Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Forged of steel a magic bridle, On a rock beneath the water, In the foam of triple currents; Made the straps of steel and copper, Straightway went the bear to muzzle, In the forests of the Death-land, Spake these words in supplication: “Terhenetar, ether-maiden, Daughter of the fog and snow-flake, Sift the fog and let it settle O’er the hills and lowland thickets, Where the wild-bear feeds and lingers, That he may not see my coming, May not hear my stealthy footsteps!”

Terhenetar hears his praying, Makes the fog and snow-flake settle On the coverts of the wild-beasts; Thus the bear he safely bridles, Fetters him in chains of magic, In the forests of Tuoni, In the blue groves of Manala.

When this task had been completed, Ilmarinen, quick returning, Thus addressed the ancient Louhi: “Give me, worthy dame, thy daughter, Give me now my bride affianced, I have brought the bear of Mana From Tuoni’s fields and forests.”

Spake the hostess of Pohyola To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen: “I will only give my daughter, Give to thee the Maid of Beauty, When the monster-pike thou catchest In the river of Tuoni, In Manala’s fatal waters, Using neither hooks, nor fish-nets, Neither boat, nor fishing-tackle; Hundreds have been sent to catch him, No one yet has been successful, All have perished in Manala.”

Much disheartened, Ilmarinen Hastened to the maiden’s chamber, Thus addressed the rainbow-maiden: “Now a third test is demanded, Much more difficult than ever; I must catch the pike of Mana, In the river of Tuoni, And without my fishing-tackle, Hard the third test of the hero!” This advice the maiden gives him: “O thou hero, Ilmarinen, Never, never be discouraged: In thy furnace, forge an eagle, From the fire of ancient magic; He will catch the pike of Mana, Catch the monster-fish in safety, From the death-stream of Tuoni, From Manala’s fatal waters.”

Then the suitor, Ilmarinen, The eternal artist-forgeman, In the furnace forged an eagle From the fire of ancient wisdom; For this giant bird of magic Forged he talons out of iron, And his beak of steel and copper; Seats himself upon the eagle, On his back between the wing-bones, Thus addresses he his creature, Gives the bird of fire this order: “Mighty eagle, bird of beauty, Fly thou whither I direct thee, To Tuoni’s coal-black river, To the blue deeps of the Death-stream, Seize the mighty fish of Mana, Catch for me this water-monster.”

Swiftly flies the magic eagle, Giant-bird of worth and wonder, To the river of Tuoni, There to catch the pike of Mana; One wing brushes on the waters, While the other sweeps the heavens; In the ocean dips his talons, Whets his beak on mountain-ledges.

Safely landing, Ilmarinen, The immortal artist-forger, Hunts the monster of the Death-stream, While the eagle hunts and fishes In the waters of Manala. From the river rose a monster, Grasped the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Tried to drag him to his sea-cave; Quick the eagle pounced upon him, With his metal-beak he seized him, Wrenched his head, and rent his body, Hurled him back upon the bottom Of the deep and fatal river, Freed his master, Ilmarinen.

Then arose the pike of Mana, Came the water-dog in silence, Of the pikes was not the largest, Nor belonged he to the smallest; Tongue the length of double hatchets, Teeth as long as fen-rake handles, Mouth as broad as triple streamlets, Back as wide as seven sea-boats, Tried to snap the magic blacksmith, Tried to swallow Ilmarinen. Swiftly swoops the mighty eagle, Of the birds was not the largest, Nor belonged he to the smallest; Beak a hundred fathoms measured, Mouth as wide as seven streamlets, Tongue as long as seven javelins, Like five crooked scythes his talons; Swoops upon the pike of Mana. Quick the giant fish endangered, Darts and flounders in the river, Dragging down the mighty eagle, Lashing up the very bottom To the surface of the river; When the mighty bird uprising Leaves the wounded pike in water, Soars aloft on worsted pinions To his home in upper ether; Soars awhile, and sails, and circles, Circles o’er the reddened waters, Swoops again on lightning-pinions, Strikes with mighty force his talons Into the shoulder of his victim; Strikes the second of his talons On the flinty mountain-ledges, On the rocks with iron hardened; From the cliffs rebound his talons, Slip the flinty rocks o’erhanging, And the monster-pike resisting Dives again beneath the surface To the bottom of the river, From the talons of the eagle; Deep, the wounds upon the body Of the monster of Tuoni. Still a third time soars the eagle, Soars, and sails, and quickly circles, Swoops again upon the monster, Fire out-shooting from his pinions, Both his eyeballs flashing lightning; With his beak of steel and copper Grasps again the pike of Mana; Firmly planted are his talons In the rocks and in his victim, Drags the monster from the river, Lifts the pike above the waters, From Tuoni’s coal-black river, From the blue-back of Manala.

