Kitabı oku: «Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland – Volume 02», sayfa 10

RUNE XLI
WAINAMOINEN'S HARP-SONGS

 
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  The eternal wisdom-singer,
  Laves his hands to snowy whiteness,
  Sits upon the rock of joyance,
  On the stone of song be settles,
  On the mount of silver clearness,
  On the summit, golden colored;
  Takes the harp by him created,
  In his hands the harp of fish-bone,
  With his knee the arch supporting,
  Takes the harp-strings in his fingers,
  Speaks these words to those assembled:
  "Hither come, ye Northland people,
  Come and listen to my playing,
  To the harp's entrancing measures,
  To my songs of joy and gladness."
  Then the singer of Wainola
  Took the harp of his creation,
  Quick adjusting, sweetly tuning,
  Deftly plied his skillful fingers
  To the strings that he had fashioned.
  Now was gladness rolled on gladness,
  And the harmony of pleasure
  Echoed from the hills and mountains:
  Added singing to his playing,
  Out of joy did joy come welling,
  Now resounded marvelous music,
  All of Northland stopped and listened.
  Every creature in the forest,
  All the beasts that haunt the woodlands,
  On their nimble feet came bounding,
  Came to listen to his playing,
  Came to hear his songs of joyance.
  Leaped the squirrels from the branches,
  Merrily from birch to aspen;
  Climbed the ermines on the fences,
  O'er the plains the elk-deer bounded,
  And the lynxes purred with pleasure;
  Wolves awoke in far-off swamp-lands,
  Bounded o'er the marsh and heather,
  And the bear his den deserted,
  Left his lair within the pine-wood,
  Settled by a fence to listen,
  Leaned against the listening gate-posts,
  But the gate-posts yield beneath him;
  Now he climbs the fir-tree branches
  That he may enjoy and wonder,
  Climbs and listens to the music
  Of the harp of Wainamoinen.
  Tapiola's wisest senior,
  Metsola's most noble landlord,
  And of Tapio, the people,
  Young and aged, men and maidens,
  Flew like red-deer up the mountains
  There to listen to the playing,
  To the harp, of Wainamoinen.
  Tapiola's wisest mistress,
  Hostess of the glen and forest,
  Robed herself in blue and scarlet,
  Bound her limbs with silken ribbons,
  Sat upon the woodland summit,
  On the branches of a birch-tree,
  There to listen to the playing,
  To the high-born hero's harping,
  To the songs of Wainamoinen.
  All the birds that fly in mid-air
  Fell like snow-flakes from the heavens,
  Flew to hear the minstrel's playing,
  Hear the harp of Wainamoinen.
  Eagles in their lofty eyrie
  Heard the songs of the enchanter;
  Swift they left their unfledged young ones,
  Flew and perched around the minstrel.
  From the heights the hawks descended,
  From the clouds down swooped the falcon,
  Ducks arose from inland waters,
  Swans came gliding from the marshes;
  Tiny finches, green and golden,
  Flew in flocks that darkened sunlight,
  Came in myriads to listen;
  Perched upon the head and shoulders
  Of the charming Wainamoinen,
  Sweetly singing to the playing
  Of the ancient bard and minstrel.
  And the daughters of the welkin,
  Nature's well-beloved daughters,
  Listened all in rapt attention;
  Some were seated on the rainbow,
  Some upon the crimson cloudlets,
  Some upon the dome of heaven.
  In their hands the Moon's fair daughters
  Held their weaving-combs of silver;
  In their hands the Sun's sweet maidens
  Grasped the handles of their distaffs,
  Weaving with their golden shuttles,
  Spinning from their silver spindles,
  On the red rims of the cloudlets,
  On the bow of many colors.
  As they hear the minstrel playing,
  Hear the harp of Wainamoinen,
  Quick they drop their combs of silver,
  Drop the spindles from their fingers,
  And the golden threads are broken,
  Broken are the threads of silver.
  All the fish in Suomi-waters
  Heard the songs of the magician,
  Came on flying fins to listen
  To the harp of Wainamoinen.
  Came the trout with graceful motions,
  Water-dogs with awkward movements,
  From the water-cliffs the salmon,
  From the sea-caves came the whiting,
  From the deeper caves the bill-fish;
  Came the pike from beds of sea-fern,
  Little fish with eyes of scarlet,
  Leaning on the reeds and rushes,
  With their heads above the surface;
  Came to bear the harp of joyance,
  Hear the songs of the enchanter.
