Chapter XXV: The Home-Coming of the Bride and Bridegroom 300 (2)

And her mother answered thus wise,
Said the old crone to the maiden,
"Do not weep, my dearest daughter,
Do not grieve (and thou so youthful); 120
Eat a whole year long fresh butter,
That your form may grow more rounded,
Eat thou pork the second season,
That your form may grow more charming,
And the third year eat thou cream-cakes,
That you may become more lovely.
Seek the storehouse on the mountain,
There the finest chamber open.
There are coffers piled on coffers,
Chests in heaps on chests are loaded, 130
Open then the finest coffer,
Raise the painted lid with clangour,
There you'll find six golden girdles,
Seven blue robes of finest texture,
Woven by the Moon's own daughter,
By the Sun's own daughter fashioned.

"In the days when I was youthful,
In my youthful days of girlhood,
In the wood I sought for berries,
Gathered raspberries on the mountain, 140
Heard the moonlight's daughter weaving,
And the sunlight's daughter spinning,
There beside the wooded island,
On the borders of the greenwood.

"Thereupon I softly neared them,
And beside them took my station,
And began to ask them gently,
In the words that I repeat you:
'Give you of your gold, O Kuutar,
And your silver give, Paivatar, 150
To the maiden poorly dowered,
To the child who now implores you!'

"Then her gold did Kuutar give me.
And her silver gave Paivatar.
With the gold I decked my temples,
And adorned my head with silver,
Homeward like a flower I hastened,
Joyful, to my father's dwelling.

"These I wore one day, a second.
Then upon the third day after 160
Took the gold from off my temples.
From my head removed the silver,
Took them to the mountain storehouse;
In the chest with care I laid them,
There until this day I left them,
And since then I have not seen them.

"On thy brows bind silken ribands
On thy temples gold adornments,
Round thy neck a beaded necklace,
On thy breast a golden crosslet. 170
Put thou on a shift of linen,
Of the finest flax that's woven,
Lay thou on a robe of woollen,
Bind it with a silken girdle,
Then the finest silken stockings,
And of shoes the very finest,
Then In plaits thy hair arranging,
Bind it up with silken ribands,
Slip the gold rings on thy fingers,
Deck thy wrists with golden bracelets. 180
After this return thou homewards
From thy visit to the storehouse,
As the joy of all thy kindred,
And of all thy race the fairest,
Like a floweret by the wayside,
Like a raspberry on the mountain;
Far more lovely than aforetime,
Fairer than in former seasons."

Thus the mother urged her counsel,
Thus she spoke unto her daughter, 190
But the daughter did not heed her,
Heeded not her mother's counsel.
From the house she wandered weeping,
From the homestead went in sorrow,
And she said the words which follow,
And expressed herself in this wise:
'What may be the joyous feelings,
And the thoughts of one rejoicing?
Such may be the joyous feelings,
And the thoughts of one rejoicing; 200
Like the dancing of the water
On the waves when gently swelling.
What do mournful thoughts resemble?
What the long-tailed duck may ponder?
Such may mournful thoughts resemble,
Thus the long-tailed duck may ponder,
As 'neath frozen snow embedded,
Water deep in well imprisoned.

"Often now my life is clouded.
Often is my childhood troubled, 210
And my thoughts like withered herbage.
As I wander through the bushes,
Wandering on through grassy meadows,
Pushing through the tangled thickets,
And my thoughts are pitch for blackness
And my heart than soot not brighter.

"Better fortune had befel me,
And it would have been more happy.
Had I not been born and nurtured,
And had never grown in stature, 220
Till I saw these days of sorrow,
And this joyless time o'ertook me,
Had I died in six nights only,
Or upon the eighth had perished.
Much I should not then have needed,
But a shroud a span-long only,
And of earth a tiny corner.
Little then had wept my mother,
Fewer tears had shed my father,
And my brother not a tearlet." 230

Thus she wept a day, a second.
And again her mother asked her,
"Wherefore dost thou weep, poor maiden.
Wherefore thus lament and sorrow?"

"Therefore weep I, hapless maiden,
Therefore do I weep for ever,
That yourself have pledged me, hapless.
And your daughter you have promised
Thus to be an old man's comfort,
As a solace to the old man, 240
To support his feeble footsteps,
And to wait upon him always.
Better were it had you sent me
Deeply down beneath the billows,
There to be the powan's sister,
And companion of the fishes.
In the lake 'tis surely better
There beneath the waves to sojourn,
There to be the powan's sister.
And companion of the fishes, 250
Than to be an old man's comfort.
To support his aged footsteps,
So that I can mend his stockings,
And may be a staff to prop him."

Then she sought the mountain storehouse,
And the inner room she entered;
And the finest chest she opened,
Raised the painted lid with clangour,
And she found six golden girdles,
Seven blue robes of finest textures, 260
And she robed her in the finest,
And completed her adornment.
Set the gold upon her temples,
On her hair the shining silver,
On her brow the sky-blue ribands,
On her head the bands of scarlet.

Then she wandered from the storehouses,
And across the fields she wandered,
Past the marshes, and the heathlands,
Through the shady, gloomy forests. 270
Thus she sang, as on she hastened,
Thus she spoke, as on she wandered:
"All my heart is filled with trouble;
On my head a stone is loaded.
But my trouble would not vex me,
And the weight would less oppress me,
If I perished, hapless maiden,
Ending thus my life of sorrow,
In the burden of my trouble,
In the sadness of my sorrow. 280

"Now my time perchance approaches,
From this weary world to hasten,
Time to seek the world of Mana,
Time to Tuonela to hasten,
For my father will not mourn me,
Nor my mother will lament me,
Nor my sister's cheeks be moistened,
Nor my brother's eyes be tearful,
If I sank beneath the waters,
Sinking where the fish are sporting, 290
To the depths beneath the billows,
Down amid the oozy blackness."

On she went, one day, a second,
And at length, upon the third day,
Came she to a lake's broad margin,
To the bank, o'ergrown with rushes.
And she reached it in the night-time,
And she halted in the darkness.

