Chapter XXV: The Home-Coming of the Bride and Bridegroom 300 (8)

"Woe, my father and my mother,
Woe, alas, my aged parents!
Whither would you now dismiss me,
Drive a wretched maid to sorrow,
Make me thus to weep for sorrow,
Overburdened thus with trouble, 420
With distress so heavy-burdened,
And with care so overloaded?

"Better, O unhappy mother,
Better, dearest who hast borne me.
O thou dear one, who hast suckled,
Nurtured me throughout my lifetime,
Hadst thou swaddled up a tree-stump,
And hadst bathed a little pebble,
Rather than have washed thy daughter,
And have swaddled up thy darling, 430
For this time of great affliction,
And of this so grievous sorrow.

"Many speak unto me elsewise,
Many counsel me in thiswise:
'Do not, fool, give way to sorrow,
Let not gloomy thoughts oppress thee.'
Do not, O ye noble people,
Do not speak to me in thiswise!
Far more troubles weigh upon me,
Than in a cascade are pebbles, 440
Than in swampy ground the willows,
Or the heath upon the marshland.
Never can a horse pull forward,
And a shod horse struggle onward,
And the sledge sway not behind him,
And the collar shall not tremble.
Even thus I feel my trouble,
And oppressed by dark forebodings."

From the floor there sang an infant,
From the hearth a growing infant. 450
"Wherefore dost thou weep, O maiden,
Yielding to such grievous sorrow?
Cast thy troubles to the horses,
Sorrow to the sable gelding.
Leave complaints to mouths of iron,
Lamentations to the thick-heads,
Better heads indeed have horses,
Better heads, and bones much harder,
For their arching necks are firmer,
All their frame is greatly stronger. 460

"No, thou hast no cause for weeping,
Nor to yield to grievous sorrow;
To the marsh they do not lead thee,
Push thee not into the ditches.
Leavest thou these fertile cornfields,
Yet to richer fields thou goest,
Though they take thee from the brewery,
'Tis to where the ale's abundant.

"If around thee now thou gazest,
Just beside thee where thou standest, 470
There thy bridegroom stands to guard thee,
By thy side thy ruddy husband.
Good thy husband, good his horses,
All things needful fill his cellars,
And the grouse are loudly chirping,
On the sledge, as glides it onwards,
And the thrushes make rejoicing,
As they sing upon the traces,
And six golden cuckoos likewise
Flutter on the horse's collar, 480
Seven blue birds are also perching,
On the sledge's frame, and singing.

"Do not yield thee thus to trouble,
O thou darling of thy mother!
For no evil fate awaits thee,
But in better case thou comest,
Sitting by thy farmer husband,
Underneath the ploughman's mantle,
'Neath the chin of the bread-winner,
In the arms of skilful fisher, 490
Warm from chasing elk on snowshoes,
And from bathing after bear-hunt.

"Thou hast found the best of husbands,
And hast won a mighty hero,
For his bow is never idle,
Neither on the pegs his quivers;
And the dogs in house he leaves not,
Nor in hay lets rest the puppies.

"Three times in this spring already,
In the earliest hours of morning, 500
Has he stood before the fire,
Rising from his couch of bushes;
Three times in this spring already
On his eyes the dew has fallen,
And the shoots of pine-trees combed him,
And the branches brushed against him.

"All his people he exhorted,
To increase his flocks in number,
For indeed the bridegroom owneth
Flocks that wander through the birchwoods, 510
Tramp their way among the sandhills,
Seek for pasture in the valleys;
Hundreds of the horned cattle,
Thousands with their well-filled udders;
On the plains are stacks in plenty,
In the valley crops abundant,
Alder-woods for cornland suited,
Meadows where the barley's springing,
Stony land for oats that's suited,
Watered regions, fit for wheatfields. 520
All rich gifts in peace await thee,
Pennies plentiful as pebbles."

RUNO XXIII.--THE INSTRUCTING OF THE BRIDE

_Argument_

The bride is instructed and directed how to conduct herself in her husband's house (1-478). An old vagrant woman relates the experiences of her life as a daughter, as a wife, and after her separation from her husband (479-850).

Now the girl must be instructed,
And the bride be taught her duty,
Who shall now instruct the maiden,
And shall teach the girl her duty?
Osmotar, experienced woman,
Kaleva's most beauteous maiden;
She shall give the maid instruction,
And shall teach the unprotected
How to bear herself with prudence,
And with wisdom to conduct her, 10
In her husband's house with prudence,
To his mother most obedient.

So she spoke the words which follow,
And in terms like these addressed her:
"O thou bride, my dearest sister,
Thou my darling, best-beloved,
Listen now to what I tell thee,
For a second time repeated.
Now thou goest, a flower transplanted,
Like a strawberry forward creeping, 20
Whisked, like shred of cloth, to distance,
Satin-robed, to distance hurried,
From thy home, renowned so greatly,
From thy dwelling-place so beauteous.
To another home thou comest,
To a stranger household goest;
In another house 'tis different;
Otherwise in strangers' houses.
Walk thou there with circumspection,
And prepare thy duties wisely 30
Not as on thy father's acres,
Or the lands of thine own mother.
Where they sing among the valleys,
And upon the pathways shouting.

"When from out this house thou goest,
All thy doings must be different;
Three things leave at home behind thee,
Sleep indulged in in the daytime,
Counsels of thy dearest mother,
And fresh butter from the barrels. 40

"All thy thoughts must now be altered;
Leave thy sleepiness behind thee,
Leave it for the household maiden,
By the stove so idly sitting.
To the bench-end cast thy singing,
Joyous carols to the windows,
Girlish ways unto the bath-whisks,
And thy pranks to blanket-edges,
Naughtinesses to the stove-bench,
On the floor thy lazy habits, 50
Or renounce them to thy bridesmaid,
And into her arms unload them,
That she take them to the bushes,
Out upon the heath convey them.