Thus the third time does the eagle Bring success from former failures; Thus at last the eagle catches Mana’s pike, the worst of fishes, Swiftest swimmer of the waters, From the river of Tuoni; None could see Manala’s river, For the myriad of fish-scales; Hardly could one see through ether, For the feathers of the eagle, Relicts of the mighty contest.

Then the bird of copper talons Took the pike, with scales of silver, To the pine-tree’s topmost branches, To the fir-tree plumed with needles, Tore the monster-fish in pieces, Ate the body of his victim, Left the head for Ilmarinen. Spake the blacksmith to the eagle: “O thou bird of evil nature, What thy thought and what thy motive? Thou hast eaten what I needed, Evidence of my successes; Thoughtless eagle, witless instinct, Thus to mar the spoils of conquest!”

But the bird of metal talons Hastened onward, soaring upward, Rising higher into ether, Rising, flying, soaring, sailing, To the borders of the long-clouds, Made the vault of ether tremble, Split apart the dome of heaven, Broke the colored bow of Ukko, Tore the Moon-horns from their sockets, Disappeared beyond the Sun-land, To the home of the triumphant.

Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Took the pike-head to the hostess Of the ever-dismal Northland, Thus addressed the ancient Louhi: “Let this head forever serve thee As a guest-bench for thy dwelling, Evidence of hero-triumphs; I have caught the pike of Mana, I have done as thou demandest, Three my victories in Death-land, Three the tests of magic heroes; Wilt thou give me now thy daughter, Give to me the Maid of Beauty?” Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “Badly is the test accomplished, Thou has torn the pike in pieces, From his neck the head is severed, Of his body thou hast eaten, Brought to me this worthless relic!” These the words of Ilmarinen: “When the victory is greatest, Do we suffer greatest losses! From the river of Tuoni, From the kingdom of Manala, I have brought to thee this trophy, Thus the third task is completed. Tell me is the maiden ready, Wilt thou give the bride affianced?” Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “I will give to thee my daughter, Will prepare my snow-white virgin, For the suitor, Ilmarinen; Thou hast won the Maid of Beauty, Bride is she of thine hereafter, Fit companion of thy fireside, Help and joy of all thy lifetime.”

On the floor a child was sitting, And the babe this tale related. “There appeared within this dwelling, Came a bird within the castle, From the East came flying hither, From the East, a monstrous eagle, One wing touched the vault of heaven, While the other swept the ocean; With his tail upon the waters, Reached his beak beyond the cloudlets, Looked about, and eager watching, Flew around, and sailing, soaring, Flew away to hero-castle, Knocked three times with beak of copper On the castle-roof of iron; But the eagle could not enter.

“Then the eagle, looking round him, Flew again, and sailed, and circled, Flew then to the mothers’ castle, Loudly rapped with heavy knocking On the mothers’ roof of copper; But the eagle could not enter.

“Then the eagle, looking round him, Flew a third time, sailing, soaring, Flew then to the virgins’ castle, Knocked again with beak of copper, On the virgins’ roof of linen, Easy for him there to enter; Flew upon the castle-chimney, Quick descending to the chamber, Pulled the clapboards from the studding, Tore the linen from the rafters, Perched upon the chamber-window, Near the walls of many colors, On the cross-bars gaily-feathered, Looked upon the curly-headed, Looked upon their golden ringlets, Looked upon the snow-white virgins, On the purest of the maidens, On the fairest of the daughters, On the maid with pearly necklace, On the maiden wreathed in flowers; Perched awhile, and looked, admiring, Swooped upon the Maid of Beauty, On the purest of the virgins, On the whitest, on the fairest, On the stateliest and grandest, Swooped upon the rainbow-daughter Of the dismal Sariola; Grasped her in his mighty talons, Bore away the Maid of Beauty, Maid of fairest form and feature, Maid adorned with pearly necklace, Decked in feathers iridescent, Fragrant flowers upon her bosom, Scarlet band around her forehead, Golden rings upon her fingers, Fairest maiden of the Northland.”