In the evening wept the maiden,
Through the darksome night lamented, 300
On the rocks that fringed the margin,
Where a bay spread wide before her.
At the earliest dawn of morning,
As she gazed from off a headland,
Just beyond she saw three maidens,
Bathing there amid the waters,
Aino made the fourth among then,
And the fifth a slender sapling.

Then her shift she cast on willows,
And her dress upon the aspens, 310
On the open ground her stockings,
Threw her shoes upon the boulders,
On the sand her beads she scattered,
And her rings upon the shingle.

In the waves a rock was standing,
Brightly hued and golden shining;
And she swam and sought to reach it,
As a refuge in her trouble.

When at length she stood upon it,
And would rest upon the summit, 320
On the stone of many colours,
On the rock so smooth and shining,
In the waves it sank beneath her,
Sinking to the very bottom.
With the rock, the maiden Aino
Sank beneath the water's surface.

There the dove for ever vanished,
Thus the luckless maiden perished,
She herself exclaimed in dying,
When she felt that she was sinking: 330
"To the lake I went to bathe me,
And to swim upon its surface,
But, like tender dove, I vanished,
Like a bird by death o'ertaken.
Never may my dearest father,
Never while his life endureth,
Cast his net amid the waters,
In these waves, so wide extending.

"To the shore I went to wash me,
To the lake I went to bathe me, 340
But, like tender dove, I vanished,
Like a bird by death overtaken.
Never may my dearest mother,
Never while her life endureth,
Fetch the water for her baking,
From the wide bay near her dwelling.

"To the shore I went to wash me,
To the lake I went to bathe me,
But, like tender dove, I vanished,
Like a bird by death o'ertaken. 350
Never may my dearest brother,
Never while his life endureth,
Water here his prancing courser,
Here upon the broad lake's margin

"To the shore I went to wash me,
To the lake I went to bathe me,
But, like tender dove, I vanished,
Like a bird by death overtaken.
Never may my dearest sister,
Never while her life endureth, 360
Hither stay to wash her eyebrows,
On the bridge so near her dwelling.
In the lake the very water
Is as blood that leaves my veinlets;
Every fish that swims this water,
Is as flesh from off my body;
All the bushes on the margin
Are as ribs of me unhappy;
And the grass upon the margin
As my soiled and tangled tresses." 370

Thus the youthful maiden perished,
And the dove so lovely vanished.

Who shall now the tidings carry.
And repeat the mournful story,
At the dwelling of the maiden,
At the homestead of the fair one?

First the bear would take the tidings,
And repeat the mournful story;
But the bear conveyed no tidings,
For he strayed among the cattle. 380
Who shall now the tidings carry,
And repeat the mournful story.
At the dwelling of the maiden.
At the homestead of the fair one?

Then the wolf would take the message,
And repeat the mournful story;
But the wolf conveyed no tidings,
For among the sheep he wandered.

Who shall now the tidings carry,
And repeat the mournful story, 390
At the dwelling of the maiden,
At the homestead of the fair one?

Then the fox would take the message,
And repeat the mournful story;
But the fox conveyed no tidings,
For among the geese he wandered.

Who shall now the tidings carry,
And repeat the mournful story,
At the dwelling of the maiden,
At the homestead of the fair one? 400

'Twas the hare who took the tidings,
And conveyed the mournful story;
For the hare replied discreetly,
"I will not forget the message."

Then the hare sprang quickly onward,
Sped the Long-ear with his story,
On his crooked legs he hastened,
With his cross-like mouth he hurried,
To the dwelling of the maiden,
To the homestead of the fair one. 410

Thus he hastened to the bath-house
And he crouched upon the threshold.
Full of maidens is the bath-house,
In their hands the bath-whisks holding.
"Scamp, come here; and shall we boil you,
Or, O Broad-eye, shall we roast you,
Either for the master's supper,
Or perchance the mistress' breakfast,
For the luncheon of the daughter,
Or perchance the son to dine on?" 420

Thereupon the hare responded,
And the Round-eye answered boldly,
"Would that Lempo might come hither
For the cooking in the kettle!
I am come to give you tidings,
And to bring a message to you.
Vanished from you is the fair one,
Perished has the tin-adorned one.
Sunken with her silver buckle,
Drowning with her belt of copper, 430
Diving in the muddy water,
To the depths below the billows,
There to be the powan's sister,
And companion of the fishes."

Then her mother fell to weeping,
And her bitter tears flowed freely,
And she loud lamented, speaking
In her grief the words which follow:
"Never, O unhappy mothers,
Never while your life endureth, 440
Never may you urge your daughters,
Or attempt to force your children
To a marriage that repels them,
Like myself, O wretched mother,
Urging vainly thus my daughter,
Thus my little dove I fostered."

Thus the mother wept, lamenting,
And her bitter tears flowed freely
From her blue eyes in her sadness,
O'er her cheeks, so pale with sorrow. 450

After one tear flowed another,
And her bitter tears flowed freely
From her cheeks, so pale with sorrow,
To her breast, so sadly heaving.

After one tear flowed another,
And her bitter tears flowed freely
From her breast, so sadly heaving,
On the borders of her garments.

After one tear flowed another,
And her bitter tears flowed freely 460
From the borders of her garments
Down upon her scarlet stockings.

After one tear flowed another,
And her bitter tears flowed freely
Down from off her scarlet stockings
To her shoes, all gold-embroidered.

After one tear flowed another,
And her bitter tears flowed freely
From her shoes, all gold-embroidered,
On the ground where she was standing. 470
As they flowed, the ground they moistened.
And they swelled to streams of water.

On the ground the streams were flowing,
And became the source of rivers;
Thence arose three mighty rivers
From the tears of bitter weeping,
Which were ever ceaseless flowing
From the weeping mother's eyelids.