"Other habits wait thy learning,
And the old must be forgotten.
Father's love you leave behind you;
Learn to love thy husband's father;
Deeper now must thou incline thee,
Fitting language must thou utter. 60

"Other habits wait thy learning,
And the old must be forgotten.
Mother's love thou leav'st behind thee;
Learn to love thy husband's mother.
Deeper now must thou incline thee;
Fitting language must thou utter.

"Other habits wait thy learning,
And the old must be forgotten.
Brother's love thou leav'st behind thee;
Learn to love thy husband's brother; 70
Deeper now must thou incline thee;
Fitting language must thou utter.

"Other habits wait thy learning,
And the old must be forgotten.
Sister's love thou leav'st behind thee,
Learn to love thy husband's sister.
Deeper now must thou incline thee,
Fitting language must thou utter.

"Never may'st thou in thy lifetime,
While the golden moon is shining, 80
Seek a house of doubtful morals,
With the worthless men consorting,
For a house must needs be moral,
And a house must needs be noble,
And for sense a husband wishes,
And desires the best behaviour.
Heedfulness will much be needed
In a house of doubtful morals;
Steadiness will much be wanting
In a man's of doubtful morals. 90

"Is the old man a wolf in corner,
By the hearth the crone a she-bear,
Brother-in-law on step a viper,
In the yard like nail the sister,
Equal honour must thou give them,
Deeper must thou then incline thee,
Than thou bowed before thy mother,
In the house of thine own father,
Than thou bowed before thy father,
Or before thy dearest mother. 100

"Thou wilt always need in future
Ready wit and clear perception,
And thy thoughts must all be prudent,
Firmly fixed thy understanding,
Eyes of keenness in the evening,
That the fire is always brilliant,
Ears of sharpness in the morning,
Thus to listen for the cockcrow.
If the cockcrow once has sounded,
Though the second has not sounded, 110
It becomes the young to rouse them,
Though the old folk still are resting.

"If the cock should not be crowing,
Nor the master's bird be crowing,
Let the moon for cockcrow serve thee,
Take the Great Bear for thy guidance.
Often thou should'st seek the open,
Often go the moon to gaze on,
From the Great Bear seek instruction,
And the distant stars to gaze on. 120

"If you see the Great Bear clearly,
With his front to south directed,
And his tail extending northward,
Then 'tis time for thee to rouse thee
From the side of thy young husband,
Leaving him asleep and ruddy,
Fire to seek among the ashes
Seeking for a spark in firebox,
Blowing then the fire discreetly,
That from carelessness it spread not. 130

"If no fire is in the ashes,
And no spark is in the firebox,
Coax thou then thy dearest husband,
And cajole thy handsome husband:
'Light me now the fire, my dearest,
Just a spark, my darling berry!'

"If you have a flint, a small one,
And a little piece of tinder,
Strike a light as quick as may be,
Light the pine-chip in the holder, 140
Then go out to clear the cowshed,
And the cattle do thou fodder,
For the mother's cow is lowing,
And the father's horse is neighing,
And her chain the son's cow rattles,
And the daughter's calf is lowing,
That the soft hay should be thrown them,
And the clover laid before them.

"Go thou stooping on the pathway,
Bend thou down among the cattle, 150
Gently give the cows their fodder,
Give the sheep their food in quiet,
Spread it straight before the cattle,
Drink unto the calves so helpless,
To the foals give straw well-chosen,
To the lambkins hay the softest,
See that on the swine thou tread'st not,
Nor the hogs with foot thou spurnest,
Take thou to the swine the food-trough,
Set before the hogs the food-tray. 160

"Do not rest thee in the cowshed,
Do not loiter with the sheep-flock;
When thou'st visited the cowshed,
And hast looked to all the cattle,
Do thou quickly hasten homeward,
Home returning like a blizzard,
For the baby there is crying,
Crying underneath the blanket,
And the poor child still is speechless,
And its tongue no words can utter, 170
Whether it is cold or hungry,
Or if something else annoys it,
Ere its well-known friend is coming,
And the mother's voice it heareth.

"When into the room thou comest,
Come thou fourth into the chamber;
In thy hand a water-bucket,
Underneath thy arm a besom,
And between thy teeth a pine-chip;
Thou art then the fourth among them. 180

"Sweep thou then the floor to cleanness,
Sweep thou carefully the planking,
And upon the floor pour water,
Not upon the heads of babies.
If you see a child there lying,
Though thy sister-in-law's the infant,
Up upon the bench then lift it,
Wash its eyes, and smooth its hair down,
Put some bread into its handies,
And upon the bread spread butter, 190
But if bread perchance be wanting,
Put a chip into its handies.

"Then the tables must be scoured,
At the week-end at the latest;
Wash them, and the sides remember,
Let the legs be not forgotten;
Then the benches wash with water,
Sweep thou too the walls to cleanness,
And the boards of all the benches,
And the walls with all their corners. 200

"If there's dust upon the tables,
Or there's dust upon the windows,
Dust them carefully with feathers,
Wipe them with a wetted duster,
That the dust should not be scattered,
Nor should settle on the ceiling.

"From the stove scrape all the rust off,
From the ceiling wipe the soot off,
And the ceiling-props remember,
Nor should'st thou forget the rafters, 210
That the house be all in order,
And a fitting place to live in.

"Hear, O maiden, what I tell thee,
What I says and what I tell thee,
Do not go without thy clothing,
Nor without thy shift disport thee,
Move about without thy linen,
Or without thy shoes go shuffling:
Greatly shocked would be thy bridegroom,
And thy youthful husband grumble. 220

"In the yard there grows a rowan,
Thou with reverent care should'st tend it,
Holy is the tree there growing,
Holy likewise are its branches,
On its boughs the leaves are holy,
And its berries yet more holy,
For a damsel may discover,
And an orphan thence learn teaching,
How to please her youthful husband,
To her bridegroom's heart draw nearer. 230

"Let thy ears be keen as mouse-ears,
Let thy feet as hare's be rapid,
And thy young neck proudly arching,
And thy fair neck proudly bending,
Like the juniper uprising,
Or the cherry's verdant summit.

"Likewise hold thyself discreetly,
Always ponder and consider;
Never venture thou to rest thee
On the bench at length extended, 240
Nor upon thy bed to rest thee,
There to yield thee to thy slumbers.