  Ahto, king of all the waters,
  Ancient king with beard of sea-grass,
  Raised his head above the billows,
  In a boat of water-lilies,
  Glided to the coast in silence,
  Listened to the wondrous singing,
  To the harp of Wainamoinen.
  These the words the sea-king uttered:
  "Never have I heard such playing,
  Never heard such strains of music,
  Never since the sea was fashioned,
  As the songs of this enchanter,
  This sweet singer, Wainamoinen."
  Satko's daughters from the blue-deep,
  Sisters of the wave-washed ledges,
  On the colored strands were sitting,
  Smoothing out their sea-green tresses
  With the combs of molten silver,
  With their silver-handled brushes,
  Brushes forged with golden bristles.
  When they hear the magic playing,
  Hear the harp of Wainamoinen,
  Fall their brushes on the billows,
  Fall their combs with silver handles
  To the bottom of the waters,
  Unadorned their heads remaining,
  And uncombed their sea-green tresses.
  Came the hostess of the waters,
  Ancient hostess robed in flowers,
  Rising from her deep sea-castle,
  Swimming to the shore in wonder,
  Listened to the minstrel's playing,
  To the harp of Wainamoinen.
  As the magic tones re-echoed,
  As the singer's song out-circled,
  Sank the hostess into slumber,
  On the rocks of many colors,
  On her watery couch of joyance,
  Deep the sleep that settled o'er her.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Played one day and then a second,
  Played the third from morn till even.
  There was neither man nor hero,
  Neither ancient dame, nor maiden,
  Not in Metsola a daughter,
  Whom he did not touch to weeping;
  Wept the young, and wept the aged,
  Wept the mothers, wept the daughters
  Wept the warriors and heroes
  At the music of his playing,
  At the songs of the magician.
  Wainamoinen's tears came flowing,
  Welling from the master's eyelids,
  Pearly tear-drops coursing downward,
  Larger than the whortle-berries,
  Finer than the pearls of ocean,
  Smoother than the eggs of moor-hens,
  Brighter than the eyes of swallows.
  From his eves the tear-drops started,
  Flowed adown his furrowed visage,
  Falling from his beard in streamlets,
  Trickled on his heaving bosom,
  Streaming o'er his golden girdle,
  Coursing to his garment's border,
  Then beneath his shoes of ermine,
  Flowing on, and flowing ever,
  Part to earth for her possession,
  Part to water for her portion.
  As the tear-drops fall and mingle,
  Form they streamlets from the eyelids
  Of the minstrel, Wainamoinen,
  To the blue-mere's sandy margin,
  To the deeps of crystal waters,
  Lost among the reeds and rushes.
  Spake at last the ancient minstrel:
  "Is there one in all this concourse,
  One in all this vast assembly
  That can gather up my tear-drops
  From the deep, pellucid waters?"
  Thus the younger heroes answered,
  Answered thus the bearded seniors:
  "There is none in all this concourse,
  None in all this vast assembly,
  That can gather up thy tear-drops
  From the deep, pellucid waters."
  Spake again wise Wainamoinen:
  "He that gathers up my tear-drops
  From the deeps of crystal waters
  Shall receive a beauteous plumage."
  Came a raven, flying, croaking,
  And the minstrel thus addressed him:
  "Bring, O raven, bring my tear-drops
  From the crystal lake's abysses;
  I will give thee beauteous plumage,
  Recompense for golden service."
  But the raven failed his master.
  Came a duck upon the waters,
  And the hero thus addressed him:
  "Bring O water-bird, my tear-drops;
  Often thou dost dive the deep-sea,
  Sink thy bill upon the bottom
  Of the waters thou dost travel;
  Dive again my tears to gather,
  I will give thee beauteous plumage,
  Recompense for golden service."
  Thereupon the duck departed,
  Hither, thither, swam, and circled,
  Dived beneath the foam and billow,
  Gathered Wainamoinen's tear-drops
  From the blue-sea's pebbly bottom,
  From the deep, pellucid waters;
  Brought them to the great magician,
  Beautifully formed and colored,
  Glistening in the silver sunshine,
  Glimmering in the golden moonlight,
  Many-colored as the rainbow,
  Fitting ornaments for heroes,
  Jewels for the maids of beauty.