From each stream that thus was fashioned,
Rushed three waterfalls in fury, 480
And amid each cataract's flowing.
Three great rocks arose together.
And on every rocky summit
There arose a golden mountain.
And on every mountain summit
Up there sprang three beauteous birch-trees,
In the crown of every birch-tree,
Golden cuckoos three were perching.

All at once they called together,
And the first cried, "Sweetheart, sweetheart!" 490
And the second, "Lover, lover!"
And the third cried, "Gladness, gladness!"

He who cried out, "Sweetheart, sweetheart!"
Sang his song for three months running,
For the young and loveless maiden,
Resting now beneath the water.

He who cried out, "Lover, lover!"
Sang his song for six months running,
Sang to the unhappy suitor,
Who must sorrow through his lifetime. 500

He who cried out, "Gladness, gladness!"
Sang his song for all a lifetime;
Sang to the unhappy mother,
Who must daily weep for ever.

And the mother spoke as follows!
As she listened to the cuckoo:
"Never may a hapless mother
Listen to the cuckoo crying!
When I hear the cuckoo calling.
Heavy beats my heart within me. 510
From my eyes the tears are falling
O'er my cheeks are waters rolling.
And the drops like peas are swelling.
Than the largest broad-beans larger.
By an ell my life is shortened,
By a span-length I am older,
And my strength has wholly failed me,
Since I heard the cuckoo calling,"

RUNO V.--VÄINÄMÖINEN'S FISHING

_Argument_

Väinämöinen fishes for Joukahainen's sister in the lake, and draws her into his boat in the form of a fish (1-72). He is about to cut her to pieces when she slips from his hand into the lake, and tells him who she is (73-133). Väinämöinen tries to persuade her to return to him, and then fishes for her, but in vain (134-163). He returns home disconsolate, and his dead mother advises him to woo the Maiden of Pohja (164-241).

Now the tidings were repeated,
And the news was widely rumoured,
How the youthful maid had perished,
And the fair one had departed.

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Deeply sorrowed at the tidings;
Wept at evening, wept at morning,
Spent the livelong night in weeping,
For the fair one who had perished,
For the maiden who had slumbered, 10
In the muddy lake downsunken
To the depths below the billows.

Then he went, in sorrow sighing,
While his heart was filled with anguish,
To the blue lake's rocky margin,
And he spoke the words which follow:
"Tell me, Untamo, thou sleeper,
Tell me all thy dreams, O idler,
Where to find the realm of Ahto,
Where dwell Vellamo's fair maidens?" 20

Sleeper Untamo made answer,
And his dreams he thus repeated:
"There has Ahto fixed his country,
There dwell Vellamo's fair maidens,
Near the cloud-encompassed headland,
Near the ever-misty island,
In the depths below the billows,
On the black ooze at the bottom.

"There has Ahto fixed his country,
There dwell Vellamo's fair maidens, 30
Living in a narrow chamber,
In a little room abiding,
With the walls of varied marble,
In the depths beside the headland."

Then the aged Väinämöinen
Hastened to his little vessel,
And he scanned his fishing-tackle,
And his hooks with care inspected;
Put the tackle in his pocket,
And the barbed hooks in his wallet. 40
Through the waves his boat he ferried,
Making for the jutting headland,
To the cape, with clouds encompassed,
And the ever-misty island.

Then he set about his fishing,
And he watched his angle closely,
And he held his hand-net ready,
Dropped his angle in the water,
And he fished, and tried his fortune,
While the rod of copper trembled, 50
And the thread of silver whistled,
And the golden line whirred loudly.

And at length one day it happened,
Very early in the morning,
On his hook a fish was hanging,
And a salmon-trout was captured.
In the boat he drew it quickly,
And upon the planks he cast it.

Then he scanned the fish, and turned it,
And he spoke the words which follow; 60
"'Tis a fish, among the fishes,
For I never saw its equal,
Smoother is it than a powan,
Than a salmon-trout more yellow,
Greyer than a pike I deem it,
For a female fish too finless,
For a male 'tis far too scaleless;
Has no tresses, like a maiden,
Nor, like water-nymphs, 'tis belted;
Nor is earless like a pigeon; 70
It resembles most a salmon,
Or a perch from deepest water."

In his waistband Väinämöinen
Bore a case-knife, silver-hafted,
And he drew the knife of sharpness.
Drew the case-knife, silver-hafted,
And prepared to slit the salmon,
And to cut the fish to pieces,
Thought to eat it for his breakfast.
Or a snack to make his luncheon, 80
To provide him with a dinner,
And a plenteous supper likewise.

As he would have slit the salmon.
And would cut the fish to pieces,
Sprang the salmon in the water,
For the beauteous fish jumped sideways
From the planking of the red boat,
From the boat of Väinämöinen.

Thereupon her head she lifted,
Raised her shoulders from the water, 90
On the fifth wave's watery hillock,
From the sixth high wave emerging,
Then her hands in air uplifted,
And displayed her left foot also,
When the seventh wave roses upswelling,
And upon the ninth wave's summit.

Thereupon the fish addressed him,
And it spoke, and thus protested:
"O thou aged Väinämöinen,
Surely I have not come hither, 100
Like a salmon, to be slaughtered,
Or a fish, to cut to pieces,
Only to become your breakfast,
Or a snack to make your luncheon,
To provide you with a dinner.
And a plenteous supper likewise."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"Wherefore didst thou then come hither?"

"Therefore 'tis that I have sought thee,
In thine arm like dove to nestle, 110
By thy side to sit for ever,
On thy knee, as consort sitting,
To prepare the couch to rest thee,
And to smooth thy pillow for thee,
Keep thy little room in order,
And to sweep the flooring for thee,
In thy room to light the fire,
And to fan the flames up brightly,
There large loaves of bread to bake thee,
Cakes of honey to prepare thee, 120
And thy jug of beer to fill thee,
And thy dinner set before thee.

"I am not a water-salmon,
Not a perch from deepest water,
But a young and lovely maiden,
Youthful Joukahainen's sister,
Whom thou all thy life hast longed for,
Whom thou hast so long desired.