"Comes the brother from his ploughing,
Or the father from the storehouse,
Or thy husband from his labour,
He, thy fair one, from the clearing,
Haste to fetch the water-basin,
Hasten thou to bring a towel,
Bowing with respect before them,
Speaking words of fond affection. 250

"Comes the mother from the storehouse,
In her arms the flour-filled basket,
Run across the yard to meet her,
Bowing with respect before her,
Take thou from her hands the basket,
Quickly to the house to bear it.

"If you do not know your duty,
Do not comprehend it fully,
What the work that waits the doing,
Where you should begin your labours, 260
Ask the old crone then in thiswise:
'O my mother-in-law beloved,
How is this work to be managed,
And arranged these household matters?'

"And the old crone thus will answer,
And your mother-in-law will tell you:
'Thus this work is to be managed,
And arranged these household matters,
Pounding thus, and grinding thiswise,
And the handmill quickly turning. 270
Likewise do thou fetch the water,
That the dough be fitly kneaded,
Carry logs into the bakehouse,
And the oven heat thou fully,
Set thou then the loaves for baking,
And the large cakes bake thou likewise,
Wash thou then the plates and dishes,
Likewise washing clean the meal-tubs.'

"When thy work she thus has told thee,
And thy mother-in-law has taught thee, 280
From the stones the parched corn taking,
Hasten to the room for grinding;
But when you at length have reached it,
And the room for grinding entered,
Do not carol as thou goest,
Do not shout thy very loudest,
Leave it to the stones to carol,
Talking through the handmill's opening,
Neither do thou groan too loudly,
Let the handmill groan unto thee; 290
Lest thy father-in-law should fancy
Or thy mother-in-law imagine
That with discontent thou groanest,
And art sighing from vexation.
Lift the meal, and sift it quickly,
To the room in dish convey it,
Bake thou there the loaves with pleasure,
After thou with care hast kneaded,
That the flour becomes not lumpy,
But throughout is mixed most smoothly. 300

"If you see the bucket leaning,
Take the bucket on your shoulder,
On your arm the water-bucket.
Go thou then to fetch the water.
Carry thou the bucket nicely,
On the yoke-end do thou fix it,
Like the wind returning quickly,
Like the wind of springtime rushing,
By the water do not linger,
By the well forbear to rest thee, 310
Lest thy father-in-law should fancy,
Or thy mother-in-law imagine
That you wished to see your likeness,
And your beauty to admire,
Rosy cheeks in water painted,
In the well your charms reflected.

"When you wander to the wood-pile,
Wander there to fetch the faggots,
Do not split them up at random,
Take some faggots of the aspen, 320
Lift thou up the faggots gently,
Make as little noise as may be,
Lest thy father-in-law should fancy,
Or thy mother-in-law imagine,
That you pitch them down in crossness,
And in temper make them clatter.

"When you wander to the storehouse,
Thither go to fetch the flour,
Do not linger in the storehouse,
Do not long remain within it, 330
Lest thy father-in-law should fancy,
Or thy mother-in-law imagine,
You were doling out the flour,
Sharing with the village women.

"When you go to wash the dishes,
And the pots and pans to scour,
Wash the jugs and wash the handles,
And the rims of mugs for drinking,
Sides of cups with circumspection,
Handles of the spoons remembering, 340
Mind thou, too, the spoons and count them,
Look thou to the dishes also,
Lest the dogs should steal them from you,
Or the cats should take them from you,
Or the birds away should take them,
Or the children should upset them:
For the village swarms with children,
Many little heads thou findest,
Who might carry off the dishes,
And the spoons about might scatter. 350

"When the evening bath is wanted,
Fetch the water and the bath-whisks,
Have the bath-whisks warm and ready,
Fill thou full with steam the bathroom.
Do not take too long about it,
Do not loiter in the bathroom,
Lest thy father-in-law should fancy,
Or thy mother-in-law imagine,
You were lying on the bath-boards,
On the bench your head reclining. 360

"When the room again you enter,
Then announce the bath is ready:
'O my father-in-law beloved,
Now the bath is fully ready:
Water brought, and likewise bath-whisks,
All the boards are cleanly scoured.
Go and bathe thee at thy pleasure,
Wash thou there as it shall please thee,
I myself will mind the steaming,
Standing underneath the boarding.' 370

"When the time has come for spinning,
And the time has come for weaving,
In the village seek not counsel,
Do not cross the ditch for teaching,
Seek it not in other households,
Nor the weaver's comb from strangers.

"Spin thyself the yarn thou needest,
With thy fingers do thou spin it,
Let the yarn be loosely twisted,
But the flaxen thread more closely. 380
Closely in a ball then wind it,
On the winch securely twist it,
Fix it then upon the warp-beam,
And upon the loom secure it,
Then the shuttle fling thou sharply,
But the yarn do thou draw gently.
Weave the thickest woollen garments,
Woollen gowns construct thou likewise,
From a single fleece prepare them,
From a winter fleece construct them, 390
From the wool of lamb of springtime,
And the fleece of ewe of summer.

"Listen now to what I tell thee,
And to what again I tell thee.
Thou must brew the ale of barley,
From the malt the sweet drink fashion,
From a single grain of barley,
And by burning half a tree-trunk.
When the malt begins to sweeten,
Take thou up the malt and taste it. 400
With the rake disturb it never,
Do not use a stick to turn it,
Always use your hands to stir it,
And your open hands to turn it.
Go thou often to the malthouse,
Do not let the sprout be injured,
Let the cat not sit upon it,
Or the tomcat sleep upon it.
Of the wolves have thou no terror,
Fear thou not the forest monsters, 410
When thou goest to the bath-house,
Or at midnight forth must wander.

"When a stranger pays a visit,
Be not angry with the stranger,
For a well-appointed household,
Always has for guests provision:
Scraps of meat that are not needed,
Cakes of bread the very nicest.

"Ask the guest to sit and rest him,
With the guest converse in friendship, 420
With thy talk amuse the stranger,
Till the dinner shall be ready.