  This the origin of sea-pearls,
  And the blue-duck's beauteous plumage.
 

RUNE XLII
CAPTURE OF THE SAMPO

 
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  With the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  With the reckless son of Lempo,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  On the sea's smooth plain departed,
  On the far-extending waters,
  To the village, cold and dreary,
  To the never-pleasant Northland,
  Where the heroes fall and perish.
  Ilmarinen led the rowers
  On one side the magic war-ship,
  And the reckless Lemminkainen
  Led the rowers on the other.
  Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
  Laid his hand upon the rudder,
  Steered his vessel o'er the waters,
  Through the foam and angry billows
  To Pohyola's place of landing,
  To the cylinders of copper,
  Where the war-ships lie at anchor.
  When they had arrived at Pohya,
  When their journey they had ended,
  On the land they rolled their vessel,
  On the copper-banded rollers,
  Straightway journeyed to the village,
  Hastened to the halls and hamlets
  Of the dismal Sariola.
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Thus addressed the stranger-heroes:
  Magic heroes of Wainola,
  What the tidings ye are bringing
  To the people of my village?"
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel.
  Gave this answer to the hostess:
  "All the hosts of Kalevala
  Are inquiring for the Sampo,
  Asking for the lid in colors;
  Hither have these heroes journeyed
  To divide the priceless treasure.
  Thus the hostess spake in answer:
  "No one would divide a partridge,
  Nor a squirrel, with three heroes;
  Wonderful the magic Sampo,
  Plenty does it bring to Northland;
  And the colored lid re-echoes
  From the copper-bearing mountains,
  From the stone-berg of Pohyola,
  To the joy of its possessors."
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Thus addressed the ancient Louhi:
  "If thou wilt not share the Sampo,
  Give to us an equal portion,
  We will take it to Wainola,
  With its lid of many colors,
  Take by force the hope of Pohya."
  Thereupon the Northland hostess
  Angry grew and sighed for vengeance;
  Called her people into council,
  Called the hosts of Sariola,
  Heroes with their trusted broadswords,
  To destroy old Wainamoinen
  With his people of the Northland.
  Wainamoinen, wise and ancient,
  Hastened to his harp of fish-bone,
  And began his magic playing;
  All of Pohya stopped and listened,
  Every warrior was silenced
  By the notes of the magician;
  Peaceful-minded grew the soldiers,
  All the maidens danced with pleasure,
  While the heroes fell to weeping,
  And the young men looked in wonder.
  Wainamoinen plays unceasing,
  Plays the maidens into slumber,
  Plays to sleep the young and aged,
  All of Northland sleeps and listens.
  Wise and wondrous Wainamoinen,
  The eternal bard and singer,
  Searches in his pouch of leather,
  Draws therefrom his slumber-arrows,
  Locks the eyelids of the sleepers,
  Of the heroes of Pohyola,
  Sings and charms to deeper slumber
  All the warriors of the Northland.
  Then the heroes of Wainola
  Hasten to obtain the Sampo,
  To procure the lid in colors
  From the copper-bearing mountains.
  From behind nine locks of copper,
  In the stone-berg of Pohyola.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Then began his wondrous singing,
  Sang in gentle tones of magic,
  At the entrance to the mountain,
  At the border of the stronghold;
  Trembled all the rocky portals,
  And the iron-banded pillars
  Fell and crumbled at his singing.
  Ilmarinen, magic blacksmith,
  Well anointed all the hinges,
  All the bars and locks anointed,
  And the bolts flew back by magic,
  All the gates unlocked in silence,
  Opened for the great magician.
  Spake the minstrel Wainamoinen:
  "O thou daring Lemminkainen,
  Friend of mine in times of trouble,
  Enter thou within the mountain,
  Bring away the wondrous Sampo,
  Bring away the lid in colors!"
  Quick the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Ever ready for a venture,
  Hastens to the mountain-caverns,
  There to find the famous Sampo,
  There to get the lid in colors;
  Strides along with conscious footsteps,
  Thus himself he vainly praises:
  "Great am I and full of glory,
  Wonder-hero, son of Ukko,
  I will bring away the Sampo,
  Turn about the lid in colors,
  Turn it on its magic hinges!"
  Lemminkainen finds the wonder,
  Finds the Sampo in the mountain,
  Labors long with strength heroic,
  Tugs with might and main to turn it;
  Motionless remains the treasure,
  Deeper sinks the lid in colors,
  For the roots have grown about it,
  Grown nine fathoms deep in sand-earth.