"O thou pitiful old creature,
Väinämöinen, void of wisdom, 130
Thou hadst not the wit to hold me,
Vellamo's young water-maiden,
Me, the darling child of Ahto!"

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
Head bowed down, and deeply grieving,
"Sister thou of Joukahainen,
Once again return, I pray thee."

But she never more came near him,
Ne'er again throughout his lifetime;
For she turned away, and, diving, 140
Vanished from the water's surface
Down among the rocks so varied,
In a liver-coloured crevice.

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Pondered deeply, and reflected,
What to do, and what was needful
Quick he wove a net all silken,
And he drew it straight and crossways,
Through the reach, and then across it,
Drew it through the quiet waters, 150
Through the depths beloved by salmons
And through Väinölä's deep waters.
And by Kalevala's sharp headlands,
Through the deep, dark watery caverns,
And the wide expanse of water,
And through Joukola's great rivers,
And across the bays of Lapland.

Other fish he caught in plenty,
All the fishes of the waters,
Only not the fish he sought for, 160
Which he kept in mind for ever,
Never Vellamo's fair maiden,
Not the dearest child of Ahto.

Then the aged Väinämöinen,
Bowed his head, lamenting deeply,
With his cap adjusted sideways,
And he spoke the words which follow:
"O how grievous is my folly,
Weak am I in manly wisdom,
Once indeed was understanding, 170
Insight too conferred upon me,
And my heart was great within me;
Such in former times my portion.
But in days that now are passing.
In the evil days upon me,
Now my strength with age is failing,
All my understanding weakens
And my insight has departed,
All my judgment is perverted.

"She for whom long years I waited, 180
Whom for half my life I longed for,
Vellamo's fair water-maiden,
Youngest daughter of the surges.
Who should be my friend for ever,
And my wife throughout my lifetime,
Came and seized the bait I offered,
In my boat sprang unresisting,
But I knew not how to hold her,
To my home I could not take her,
But she plunged amid the waters, 190
Diving to the depths profoundest."

Then he wandered on a little,
And he walked, in sadness sighing,
To his home direct returning,
And he spoke the words which follow:
"Once indeed the birds were singing,
And my joyous cuckoo hailed me,
Both at morning and at evening,
Likewise, too, in midday hours.
What has stilled their lively music, 200
And has hushed their charming voices?
Care has stilled their lively music,
Sorrow checked their cheerful voices,
Therefore do they sing no longer,
Neither at the sun's declining,
To rejoice me in the evening,
Nor to cheer me in the morning.

"Now no more can I consider
How to shape my course of action,
How upon the earth to sojourn, 210
How throughout the world to travel.
Would my mother now were living,
And my aged mother waking!
She would surely tell me truly
How to best support my trouble,
That my grief may not o'erwhelm me,
And my sorrow may not crush me,
In these weary days of evil,
In this time of deep depression."

In her grave his mother wakened, 220
Answered from beneath the billows:
"Still thy mother lives and hears thee,
And thy aged mother wakens,
That she plainly may advise thee.
How to best support thy trouble.
That thy grief may not o'erwhelm thee,
And thy sorrow may not crush thee,
In these weary days of evil,
In these days of deep depression.
Seek thou out the maids of Pohja, 230
Where the daughters are more handsome,
And the maidens twice as lovely,
And are five or six times nimbler,
Not like lazy girls of Jouko,
Lapland's fat and sluggish daughters.

"Thence a wife, O son, provide thee,
From the fairest maids of Pohja;
Choose a maid of fair complexion,
Lovely, too, in every feature,
One whose feet are always nimble, 240
Always active in her movements."

RUNO VI.--JOUKAHAINEN'S CROSSBOW

_Argument_

Joukahainen cherishes hatred against Väinämöinen and lies in wait for him on his journey to Pohjola (1-78). He sees him riding past and shoots at him, but only kills his horse (79-182). Väinämöinen falls into the water and is driven out to sea by a tempest, while Joukahainen rejoices, because he thinks he has at last overcome Väinämöinen (183-234).

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Now resolved upon a journey
To the cold and dreary regions
Of the gloomy land of Pohja.

Then he took his straw-hued stallion
Like a pea-stalk in his colour,
And the golden bit adjusted,
Bridle on his head of silver,
On his back himself he seated,
And he started on his journey, 10
And he trotted gently onward,
At an easy pace he journeyed,
Mounted on the straw-hued courser,
Like a pea-stalk in his colour.

Thus through Väinölä he journeyed,
Over Kalevala's wide heathlands,
And the horse made rapid progress,
Home behind, and journey shortened,
Then across the sea he journeyed,
O'er the far-extending billows, 20
With the horse's hoofs unwetted,
And his feet unsunk in water.

But the youthful Joukahainen,
He, the puny son of Lapland,
Long had cherished his resentment,
And had long indeed been envious
Of the aged Väinämöinen,
Of the ever-famous minstrel

Then he wrought a mighty crossbow.
And a splendid bow he fashioned, 30
And he formed the bow of iron,
Overlaid the back with copper.
And with gold inlaid it also,
And with silver he adorned it.

Where did he obtain the bowstring?
Whence a cord to match the weapon?
Sinews from the elk of Hiisi,
And the hempen cord of Lempo.
Thus at length the bow was finished.
And the stock was quite completed, 40
And the bow was fair to gaze on,
And its value matched its beauty.
At its back a horse was standing,
On the stock a foal was running,
On the curve a sleeping woman,
At the catch a hare was couching.

Shafts of wood he likewise fashioned.
Every arrow triply feathered,
And the shafts were formed of oakwood,
And he made the heads of pinewood; 50
Thus the arrows were completed,
And he fixed the feathers on them,
From the swallows' plumage taken.
Likewise from the tails of sparrows.

After this, the points he sharpened.
And the arrow-points he poisoned.
In the black blood of the serpent,
In the blood of hissing adders.
Thus he made his arrows ready,
And his bow was fit for bending, 60

And he watched for Väinämöinen,
Waited for Suvantolainen,
Watched at morning, watched at evenings
Waited also through the noontide.