"When the house the stranger's leaving,
And he's taking his departure,
Do not thou go with the stranger
Any further than the housedoor,
Lest the husband should be angry,
And thy darling should be gloomy.

"If you e'er feel inclination
To the village forth to wander, 430
Ask permission ere thou goest,
There to gossip with the strangers.
In the time that you are absent,
Speak thy words with heedful caution,
Do not grumble at your household,
Nor thy mother-in-law abuse thou.

"If the village girls should ask you,
Any of the village women,
'Does your mother-in-law give butter,
As at home your mother gave you?' 440
Never do thou make the answer,
'No, she does not give me butter;'
Tell thou always that she gives it,
Gives it to you by the spoonful,
Though 'twas only once in summer,
And another time in winter.

"List again to what I tell thee,
And again impress upon thee.
When at length this house thou leavest,
And thou comest to the other, 450
Do thou not forget thy mother,
Or despise thy dearest mother,
For it was thy mother reared thee,
And her beauteous breasts that nursed thee,
From her own delightful body,
From her form of perfect whiteness.
Many nights has she lain sleepless,
Many meals has she forgotten,
While she rocked thee in thy cradle,
Watching fondly o'er her infant. 460

"She who should forget her mother,
Or despise her dearest mother,
Ne'er to Manala should travel,
Nor to Tuonela go cheerful.
There in Manala is anguish,
Hard in Tuonela the reckoning,
If she has forgot her mother,
Or despised her dearest mother.
Tuoni's daughters come reproaching,
Mana's maidens all come mocking: 470
'Why hast thou forgot thy mother,
Or despised thy dearest mother?
Great the sufferings of thy mother,
Great her sufferings when she bore thee,
Lying groaning in the bathroom,
On a couch of straw extended,
When she gave thee thy existence,
Giving birth to thee, the vile one!'"

On the ground there sat an old crone,
Sat an old dame 'neath her mantle, 480
Wanderer o'er the village threshold,
Wanderer through the country's footpaths,
And she spoke the words which follow,
And in words like these expressed her:
"To his mate the cock was singing,
Sang the hen's child to his fair one,
And in March the crow was croaking,
And in days of spring was chattering;
Rather let my singing fail me,
Let me rather check my singing, 490
Chattering in a house all golden,
Always near to one who loves me;
But no love nor house is left me,
And all love departed from me.

"Hear, O sister, what I tell thee,
When thy husband's house thou seekest,
Follow not thy husband's notions,
As was done by me unhappy.
Larks have tongues, and husbands notions;
But a lover's heart is greater. 500

"I was as a flower that flourished,
As a wild rose in the thicket,
And I grew as grows a sapling,
Grew into a slender maiden.
I was beauteous as a berry,
Rustling in its golden beauty;
In my father's yard a duckling,
On my mother's floor a gosling,
Water-bird unto my brother,
And a goldfinch to my sister. 510
Flowerlike walked I on the pathway,
As upon the plain the raspberry,
Skipping on the sandy lakeshore,
Dancing on the flower-clad hillocks,
Singing loud in every valley,
Carolling on every hill-top,
Sporting in the leafy forests,
In the charming woods rejoicing.

"As the trap the fox-mouth seizes,
And the tongue entraps the ermine, 520
Towards a man inclines a maiden,
And the ways of other households.
So created is the maiden,
That the daughter's inclination
Leads her married, as step-daughter,
As the slave of husband's mother.
As a berry grows in marshland,
And in other waters, cherry.
Like a cranberry sought I sorrow,
Like a strawberry exhortation. 530
Every tree appeared to bite me,
Every alder seemed to tear me,
Every birch appeared to scold me,
Every aspen to devour me.

"As my husband's bride they brought me,
To my mother-in-law they led me.
Here there were, as they had told me,
Waiting for the wedded maiden,
Six large rooms of pine constructed,
And of bedrooms twice as many. 540
Barns along the forest-borders,
By the roadside flowery gardens,
By the ditches fields of barley,
And along the heaths were oatfields,
Chests of corn threshed out already,
Other chests awaiting threshing,
Hundred coins received already,
And a hundred more expected.

"Foolishly had I gone thither,
Recklessly my hand had given, 550
For six props the house supported,
Seven small poles the house supported,
And the woods were filled with harshness,
And with lovelessness the forests,
By the roadsides dreary deserts,
In the woodlands thoughts of evil,
Chests containing spoilt provisions,
Other chests beside them spoiling;
And a hundred words reproachful,
And a hundred more to look for. 560

"But I let it not distress me,
Hoping there to live in quiet,
Wishing there to dwell in honour,
And a peaceful life to live there;
But when first the room I entered,
Over chips of wood I stumbled.
On the door I knocked my forehead,
And my head against the doorposts.
At the door were eyes of strangers:
Darksome eyes were at the entrance, 570
Squinting eyes in midst of chamber,
In the background eyes most evil.
From the mouths the fire was flashing,
From beneath the tongues shot firebrands,
From the old man's mouth malicious,
From beneath his tongue unfriendly.

"But I let it not distress me,
In the house I dwelt unheeding,
Hoping still to live in favour,
And I bore myself with meekness, 580
And with legs of hare went skipping,
With the step of ermine hurried,
Very late to rest retired,
Very early rose to suffering.
But, unhappy, won no honour,
Mildness brought me only sorrow,
Had I tossed away the torrents,
Or the rocks in twain had cloven.

"Vainly did I grind coarse flour,
And with pain I crushed its hardness, 590
That my mother-in-law should eat it,
And her ravenous throat devour it,
At the table-end while sitting,
From a dish with golden borders.
But I ate, unhappy daughter,
Flour scraped up, to handmill cleaving,
With my ladle from the hearthstone,
With my spoon from off the pestle.

"Oft I brought, O me unhappy,
I, the son's wife, to his dwelling, 600
Mosses from the swampy places,
And as bread for me I baked it.
Water from the well I carried,
And I drank it up in mouthfuls.
Fish I ate, O me unhappy,
Smelts I ate, O me unhappy,
As above the net I leaned me,
In the boat as I was swaying,
For no fish received I ever
From my mother-in-law neglectful, 610
Neither in a day of plenty,
Nor a day of double plenty.