Spake the hostess of Pohyola, When the babe his tale had ended: “Tell me how, my child beloved, Thou hast learned about the maiden, Hast obtained the information, How her flaxen ringlets nestled, How the maiden’s silver glistened, How the virgin’s gold was lauded. Shone the silver Sun upon thee, Did the moonbeams bring this knowledge?” From the floor the child made answer: “Thus I gained the information, Moles of good-luck led me hither, To the home of the distinguished, To the guest-room of the maiden, Good-name bore her worthy father, He that sailed the magic vessel; Better-name enjoyed the mother, She that baked the bread of barley, She that kneaded wheaten biscuits, Fed her many guests in Northland.

“Thus the information reached me, Thus the distant stranger heard it, Heard the virgin had arisen: Once I walked within the court-yard, Stepping near the virgin’s chamber, At an early hour of morning, Ere the Sun had broken slumber; Whirling rose the soot in cloudlets, Blackened wreaths of smoke came rising From the chamber of the maiden, From thy daughter’s lofty chimney; There the maid was busy grinding, Moved the handles of the millstone Making voices like the cuckoo, Like the ducks the side-holes sounded, And the sifter like the goldfinch, Like the sea-pearls sang the grindstones.

“Then a second time I wandered To the border of the meadow; In the forest was the maiden Rocking on a fragrant hillock, Dyeing red in iron vessels, And in copper kettles, yellow.

“Then a third time did I wander To the lovely maiden’s window; There I saw thy daughter weaving, Heard the flying of her shuttle, Heard the beating of her loom-lathe, Heard the rattling of her treddles, Heard the whirring of her yarn-reel.” Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “Now alas! beloved daughter, I have often taught this lesson: ‘Do not sing among the pine-trees, Do not call adown the valleys, Do not hang thy head in walking, Do not bare thine arms, nor shoulders, Keep the secrets of thy bosom, Hide thy beauty and thy power.’

“This I told thee in the autumn, Taught thee in the summer season, Sang thee in the budding spring-time, Sang thee when the snows were falling: ‘Let us build a place for hiding, Let us build the smallest windows, Where may weave my fairest daughter, Where my maid may ply her shuttle, Where my joy may work unnoticed By the heroes of the Northland, By the suitors of Wainola.’”

From the floor the child made answer, Fourteen days the young child numbered: “Easy ’tis to hide a war-horse In the Northland fields and stables; Hard indeed to hide a maiden, Having lovely form and features! Build of stone a distant castle In the middle of the ocean, Keep within thy lovely maiden, Train thou there thy winsome daughter, Not long hidden canst thou keep her. Maidens will not grow and flourish, Kept apart from men and heroes, Will not live without their suitors, Will not thrive without their wooers; Thou canst never hide a maiden, Neither on the land nor water.”

Now the ancient Wainamoinen, Head down-bent and heavy-hearted, Wanders to his native country, To Wainola’s peaceful meadows, To the plains of Kalevala, Chanting as he journeys homeward: “I have passed the age for wooing, Woe is me, rejected suitor, Woe is me, a witless minstrel, That I did not woo and marry, When my face was young and winsome, When my hand was warm and welcome! Youth dethrones my age and station, Wealth is nothing, wisdom worthless, When a hero goes a-wooing With a poor but younger brother. Fatal error that a hero Does not wed in early manhood, In his youth does not be master Of a worthy wife and household.”

Thus the ancient Wainamoinen Sends the edict to his people: “Old men must not go a-wooing, Must not swim the sea of anger, Must not row upon a wager, Must not run a race for glory, With the younger sons of Northland.”

RUNE XX. THE BREWING OF BEER.

Now we sing the wondrous legends, Songs of wedding-feasts and dances, Sing the melodies of wedlock, Sing the songs of old tradition; Sing of Ilmarinen’s marriage To the Maiden of the Rainbow, Fairest daughter of the Northland, Sing the drinking-songs of Pohya.