Long he watched for Väinämöinen,
Waited long, and wearied never,
Sitting gazing from the window,
Or upon the stairs he waited,
Sometimes lurking by the pathway,
Sometimes watching in the meadow, 70
On his back his well-filled quiver,
'Neath his arm his crossbow ready.

Then he waited further onwards.
Lurking near another building,
On the cape that juts out sharply,
Where the tongue of land curves outward.
Near a waterfall, all foaming.
Past the banks of sacred rivers.

And at length one day it happened.
Very early in the morning, 80
As he turned his eyes to westward,
And he turned his head to eastward
Something dark he spied on ocean.
Something blue upon the billows.
"Is a cloud in east arising,
Or the dawn of day appearing?"

In the east no cloud was rising,
Nor the dawn of day appearing.
'Twas the aged Väinämöinen,
'Twas the ever-famous minstrel, 90
Who to Pohjola was hasting,
As to Pimentola he journeyed,
Mounted on his straw-hued courser.
Like a pea-stalk in his colour.

Then the youthful Joukahainen,
He, the meagre son of Lapland,
Spanned in haste his mighty crossbow.
And he aimed the splendid weapon
At the head of Väinämöinen,
Thus to kill Suvantolainen. 100

Then his mother came and asked him,
And the aged one inquired,
"Wherefore do you span your weapon,
Bending thus the iron crossbow?"

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Answered in the words which follow.
"Therefore do I span the weapon.
Bending thus the iron crossbow.
For the head of Väinämöinen,
Thus to kill Suvantolainen, 110
I will shoot old Väinämöinen,
Strike the ever-famous minstrel,
Through the heart, and through the liver,
'Twixt the shoulders I will shoot him."

But his mother straight forbade him,
And dissuaded him from shooting.
"Do not shoot at Väinämöinen,
Do not Kalevalainen slaughter.
Of a noble race is Väinö;
He's my sister's son, my nephew. 120

"If you shoot at Väinämöinen,
And should Kalevalainen slaughter.
Gladness from the world will vanish,
And from earth will song be banished.
In the world is gladness better.
And on earth is song more cheerful,
Than to Manala if banished.
And to Tuonela's darkest regions."

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Paused a moment and reflected, 130
And he pondered for an instant,
Though his hands to shoot were ready,
One would shoot, and one restrained him,
But his sinewy fingers forced him.

And at length these words he uttered,
And expressed his own decision:
"What if twice from earth in future
Every gladness should be banished?
Let all songs for ever vanish;
I will shoot my arrows, heedless!" 140

Then he spanned the mighty crossbow.
And he drew the bow of copper,
And against his left knee bent it,
Steady with his foot he held it,
Took an arrow from his quiver,
Chose a triple-feathered arrow,
Took the strongest of his arrows,
Chose the very best among them,
Then upon the groove he laid it,
On the hempen cord he fixed it, 150
Then his mighty bow he lifted,
And he placed it to his shoulder,
Ready now to shoot the arrow,
And to shoot at Väinämöinen.
And he spoke the words which follow:
"Do thou strike, O birchwood arrow,
Strike thou in the back, O pinewood.
Twang thy best, O hempen bowstring!
If my hand is leaning downward,
Let the arrow then strike higher, 160
If my hand is bending upward,
Let the arrow then strike downward!"

Quickly then he drew the trigger,
Shot the first among his arrows.
Far too high the shaft flew upward.
High above his head to skyward,
And it whizzed among the cloudlets,
Through the scattered clouds it wandered.

Thus he shot, in reckless fashion,
Shot the second of his arrows. 170
Far too low the shot flew downwards.
Deep in Mother Earth 'twas sunken.
Earth was almost sunk to Mana,
And the hills of sand were cloven.

Then he shot again, a third time,
And the third shaft, straighter flying,
In the blue elk's spleen was buried,
Under aged Väinämöinen,
Thus he shot the straw-hued courser,
Like a pea-stalk in his colour; 180
Through the flesh beneath his shoulder,
In the left side deep he pierced him.

Then the aged Väinämöinen,
Plunged his fingers in the water,
With his hands the waves he parted,
Grasping at the foaming billows,
From the blue elk's back he tumbled
From the steed of pea-stalk colour.

Then a mighty wind arising
Raised upon the sea a billow, 190
And it bore old Väinämöinen,
Swimming from the mainland further,
O'er the wide expanse of water,
Out into the open ocean.

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Uttered words of boastful triumph:
"Now thou ancient Väinämöinen,
Never while thy life endureth,
In the course of all thy lifetime,
While the golden moon is shining, 200
Walk in Väinölä's fair meadows.
Or on Kalevala's broad heathlands!

"May you toss for six years running,
Seven long summers ever drifting,
Tossed about for over eight years,
On the wide expanse of water,
On the surface of the billows,
Drift for six years like a pine-tree,
And for seven years like a fir-tree,
And for eight years like a tree-stump!" 210

Then the house again he entered,
And at once his mother asked him,
"Have you shot at Väinämöinen?
Slaughtered Kaleva's famous offspring?"

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Answered in the words which follow
"I have shot at Väinämöinen,
And have o'erthrown Kalevalainen,
Sent him swimming in the water,
Swept him out upon the billows, 220
On the restless waves of ocean
Where the waves are wildly tossing,
And the old man plunged his fingers
And his palms amid the waters,
Then upon his side he tumbled,
And upon his back he turned him,
Drifting o'er the waves of ocean,
Out upon the foaming billows."

But his mother made him answer,
"Very evil hast thou acted, 230
Thus to shoot at Väinämöinen
And to o'erthrow Kalevalainen.
Of Suvantola the hero,
Kalevala's most famous hero."