"Fodder gathered I in summer,
Winter worked I with the pitchfork,
Even as a labourer toiling,
Even as a hired servant,
And my mother-in-law for ever,
Evermore for me selected,
Worst of all the flails for threshing,
Heaviest mallet from the bathroom, 620
From the beach the heaviest mallet,
In the stall the largest pitchfork.
Never did they think me weary,
Nor my weakness e'er considered,
Though my work had wearied heroes,
Or the strength of foals exhausted.

"Thus did I, a girl unhappy,
Work at proper time for working,
And my shoulders stooped with weakness;
And at other times they ordered 630
That the fire should now be kindled,
With my hands that I should stir it.

"To their hearts' desire they scolded,
With their tongues they heaped reproaches
On my spotless reputation,
On my character, though stainless.
Evil words they heaped upon me,
And abuse they showered upon me,
Like the sparks from furious fire,
Or a very hail of iron. 640

"Until then despaired I never,
And had spent my life as erstwhile
There to aid the harsh old woman,
To her fiery tongue submitting:
But 'twas this that brought me evil,
This that caused me greatest anguish,
When to wolf was changed my husband,
To a growling bear converted,
Turned his side to me when eating,
Turned his back asleep or working. 650

"I myself broke out in weeping,
And I pondered in the storehouse,
And my former life remembering,
And my life in former seasons,
In the homestead of my father,
In my sweetest mother's dwelling.

"Then in words I spoke my feelings,
And I spoke the words which follow:
'Well indeed my dearest mother
Understood to rear her apple, 660
And the tender shoot to cherish,
But she knew not where to plant it,
For the tender shoot is planted
In a very evil station,
In a very bad position,
'Mid the hard roots of a birch-tree,
There to weep while life remaineth,
And to spend the months lamenting.

"'Surely, surely, I am worthy
Of a home than this much better, 670
Worthy of a larger homestead,
And a floor more wide-extended,
Worthy of a better partner,
And a husband far more handsome.
With a birchbark shoe I'm fitted,
With a slipshod shoe of birchbark,
Like a very crow's his body,
With a beak like any raven,
And his mouth like wolf's is greedy,
And his form a bear resembles. 680

"'Such a one I might have found me,
If I'd wandered to the mountains,
Picked from off the road a pine-stump,
From the wood a stump of alder,
For his face the turf resembles,
And his beard the moss from tree-trunks,
Head of clay, and mouth all stony,
And his eyes like coals of fire,
Knobs of birch his ears resemble,
And his legs are forking willows.' 690

"While my song I thus was singing,
Sighing in my grievous trouble,
He, my husband, chanced to hear it,
At the wall as he was standing.
When I heard him then approaching,
At the storehouse gate when standing,
I was conscious of his coming,
For I recognized his footstep.
And his hair in wind was tossing,
And his hair was all disordered, 700
And his gums with rage were grinning,
And his eyes with fury staring,
In his hand a stick of cherry,
'Neath his arm a club he carried,
And he hurried to attack me,
And upon the head he struck me.

"When the evening came thereafter,
And there came the time for sleeping,
At his side a rod he carried,
Took from nail a whip of leather, 710
Not designed to flay another,
But alas, for me, unhappy.

"Then when I myself retired,
To my resting-place at evening,
By my husband's side I stretched me,
By my side my husband rested,
When he seized me by the elbows,
With his wicked hands he grasped me,
And with willow rods he beat me,
And the haft of bone of walrus. 720

"From his cold side then I raised me,
And I left the bed of coldness,
But behind me ran my husband,
From the door came wildly rushing.
In my hair his hands he twisted,
Grasping it in all his fury,
In the wind my hair he scattered,
To the winds of spring abandoned.

"What advice should now be followed,
Where had I to look for counsel? 730
Shoes of steel I put upon me,
Bands of copper put upon me,
As I stood beyond the house-wall.
In the street for long I listened,
Till the wretch should calm his fury,
And his passion had subsided,
But his anger never slumbered,
Neither for a time abated.

"At the last the cold o'ercame me,
In my hiding-place so dismal, 740
Where I stood beyond the house-wall,
And without the door I waited,
And I pondered and reflected:
'This I cannot bear for ever,
Nor can bear their hatred longer,
Longer can I not endure it,
In this dreadful house of Lempo,
In this lair of evil demons.'

"From the handsome house I turned me,
And my pleasant home abandoned, 750
And commenced my weary wanderings,
Through the swamps and through the lowlands,
Past the open sheets of water,
Past the cornfields of my brother.
There the dry pines all were rustling,
And the crowns of fir-trees singing,
All the crows were croaking loudly,
And the magpies all were chattering,

"'Here for thee no home remaineth,
In the house thy birth which witnessed.' 760

"But I let it not distress me,
As I neared my brother's homestead,
But the gates themselves addressed me,
And the cornfields all lamented:

"'Wherefore hast thou thus come homeward,
What sad news to hear, O wretched?
Long ago has died thy father,
Perished has thy sweetest mother,
All estranged is now thy brother,
And his wife is like a Russian.' 770

"But I let it not distress me,
And at once the house I entered,
At the door I grasped the handle,
Cold within my hand I felt it.

"After, when the room I entered,
In the doorway I was standing,
And the mistress stood there proudly,
But she did not come to meet me,
Nor to me her hand she offered.
I myself was proud as she was, 780
And I would not go to meet her,
And my hand I would not offer.
On the stove my hand I rested.
Cold I felt the very hearthstones,
To the burning coals I reached it;
In the stove the coals were frozen.

"On the bench there lay my brother,
Lazy on the bench extended,
On his shoulders soot by fathoms,
And by spans upon his body, 790
On his head glowed coals a yard high,
And of hard-caked soot a quartful.

"Asked my brother of the stranger,
Of the guest he thus inquired:
'Stranger, why hast crossed the water?'