Long prepared they for the wedding In Pohyola’s halls and chambers, In the courts of Sariola; Many things that Louhi ordered, Great indeed the preparations For the marriage of the daughter, For the feasting of the heroes, For the drinking of the strangers, For the feeding of the poor-folk, For the people’s entertainment.

Grew an ox in far Karjala, Not the largest, nor the smallest, Was the ox that grew in Suomi; But his size was all-sufficient, For his tail was sweeping Jamen, And his head was over Kemi, Horns in length a hundred fathoms, Longer than the horns his mouth was; Seven days it took a weasel To encircle neck and shoulders; One whole day a swallow journeyed From one horn-tip to the other, Did not stop between for resting. Thirty days the squirrel travelled From the tail to reach the shoulders, But he could not gain the horn-tip Till the Moon had long passed over.

This young ox of huge dimensions, This great calf of distant Suomi, Was conducted from Karjala To the meadows of Pohyola; At each horn a hundred heroes, At his head and neck a thousand. When the mighty ox was lassoed, Led away to Northland pastures, Peacefully the monster journeyed By the bays of Sariola, Ate the pasture on the borders; To the clouds arose his shoulders, And his horns to highest heaven. Not in all of Sariola Could a butcher be discovered That could kill the ox for Louhi, None of all the sons of Northland, In her hosts of giant people, In her rising generation, In the hosts of those grown older.

Came a hero from a distance, Wirokannas from Karelen, And these words the gray-beard uttered: “Wait, O wait, thou ox of Suomi, Till I bring my ancient war-club; Then I’ll smite thee on thy forehead, Break thy skull, thou willing victim! Nevermore wilt thou in summer Browse the woods of Sariola, Bare our pastures, fields, and forests; Thou, O ox, wilt feed no longer Through the length and breadth of Northland, On the borders of this ocean!”

When the ancient Wirokannas Started out the ox to slaughter, When Palwoinen swung his war-club, Quick the victim turned his forehead, Flashed his flaming eyes upon him; To the fir-tree leaped the hero, In the thicket hid Palwoinen, Hid the gray-haired Wirokannas.

Everywhere they seek a butcher, One to kill the ox of Suomi, In the country of Karelen, And among the Suomi-giants, In the quiet fields of Ehstland, On the battle-fields of Sweden, Mid the mountaineers of Lapland, In the magic fens of Turya; Seek him in Tuoni’s empire, In the death-courts of Manala. Long the search, and unsuccessful, On the blue back of the ocean, On the far-outstretching pastures.

There arose from out the sea-waves, Rose a hero from the waters, On the white-capped, roaring breakers, From the water’s broad expanses; Nor belonged he to the largest, Nor belonged he to the smallest; Made his bed within a sea-shell, Stood erect beneath a flour-sieve, Hero old, with hands of iron, And his face was copper-colored; Quick the hero full unfolded, Like the full corn from the kernel. On his head a hat of flint-stone, On his feet were sandstone-sandals, In his hand a golden cleaver, And the blade was copper-handled. Thus at last they found a butcher, Found the magic ox a slayer. Nothing has been found so mighty That it has not found a master.

As the sea-god saw his booty, Quickly rushed he on his victim, Hurled him to his knees before him, Quickly felled the calf of Suomi, Felled the young ox of Karelen. Bountifully meat was furnished; Filled at least a thousand hogsheads Of his blood were seven boatfuls, And a thousand weight of suet, For the banquet of Pohyola, For the marriage-feast of Northland.

In Pohyola was a guest-room, Ample was the hall of Louhi, Was in length a hundred furlongs, And in breadth was nearly fifty; When upon the roof a rooster Crowed at break of early morning, No one on the earth could hear him; When the dog barked at one entrance, None could hear him at the other.

Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Hastens to the hall and court-room, In the centre speaks as follows: “Whence indeed will come the liquor, Who will brew me beer from barley, Who will make the mead abundant, For the people of the Northland, Coming to my daughter’s marriage, To her drinking-feast and nuptials? Cannot comprehend the malting, Never have I learned the secret, Nor the origin of brewing.” Spake an old man from his corner: “Beer arises from the barley, Comes from barley, hops, and water, And the fire gives no assistance. Hop-vine was the son of Remu, Small the seed in earth was planted, Cultivated in the loose soil, Scattered like the evil serpents On the brink of Kalew-waters, On the Osmo-fields and borders. There the young plant grew and flourished, There arose the climbing hop-vine, Clinging to the rocks and alders.