RUNO VII.--VÄINÄMÖINEN AND LOUHI

_Argument_

Väinämöinen swims for several days on the open sea (1-88). The eagle, grateful to him for having spared the birch-tree for him to rest on, when he was felling the trees takes Väinämöinen on his wings, and carries him to the borders of Pohjola, where the Mistress of Pohjola takes him to her abode, and receives him hospitably (89-274). Väinämöinen desires to return to his own country, and the Mistress of Pohjola permits him to depart, and promises him her daughter in marriage if he will forge the Sampo in Pohjola (275-322). Väinämöinen promises that when he returns home he will send the smith Ilmarinen to forge the Sampo, and the Mistress of Pohjola gives him a horse and a sledge to convey him home (323-368).

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Swam upon the open ocean,
Drifting like a fallen pine-tree,
Like a rotten branch of fir-tree,
During six days of the summer,
And for six nights in succession,
While the sea spread wide before him,
And the sky was clear above him.

Thus he swam for two nights longer,
And for two days long and dreary. 10
When the ninth night darkened round him,
And the eighth day had passed over,
Sudden anguish came upon him,
And his pain grew ever greater.
From his toes his nails were dropping,
And the joints from off his fingers.

Then the aged Väinämöinen
Spoke in words like those which follow:
"Woe to me, unhappy creature,
Overburdened with misfortune! 20
I have wandered from my country,
And my ancient home abandoned.
'Neath the open sky for ever,
Driven along in sun and moonlight,
Rocked about by winds for ever,
Tossed about by every billow,
On the wide expanse of water,
Out upon the open ocean,
Here I live a cold existence,
And 'tis painful thus to wallow, 30
Always tossing on the billows,
On the surface of the waters.

"Now, alas, I know no longer
How to lead this life of sadness
In this everlasting trouble,
In an age when all is fleeting.
Shall I rear in wind a dwelling,
Build a house upon the waters?

"If I rear in wind a dwelling,
Then the wind would not sustain it; 40
If I build a house on water,
Then the waves will drift it from me."

Came a bird from Lapland flying,
From the north-east came an eagle,
Not the largest of the eagles,
Nor was he among the smallest,
With one wing he swept the water,
To the sky was swung the other;
On the sea his tail he rested,
On the cliffs his beak he rattled. 50

Slowly back and forwards flying,
Turning all around, and gazing,
Soon he saw old Väinämöinen
On the blue waves of the ocean.
"What has brought you here, O hero,
Wandering through the waves of ocean?"

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow:
"This has brought the man to ocean,
Plunged the hero in the sea-waves. 60
I would seek the maid of Pohja,
Woo the maiden of Pimentola.

"On my journey swift I hasted,
On the ocean's watery surface,
Till about the time of daybreak,
Came I, after many mornings,
Where is Luotola's deep embayment,
Hard by Joukola's rapid river,
When my horse was shot beneath me,
By an arrow launched against me. 70

"Thus I fell into the water,
In the waves I plunged my fingers,
And the wind impels me onward,
And the billows drift me forward.

"Then there came a gale from north-west,
From the east a mighty tempest,
Far away the tempest drove me,
Swimming from the land still further,
Many days have I been floating,
Many days have I been swimming, 80
On this wide expanse of water,
Out upon the open ocean.
And I cannot now conjecture,
Cannot guess, nor e'en imagine,
How I finally shall perish,
And what death shall overtake me
Whether I shall die of hunger,
Or shall sink beneath the waters."

Said the bird of air, the eagle,
"Let thy heart be free from trouble; 90
Climb upon my back, and seat thee,
Standing up upon my wing-tips,
From the sea will I transport thee,
Wheresoever thou may'st fancy.
For the day I well remember,
And recall a happier season,
When fell Kaleva's green forest,
Cleared was Osmola's famed island,
But thou didst protect the birch-tree,
And the beauteous tree left'st standing, 100
That the birds might rest upon it,
And that I myself might sit there."

Then the aged Väinämöinen
Raised his head from out the water,
From the sea the man sprang upward,
From the waves the hero mounted.
On the eagle's wings he sat him,
On the wing-tips of the eagle.

Then the bird of air, the eagle,
Raised the aged Väinämöinen, 110
Through the path of wind he bore him,
And along the east-wind's pathway,
To the utmost bounds of Pohja,
Onwards to the misty Sariola,
There abandoned Väinämöinen,
Soared into the air, and left him.

There stood Väinämöinen weeping,
There stood weeping and lamenting,
On the borders of the ocean,
On a land whose name he knew not, 120
With a hundred wounds upon him,
By a thousand winds belaboured,
And his beard was much disordered,
And his hair was all entangled.

Thus he wept for two, and three nights,
For as many days stood weeping,
For the country round he knew not,
And no path could he discover,
Which perchance might lead him homeward,
Back to a familiar country, 130
To his own, his native country,
Where he passed his days aforetime.

But the little maid of Pohja,
Fair-haired damsel of the household,
With the sun had made agreement,
And both sun and moon had promised,
They would always rise together,
And they would awake together.
She herself arose before them,
Ere the sun or moon had risen, 140
Long before the time of cockcrow,
Or the chirping of a chicken.

From five sheep she shore the fleeces,
Clipped the wool from off six lambkins,
In her loom she wove the fleeces,
And the whole with care she carded,
Long before the dawn of morning,
Long before the sun had risen.

After this she washed the tables,
Swept the wide-extended flooring, 150
With the broom of twigs all leafless,
Then with broom of leafy branches.
Then the sweepings she collected
In the dustpan made of copper;
Out of doors she took the rubbish,
To the field beyond the farmyard,
To the field's extremest limit,
Where the lowest fence has opening.
There she stood upon the sweepings,
And she turned around, and listened. 160
From the lake she heard a weeping,
Sounds of woe across the river.

Quickly then she hastened homeward,
And she hurried to the parlour.
As she came, she told her tidings,
In such words as those which follow:
"From the lake I hear a weeping,
Sounds of woe across the river."