"And on this I gave him answer:
'Dost thou then not know thy sister,
Once the daughter of thy mother?
We are children of one mother,
Of one bird are we the nestlings: 800
By one goose have we been nurtured,
In one grouse's nest been fostered.'

"Then my brother broke out weeping,
From his eyes the tears were falling.

"To his wife then said my brother,
And he whispered to his darling,
'Bring some food to give my sister!'
But with mocking eyes she brought me
Cabbage-stalks from out the kitchen,
Whence the whelp the fat had eaten, 810
And the dog had licked the salt from,
And the black dog had his meal of.

"To his wife then said my brother,
And he whispered to his darling,
'Fetch some ale to give the stranger!'
But with mocking eyes she carried
Water only for the stranger,
But, instead of drinking water,
Water she had washed her face in,
And her sister washed her hands in. 820

"From my brother's house I wandered,
Left the house that I was born in,
Hurried forth, O me unhappy,
Wandered on, O me unhappy,
Wretched on the shores to wander,
Toiling on, for ever wretched,
Always to the doors of strangers,
Always to the gates of strangers,
On the beach, with poorest children,
Sufferers of the village poorhouse. 830

"There were many of the people,
Many were there who abused me,
And with evil words attacked me,
And with sharpest words repulsed me.
Few there are among the people
Who have spoken to me kindly,
And with kindly words received me,
And before the stove who led me,
When I came from out the rainstorm,
Or from out the cold came shrinking, 840
With my dress with rime all covered,
While the snow my fur cloak covered.

"In my youthful days I never,
I could never have believed it,
Though a hundred told me of it,
And a thousand tongues repeated
Such distress should fall upon me,
Such distress should overwhelm me,
As upon my head has fallen,
Laid upon my hands such burdens." 850

RUNO XXIV.--THE DEPARTURE OF THE BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM

_Argument_

The bridegroom is instructed how he should behave towards his bride, and is cautioned not to treat her badly (1-264). An old beggar relates how he once brought his wife to reason (265-296). The bride remembers with tears that she is now quitting her dear birthplace for the rest of her life, and says farewell to all (297-462). Ilmarinen lifts his bride into the sledge and reaches his home on the evening of the third day (463-528).

Now the girl had well been lectured,
And the bride had been instructed;
Let me now address my brother,
Let me lecture now the bridegroom.

"Bridegroom, dearest of my brothers,
Thou the best of all my brothers,
Dearest of my mother's children,
Gentlest of my father's children,
Listen now to what I tell thee,
What I speak and what I tell thee, 10
Of thy linnet who awaits thee,
And the dove that thou hast captured.

"Bridegroom, bless thy happy fortune,
For the fair one granted to thee,
When thou praisest, praise thou loudly,
Loudly praise the good that's granted,
Loudly praise thou thy Creator,
For the gracious gift He granted,
And her father praise thou also,
Even more her mother praise thou, 20
They who reared their lovely daughter
To the charming bride beside thee.

"Stainless sits the maid beside thee,
Maiden bright to thee united,
Pledged to thee in all her beauty,
Fair one under thy protection,
Charming girl upon thy bosom,
At thy side so sweetly blushing,
Girl with strength to help in threshing,
Or to help thee in the hayfield, 30
Skilful, too, to do the washing,
Quick to bleach the clothes to whiteness,
Skilful, too, the thread in spinning,
Rapid, too, the cloth when weaving.

"And I hear her loom resounding,
As upon the hill the cuckoo,
And I see her shuttle darting,
As the ermine through a thicket,
And the reel she twists as quickly
As the squirrel's mouth a fir-cone. 40
Never sound has slept the village,
Nor the country people slumbered,
For her loom's incessant clatter,
And the whizzing of the shuttle.

"O thou loved and youthful bridegroom,
Handsomest of all the people,
Forge thou now a scythe of sharpness,
Fix the best of handles on it,
Carve it, sitting in the doorway,
Hammer it upon a tree-stump. 50
When there comes the time of sunshine,
Take thy young wife to the meadow,
Look thou where the grass is rustling,
And the harder grass is crackling,
And the reeds are gently murmuring,
And the sorrel gently rustling,
Also note where stand the hillocks,
And the shoots from stumps arising.

"When another day is dawning,
Let her have a weaver's shuttle, 60
And a batten that shall suit it,
And a loom of best construction,
And a treadle of the finest.
Make the weaver's chair all ready,
For the damsel fix the treadle,
Lay her hand upon the batten.
Soon the shuttle shall be singing,
And the treadle shall be thumping,
Till the rattling fills the village,
And the noise is heard beyond it: 70
And the crones will all perceive it,
And the village women question,
'Who is this we hear a-weaving?'
And you thus must make them answer:
''Tis my own, my darling, weaving,
'Tis my loved one makes the clatter,
Shall she loosen now the fabric,
And the shuttle cease from throwing?'

"'Let her not the fabric loosen,
Nor the shuttle cease from throwing. 80
Thus may weave the Moon's fair daughters,
Thus may spin the Sun's fair daughters,
Even thus the Great Bear's daughters.
Of the lovely stars the daughters.'

"O thou loved and youthful bridegroom,
Handsomest of all the people,
Set thou forth upon thy journey,
Hasten to commence thy journey,
Bear away thy youthful maiden,
Bear away thy dove so lovely. 90
From thy finch depart thou never,
Nor desert thy darling linnet;
In the ditches do not drive her,
Nor against the hedge-stakes drive her,
Nor upset her on the tree-stumps,
Nor in stony places cast her.
In her father's house she never,
In her dearest mother's homestead,
In the ditches has been driven,
Nor against the hedge-stakes driven, 100
Nor upset upon the tree-stumps,
Nor upset in stony places.

"O thou loved and youthful bridegroom,
Handsomest of all the people,
Never may'st thou send the damsel,
Never may'st thou push the fair one
In the corner there to loiter,
Or to rummage in the corner.
In her father's house she never,
Never in her mother's household, 110
Went to loiter in the corner,
Or to rummage in the corner.
Always sat she at the window,
In the room she sat, and rocked her,
As her father's joy at evening,
And her mother's love at morning.