“Man of good-luck sowed the barley On the Osmo hills and lowlands, And the barley grew and flourished, Grew and spread in rich abundance, Fed upon the air and water, On the Osmo plains and highlands, On the fields of Kalew-heroes.

“Time had travelled little distance, Ere the hops in trees were humming, Barley in the fields was singing, And from Kalew’s well the water, This the language of the trio: ‘Let us join our triple forces, Join to each the other’s powers; Sad alone to live and struggle, Little use in working singly, Better we should toil together.’

“Osmotar, the beer-preparer, Brewer of the drink refreshing, Takes the golden grains of barley, Taking six of barley-kernels, Taking seven tips of hop-fruit, Filling seven cups with water, On the fire she sets the caldron, Boils the barley, hops, and water, Lets them steep, and seethe, and bubble Brewing thus the beer delicious, In the hottest days of summer, On the foggy promontory, On the island forest-covered; Poured it into birch-wood barrels, Into hogsheads made of oak-wood.

“Thus did Osmotar of Kalew Brew together hops and barley, Could not generate the ferment. Thinking long and long debating, Thus she spake in troubled accents: ‘What will bring the effervescence, Who will add the needed factor, That the beer may foam and sparkle, May ferment and be delightful?’

“Kalevatar, magic maiden, Grace and beauty in her fingers, Swiftly moving, lightly stepping, In her trimly-buckled sandals, Steps upon the birch-wood bottom, Turns one way, and then another, In the centre of the caldron; Finds within a splinter lying, From the bottom lifts the fragment, Turns it in her fingers, musing: ‘What may come of this I know not, In the hands of magic maidens, In the virgin hands of Kapo, Snowy virgin of the Northland!’

“Kalevatar took the splinter To the magic virgin, Kapo, Who by unknown force and insight, Rubbed her hands and knees together, And produced a snow-white squirrel; Thus instructed she her creature, Gave the squirrel these directions: ‘Snow-white squirrel, mountain-jewel, Flower of the field and forest, Haste thee whither I would send thee, Into Metsola’s wide limits, Into Tapio’s seat of wisdom; Hasten through the heavy tree-tops, Wisely through the thickest branches, That the eagle may not seize thee, Thus escape the bird of heaven. Bring me ripe cones from the fir-tree, From the pine-tree bring me seedlings, Bring them to the hands of Kapo, For the beer of Osmo’s daughter.’

“Quickly hastened forth the squirrel, Quickly sped the nimble broad-tail, Swiftly hopping on its journey From one thicket to another, From the birch-tree to the aspen, From the pine-tree to the willow, From the sorb-tree to the alder, Jumping here and there with method, Crossed the eagle-woods in safety, Into Metsola’s wide limits, Into Tapio’s seat of wisdom; There perceived three magic pine-trees, There perceived three smaller fir-trees, Quickly climbed the dark-green branches, Was not captured by the eagle, Was not mangled in his talons; Broke the young cones from the fir-tree, Cut the shoots of pine-tree branches, Hid the cones within his pouches, Wrapped them in his fur-grown mittens, Brought them to the hands of Kapo, To the magic virgin’s fingers. Kapo took the cones selected, Laid them in the beer for ferment, But it brought no effervescence, And the beer was cold and lifeless.

“Osmotar, the beer-preparer, Kapo, brewer of the liquor, Deeply thought and long considered: ‘What will bring the effervescence, Who will lend me aid efficient, That the beer may foam and sparkle, May ferment and be refreshing?’

“Kalevatar, sparkling maiden, Grace and beauty in her fingers, Softly moving, lightly stepping, In her trimly-buckled sandals, Steps again upon the bottom, Turns one way and then another, In the centre of the caldron, Sees a chip upon the bottom, Takes it from its place of resting, Looks upon the chip and muses: ‘What may come of this I know not, In the hands of mystic maidens, In the hands of magic Kapo, In the virgin’s snow-white fingers.’