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Old and gap-toothed dame of Pohja, 170
Hastened forth into the farmyard,
Hurried to the fence's opening,
Where she bent her ear to listen,
And she spoke the words which follow:
"This is not like childhood's weeping
Nor like women's lamentation,
But a bearded hero weeping;
Thus weep men whose chins are bearded."

Three planks high, the boat was builded,
Which she pushed into the water, 180
And herself began to row it,
And she rowed, and hastened onward
To the spot where Väinämöinen,
Where the hero was lamenting.

There was Väinämöinen weeping,
There Uvanto's swain lamented,
By the dreary clumps of willow,
By the tangled hedge of cherry.
Moved his mouth, his beard was shaking,
But his lips he did not open. 190

Then did Pohjola's old Mistress,
Speak unto, and thus addressed him:
"O thou aged man unhappy,
Thou art in a foreign country!"

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Lifted up his head and answered
In the very words that follow:
"True it is, and well I know it,
I am in a foreign country,
Absolutely unfamiliar. 200
I was better in my country,
Greater in the home I came from."

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Answered in the words which follow:
"In the first place you must tell me,
If I may make bold to ask you,
From what race you take your lineage,
And from what heroic nation?"

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow: 210
"Well my name was known aforetime,
And in former days was famous,
Ever cheerful in the evening,
Ever singing in the valleys,
There in Väinölä's sweet meadows,
And on Kalevala's broad heathlands;
But my grief is now so heavy
That I know myself no longer."

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Answered in the words which follow: 220
"Rise, O man, from out the marshes,
Hero, seek another pathway.
Tell me now of thy misfortunes,
And relate me thy adventure."

Thus she made him cease his weeping,
Made the hero cease lamenting;
And into her boat she took him,
Bade him at the stern be seated,
And herself resumed the oars,
And she then began to row him 230
Unto Pohjola, o'er water,
And she brought him to her dwelling.
Then she fed the famished stranger,
And she dried his dripping garments,
Then she rubbed his limbs all stiffened,
And she warmed him and shampooed him,
Till she had restored his vigour,
And the hero had recovered.
After this, she spoke and asked him,
In the very words which follow: 240
"Why did'st weep, O Väinämöinen,
Why lament, Uvantolainen,
In that miserable region,
On the borders of the lakelet?"

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow:
"Cause enough have I for weeping,
Reason, too, for lamentation,
In the sea I long was swimming,
Tossed about upon the billows, 250
On the wide expanse of water,
Out upon the open ocean.

"I must weep throughout my lifespan,
And lament throughout my lifetime,
That I swam beyond my country,
Left the country so familiar,
And have come to doors I know not,
And to hedge-gates that I know not,
All the trees around me pain me,
All the pine-twigs seem to pierce me, 260
Every birch-tree seems to flog me,
Every alder seems to wound me,
But the wind is friendly to me,
And the sun still shines upon me,
In this unaccustomed country,
And within the doors I know not."

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Answered in the words which follow:
"Do not weep, O Väinämöinen,
Nor lament, Uvantolainen. 270
Here 'tis good for thee to sojourn,
And to pass thy days in comfort.
Salmon you can eat at table,
And beside it pork is standing."

But the aged Väinämöinen
Answered in the words which follow:
"Foreign food I do not relish,
In the best of strangers' houses.
In his land a man is better,
In his home a man is greater. 280
Grant me, Jumala most gracious,
O compassionate Creator,
Once again to reach my country,
And the land I used to dwell in!
Better is a man's own country,
Water from beneath the sabot,
Than in unfamiliar countries,
Mead to drink from golden goblets."

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Answered in the words which follow: 290
"What are you prepared to give me,
If I send you to your country,
To the borders of your cornfields,
Or the bath-house of your dwelling?"

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"Tell me then what I shall give you,
If you send me to my country,
To the borders of my cornfields,
There to hear my cuckoo calling,
And my birds so sweetly singing. 300
Will you choose a gold-filled helmet.
Or a hat filled up with silver?"

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Answered in the words which follow:
"O thou wisest Väinämöinen,
Thou the oldest of the sages,
Golden gifts I do not ask for,
And I wish not for thy silver.
Gold is but a toy for children,
Silver bells adorn the horses, 310
But if you can forge a Sampo,
Weld its many-coloured cover,
From the tips of swan's white wing-plumes,
From the milk of barren heifer,
From a single grain of barley,
From a single fleece of ewe's wool,
Then will I my daughter give you,
Give the maiden as your guerdon,
And will bring you to your country,
There to hear the birds all singing, 320
There to hear your cuckoo calling,
On the borders of your cornfields."

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow:
"No, I cannot forge a Sampo,
Nor can weld its pictured cover.
Only bring me to my country,
And I'll send you Ilmarinen,
Who shall forge a Sampo for you,
Weld its many-coloured cover. 330
He perchance may please the maiden,
Win your daughter's young affections.

"He's a smith without an equal,
None can wield the hammer like him,
For 'twas he who forged the heaven,
And who wrought the air's foundations,
Yet we find no trace of hammer,
Nor the trace of tongs discover."

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Answered in the words which follow: 340
"I will only yield my daughter,
And my child I promise only
To the man who welds a Sampo
With its many-coloured cover,
From the tips of swan's white wing-plumes,
From the milk of barren heifer,
From a single grain of barley,
From a single fleece of ewe's wool."

Thereupon the colt she harnessed,
In the front she yoked the bay one, 350
And she placed old Väinämöinen
In the sledge behind the stallion.
And she spoke and thus addressed him,
In the very words which follow:
"Do not raise your head up higher,
Turn it not to gaze about you,
That the steed may not be wearied,
Till the evening shall have gathered.
If you dare to raise your head up,
Or to turn to gaze around you, 360
Then misfortune will o'ertake you,
And an evil day betide you."

Then the aged Väinämöinen
Whipped the horse, and urged him onward,
And the white-maned courser hastened
Noisily upon the journey,
Forth from Pohjola's dark regions,
Sariola for ever misty.