"Never may'st thou, luckless husband,
Never may'st thou lead thy dovekin,
Where with arum-roots the mortar,
Stands, the rind to pound from off them, 120
Or her bread from straw prepare her,
Neither from the shoots of fir-trees.
In her father's house she never,
In her tender mother's household,
Needed thus to use the mortar,
Pounding thus the rind from marsh-roots,
Nor from straw her bread prepare her,
Neither from the shoots of fir-tree.

"May'st thou always lead this dovekin
To a slope with corn abundant, 130
Or to help her from the rye-bins,
From the barley-bins to gather,
Whence large loaves of bread to bake her,
And the best of ale to brew her,
Loaves of wheaten-bread to bake her,
Kneaded dough for cakes prepare her.

"Bridegroom, dearest of my brothers,
Never may'st thou make this dovekin,
Nor may'st cause our tender gosling,
Down to sit, and weep in sadness. 140
If there comes an hour of evil,
And the damsel should be dreary
Yoke thou in the sledge the chestnut,
Or the white horse do thou harness,
Drive her to her father's dwelling,
To her mother's home familiar.

"Never may'st thou treat this dovekin,
Never may this darling linnet,
Ever be like slave-girl treated,
Neither like a hired servant, 150
Neither be forbid the cellar,
Nor the storehouse closed against her
Never in her father's dwelling,
In her tender mother's household,
Was she treated like a slave-girl,
Neither like a hired servant,
Neither was forbid the cellar,
Nor the storehouse closed against her.
Always did she cut the wheatbread,
And the hens' eggs also looked to, 160
And she looked to all the milk-tubs,
Looked within the ale-casks likewise,
In the morn the storehouse opened,
Locked it also in the evening.

"O thou loved and youthful bridegroom,
Handsomest of all the people,
If thou treatest well the damsel,
Thou wilt meet a good reception
When thou seek'st her father's dwelling,
Visiting her much loved mother. 170
Thou thyself wilt well be feasted,
Food and drink be set before thee,
And thy horse will be unharnessed,
And be led into the stable,
Drink and fodder set before him,
And a bowl of oats provided.

"Never surely, may our damsel,
May our well-beloved linnet,
Be in hissing tones upbraided,
That from no high race she springeth; 180
For in very truth our damsel
Comes of great and famous lineage.
If of beans you sow a measure
One bean each, it yields her kinsfolk;
If of flax you sow a measure,
But a thread it yields to each one.

"Never may'st thou, luckless husband,
Badly treat this beauteous damsel,
Nor chastise her with the slave-whip,
Weeping 'neath the thongs of leather, 190
'Neath the five-lashed whip lamenting,
Out beyond the barn lamenting.
Never was the maid aforetime,
Never in her father's dwelling,
With the slave-whip e'er corrected,
Weeping 'neath the thongs of leather,
'Neath the five-lashed whip lamenting,
Out beyond the barn lamenting.

"Stand thou like a wall before her,
Stand before her like a doorpost, 200
Do not let thy mother beat her,
Do not let thy father scold her,
Do not let the guests abuse her,
Do not let the neighbours blame her.
Drive the mob away with whipping,
Beat thou other people only,
Do thou not oppress thy darling,
Nor chastise thy heart's beloved,
Whom for three long years thou waitedst,
She whom thou alone hast longed for. 210

"Bridegroom, give thy bride instruction,
And do thou instruct thy apple,
In the bed do thou instruct her,
And behind the door advise her,
For a whole year thus instruct her,
Thus by word of mouth advise her,
With thine eyes the next year teach her,
And the third year teach by stamping.

"If to this she pays no heeding,
Nor concerns herself about it, 220
Choose a reed where reeds are growing,
From the heath fetch thou some horse-tail,
And with these correct the damsel,
In the fourth year thus correct her,
With the stalks then whip her lightly,
With the rough edge of the sedges,
But with whiplash do not strike her,
Neither with the rod correct her.

"If to this she pays no heeding,
Nor concerns herself about it, 230
Bring a switch from out the thicket,
In the dell select a birch-rod,
Underneath thy fur cloak hide it,
That the neighbours may not know it,
Let the damsel only see it;
Threaten her, but do not touch her.

"If to this she pays no heeding,
Nor concerns herself about it,
With the switch correct the damsel,
With the birch-rod do thou teach her, 240
But within the room four-cornered,
Or within the hut moss-covered.
Do not beat her in the meadow,
Do not whip her in the cornfield,
Lest the noise should reach the village,
And to other homes the quarrel,
Neighbours' wives should hear the crying,
And the uproar in the forest.

"Always strike her on the shoulders,
On her soft cheeks do thou strike her, 250
On her eyes forbear to strike her,
On her ears forbear to touch her;
Lumps would rise upon her temples,
And her eyes with blue be bordered,
And the brother-in-law would question,
And the father-in-law perceive it,
And the village ploughmen see it,
And would laugh the village women:

"'Has she been among the spear-thrusts,
Has she marched into a battle, 260
Or the mouth of wolf attacked her,
Or the forest bear has mauled her,
Or was perhaps the wolf her husband,
Was the bear perchance her consort?'"
By the stove there lay an old man,
By the hearth there sat a beggar;
From the stove there spoke the old man,
From the hearth there spoke the beggar.

"Never may'st thou, luckless husband,
Listen to thy wife's opinion, 270
Tongue of lark, and whim of women,
Like myself, a youth unhappy,
For both bread and meat I bought her,
Bought her butter, ale I bought her,
Every sort of fish I bought her,
Bought her all sorts of provisions,
Home-brewed ale the best I bought her,
Likewise wheat from foreign countries.

"But she let it not content her,
Nor did it improve her temper, 280
For one day the room she entered,
And she grasped my hair, and tore it,
And her face was quite distorted,
And her eyes were wildly rolling,
Always scolding in her fury,
To her heart's contentment scolding,
Heaping foul abuse upon me,
Roaring at me as a sluggard.

"But I knew another method,
Knew another way to tame her, 290
So I peeled myself a birch-shoot,
When she came, and called me birdie;
But when juniper I gathered,
Then she stooped, and called me darling;
When I lifted rods of willow,
On my neck she fell embracing."

Now the hapless girl was sighing,
Sighing much, and sobbing sadly;
Presently she broke out weeping,
And she spoke the words which follow: 300
"Soon most now depart the others,
And the time is fast approaching,
But my own departure's nearer,
Swiftly comes my time for parting.
Mournful is indeed my going,
Sad the hour of my departure,
From this far-renowned village,
And this ever-charming homestead,
Where my face was ever joyful,
And I grew to perfect stature, 310
All the days that I was growing,
While my childhood's years were passing.

"Until now I never pondered,
Nor believed in all my lifetime,
Never thought on my departure,
Realized my separation,
From the precincts of this castle,
From the hill where it is builded.
Now I feel I am departing,
And I know that I am going. 320
Empty are the parting goblets,
And the ale of parting finished,
And the sledges all are waiting,
Front to fields, and back to homestead,
With one side towards the stables,
And the other to the cowhouse.

"Whence comes now my separation,
Whence my sadness at departure,
How my mother's milk repay her.
Or the goodness of my father, 330
Or my brother's love repay him,
Or my sister's fond affection?

"Thanks to thee, my dearest father,
For my former life so joyful,
For the food of days passed over,
For the best of all the dainties
Thanks to thee, my dearest mother,
For my childhood's cradle-rocking,
For thy tending of the infant,
Whom thou at thy breast hast nurtured. 340

"Also thanks, my dearest brother,
Dearest brother, dearest sister,
Happiness to all the household,
All companions of my childhood,
Those with whom I lived and sported,
And who grew from childhood with me.

"May thou not, O noble father,
May thou not, O tender mother,
Or my other noble kindred,
Or my race, the most illustrious, 350
Ever fall into affliction,
Or oppressed by grievous trouble,
That I thus desert my country,
That I wander to a distance.
Shines the sun of the Creator,
Beams the moon of the Creator,
And the stars of heaven are shining,
And the Great Bear is extended
Ever in the distant heavens,
Evermore in other regions, 360
Not alone at father's homestead,
In the home where passed my childhood.

"Truly must I now be parted
From the home I loved so dearly,
From my father's halls be carried,
From among my mother's cellars,
Leave the swamps and fields behind me,
Leave behind me all the meadows,
Leave behind the sparkling waters,
Leave the sandy shore behind me, 370
Where the village women bathe them,
And the shepherd-boys are splashing.

"I must leave the quaking marshes,
And the wide-extending lowlands,
And the peaceful alder-thickets,
And the tramping through the heather,
And the strolling past the hedgerows,
And the loitering on the pathways,
And my dancing through the farmyards,
And my standing by the house-walls, 380
And the cleaning of the planking,
And the scrubbing of the flooring,
Leave the fields where leap the reindeer,
And the woods where run the lynxes,
And the wastes where flock the wild geese,
And the woods where birds are perching.

"Now indeed I am departing,
All the rest I leave behind me;
In the folds of nights of autumn,
On the thin ice of the springtime, 390
On the ice I leave no traces,
On the slippery ice no footprints,
From my dress no thread upon it,
Nor in snow my skirt's impression.

"If I should return in future,
And again my home revisit,
Mother hears my voice no longer,
Nor my father heeds my weeping,
Though I'm sobbing in the corner,
Or above their heads am speaking, 400
For the young grass springs already
And the juniper is sprouting
O'er the sweet face of my mother,
And the cheeks of her who bore me.

"If I should return in future
To the wide-extended homestead,
I shall be no more remembered,
Only by two little objects.
At the lowest hedge are hedge-bands,
At the furthest field are hedge-stakes, 410
These I fixed when I was little,
As a girl with twigs I bound them.

"But my mother's barren heifer,
Unto which I carried water,
And which as a calf I tended,
She will low to greet my coming,
From the dunghill of the farmyard,
Or the wintry fields around it;
She will know me, when returning,
As the daughter of the household. 420

"Then my father's splendid stallion,
Which I fed when I was little,
Which as girl I often foddered,
He will neigh to greet my coming,
From the dunghill of the farmyard,
Or the wintry fields around it;
He will know me, when returning,
As the daughter of the household.

"Then the dog, my brother's favourite
Which as child I fed so often, 430
Which I trained when in my girlhood,
He will bark to greet my coming,
From the dunghill of the farmyard,
Or the wintry fields around it;
He will know me, when returning,
As the daughter of the household.

"But the others will not know me,
To my former home returning,
Though my boats are still the old ones,
As when here I lived aforetime, 440
By the shores where swim the powans,
And the nets are spread as usual.

"Now farewell, thou room beloved,
Thou my room, with roof of boarding;
Good it were for me returning,
That I once again should scrub thee.

"Now farewell, thou hall beloved,
Thou my hall, with floor of boarding;
Good it were for me returning,
That I once again should scrub thee. 450

"Now farewell, thou yard beloved,
With my lovely mountain-ashtree;
Good it were for me returning,
Once again to wander round thee.

"Now farewell to all things round me,
Berry-bearing fields and forests,
And the flower-bearing roadsides,
And the heaths o'ergrown with heather,
And the lakes with hundred islands,
And the depths where swim the powans, 460
And the fair hills with the fir-trees,
And the swampy ground with birch-trees."

Then the smith, e'en Ilmarinen,
In the sledge the maiden lifted,
With his whip he lashed the coursers,
And he spoke the words which follow:
"Now farewell to all the lakeshores,
Shores of lakes, and slopes of meadows,
All the pine-trees on the hill-sides,
And the tall trees in the firwoods, 470
And behind the house the alders,
And the junipers by well-sides,
In the plains, all berry-bushes,
Berry-bushes, stalks of grasses,
Willow-bushes, stumps of fir-trees,
Alder-leaves, and bark of birch-trees!"

Thus at length, smith Ilmarinen
Forth from Pohjola departed,
With the children farewells singing,
And they sang the words which follow: 480