RUNO VIII.--VÄINÄMÖINEN'S WOUND

_Argument_

On his journey Väinämöinen encounters the magnificently-clad Maiden of Pohja, and makes advances to her (1-50). The maiden at length consents to his wishes if he will make a boat from the splinters of her spindle, and move it into the water without touching it (51-132). Väinämöinen sets to work, but wounds his knee severely with his axe, and cannot stanch the flow of blood (133-204). He goes in search of some magic remedy and finds an old man who promises to stop the bleeding (205-282).

Lovely was the maid of Pohja,
Famed on land, on water peerless,
On the arch of air high-seated,
Brightly shining on the rainbow,
Clad in robes of dazzling lustre,
Clad in raiment white and shining.
There she wove a golden fabric,
Interwoven all with silver,
And her shuttle was all golden,
And her comb was all of silver. 10

From her hand flew swift the shuttle,
In her hands the reel was turning,
And the copper shafts they clattered,
And the silver comb resounded,
As the maiden wove the fabric,
And with silver interwove it.

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Thundered on upon his journey,
From the gloomy land of Pohja,
Sariola for ever misty. 20
Short the distance he had travelled,
Short the way that he had journeyed,
When he heard the shuttle whizzing,
High above his head he heard it.

Thereupon his head he lifted,
And he gazed aloft to heaven,
And beheld a glorious rainbow;
On the arch the maiden seated
As she wove a golden fabric.
As the silver comb resounded. 30

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Stayed his horse upon the instant.
And he raised his voice, and speaking,
In such words as these addressed her:
"Come into my sledge, O maiden,
In the sledge beside me seat thee."

Then the maiden made him answer,
And in words like these responded:
"Wherefore should the maiden join you,
In the sledge beside you seated?" 40

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast.
Heard her words, and then responded:
"Therefore should the maiden join me,
In the sledge beside me seat her;
Bread of honey to prepare me,
And the best of beer to brew me,
Singing blithely on the benches,
Gaily talking at the window,
When in Väinölä I sojourn,
At my home in Kalevala." 50

Then the maiden gave him answer,
And in words like these addressed him:
"As I wandered through the bedstraws
Tripping o'er the yellow meadows,
Yesterday, in time of evening,
As the sun was slowly sinking,
In the bush a bird was singing,
And I heard the fieldfare trilling,
Singing of the whims of maidens,
And the whims of new-wed damsels. 60

"Thus the bird was speaking to me,
And I questioned it in this wise:

'Tell me O thou little fieldfare,
Sing thou, that my ears may hear it,
Whether it indeed is better,
Whether thou hast heard 'tis better,
For a girl in father's dwelling,
Or in household of a husband?'

"Thereupon the bird made answer,
And the fieldfare answered chirping: 70

'Brilliant is the day in summer,
But a maiden's lot is brighter.
And the frost makes cold the iron,
Yet the new bride's lot is colder.
In her father's house a maiden
Lives like strawberry in the garden,
But a bride in house of husband,
Lives like house-dog tightly fettered.
To a slave comes rarely pleasure;
To a wedded damsel never.'" 80

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow:
"Song of birds is idle chatter,
And the throstle's, merely chirping;
As a child a daughter's treated,
But a maid must needs be married.
Come into my sledge, O maiden,
In the sledge beside me seat thee.
I am not a man unworthy,
Lazier not than other heroes." 90

But the maid gave crafty answer,
And in words like these responded:
"As a man I will esteem you,
And as hero will regard you,
If you can split up a horsehair
With a blunt and pointless knife-blade,
And an egg in knots you tie me,
Yet no knot is seen upon it."

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Then the hair in twain divided, 100
With a blunt and pointless knife-blade,
With a knife completely pointless,
And an egg in knots he twisted,
Yet no knot was seen upon it.
Then again he asked the maiden
In the sledge to sit beside him.
But the maid gave crafty answer,
"I perchance at length may join you,
If you'll peel the stone I give you,
And a pile of ice will hew me, 110
But no splinter scatter from it,
Nor the smallest fragment loosen."

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Did not find the task a hard one.
From the stone the rind he severed,
And a pile of ice he hewed her,
But no splinters scattered from it,
Nor the smallest fragment loosened.
Then again he asked the maiden
In the sledge to sit beside him. 120

But the maid gave crafty answer,
And she spoke the words which follow:
"No, I will not yet go with you,
If a boat you cannot carve me,
From the splinters of my spindle,
From the fragments of my shuttle,
And shall launch the boat in water,
Push it out upon the billows,
But no knee shall press against it,
And no hand must even touch it; 130
And no arm shall urge it onward,
Neither shall a shoulder guide it."

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow:
"None in any land or country,
Under all the vault of heaven,
Like myself can build a vessel,
Or so deftly can construct it."
Then he took the spindle-splinters,
Of the reel he took the fragments, 140
And began the boat to fashion,
Fixed a hundred planks together,
On a mount of steel he built it,
Built it on the rocks of iron.

At the boat with zeal he laboured,
Toiling at the work unresting,
Working thus one day, a second,
On the third day likewise working,
But the rocks his axe-blade touched not,
And upon the hill it rang not. 150

But at length, upon the third day,
Hiisi turned aside the axe-shaft,
Lempo turned the edge against him,
And an evil stroke delivered.
On the rocks the axe-blade glinted,
On the hill the blade rang loudly,
From the rock the axe rebounded,
In the flesh the steel was buried,
In the victim's knee 'twas buried,
In the toes of Väinämöinen, 160
In the flesh did Lempo drive it,
To the veins did Hiisi guide it,
From the wound the blood flowed freely,
Bursting forth in streaming torrents.

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
He, the oldest of magicians,
Uttered words like those which follow,
And expressed himself in this wise:
"O thou evil axe ferocious,
With thy edge of gleaming sharpness, 170
Thou hast thought to hew a tree-trunk,
And to strike upon a pine-tree,
Match thyself against a fir-tree,
Or to fall upon a birch-tree.
'Tis my flesh that thou hast wounded,
And my veins thou hast divided."