  Lived a mighty ox in Northland,
  Powerful in bone and sinew,
  Beautiful in form and color,
  Horns the length of seven fathoms,
  Mouth and eyes of wondrous beauty.
  Lemminkainen, reckless hero,
  Harnesses the ox in pasture,
  Takes the master-plow of Pohya,
  Plows the roots about the Sampo,
  Plows around the lid in colors,
  And the sacred Sampo loosens,
  Falls the colored lid in silence.
  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen
  Brings the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Brings the daring Lemminkainen,
  Lastly brings the magic Sampo,
  From the stone-berg of Pohyola,
  From the copper-bearing mountain,
  Hides it in his waiting vessel,
  In the war-ship of Wainola.
  Wainamoinen called his people,
  Called his crew of men and maidens,
  Called together all his heroes,
  Rolled his vessel to the water,
  Into billowy deeps and dangers.
  Spake the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:
  "Whither shall we take the Sampo,
  Whither take the lid in colors,
  From the stone-berg of Pohyola,
  From this evil spot of Northland?"
  Wainamoinen, wise and faithful,
  Gave this answer to the question:
  "Thither shall we take the Sampo,
  Thither take the lid in colors,
  To the fog-point on the waters,
  To the island forest-covered;
  There the treasure may be hidden,
  May remain in peace for ages,
  Free from trouble, free from danger,
  Where the sword will not molest it."
  Then the minstrel, Wainamoinen,
  Joyful, left the Pohya borders,
  Homeward sailed, and happy-hearted,
  Spake these measures on departing:
  "Turn, O man-of-war, from Pohya,
  Turn thy back upon the strangers,
  Turn thou to my distant country!
  Rock, O winds, my magic vessel,
  Homeward drive my ship, O billows,
  Lend the rowers your assistance,
  Give the oarsmen easy labor,
  On this vast expanse of waters!
  Give me of thine oars, O Ahto,
  Lend thine aid, O King of sea-waves,
  Guide as with thy helm in safety,
  Lay thy hand upon the rudder,
  And direct our war-ship homeward;
  Let the hooks of metal rattle
  O'er the surging of the billows,
  On the white-capped waves' commotion."
  Then the master, Wainamoinen,
  Guided home his willing vessel;
  And the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  With the lively Lemminkainen,
  Led the mighty host of rowers,
  And the war-ship glided homeward
  O'er the sea's unruffled surface,
  O'er the mighty waste of waters.
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Once before I rode these billows,
  There were viands for the heroes,
  There was singing for the maidens;
  But to-day I hear no singing,
  Hear no songs upon the vessel,
  Hear no music on the waters."
  Wainamoinen, wise and ancient,
  Answered thus wild Lemminkainen:
  "Let none sing upon the blue-sea,
  On the waters, no rejoicing;
  Singing would prolong our journey,
  Songs disturb the host of rowers;
  Soon will die the silver sunlight,
  Darkness soon will overtake us,
  On this evil waste of waters,
  On this blue-sea, smooth and level."
  These the words of Lemminkainen:
  "Time will fly on equal pinions
  Whether we have songs or silence;
  Soon will disappear the daylight,
  And the night as quickly follow,
  Whether we be sad or joyous."
  Wainamoinen, the magician,
  O'er the blue backs of the billows,
  Steered one day, and then a second,
  Steered the third from morn till even,
  When the wizard, Lemminkainen,
  Once again addressed the master:
  "Why wilt thou, O famous minstrel,
  Sing no longer for thy people,
  Since the Sampo thou hast captured,
  Captured too the lid in colors?"
  These the words of Wainamoinen:
  "'Tis not well to sing too early!
  Time enough for songs of joyance
  When we see our home-land mansions,
  When our journeyings have ended!"
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "At the helm, if I were sitting,
  I would sing at morn and evening,
  Though my voice has little sweetness;
  Since thy songs are not forthcoming
  Listen to my wondrous singing!"
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Raised his voice above the waters,
  O'er the sea his song resounded;
  But his measures were discordant,
  And his notes were harsh and frightful.
  Sang the wizard, Lemminkainen,
  Screeched the reckless Kaukomieli,
  Till the mighty war-ship trembled;
  Far and wide was heard his singing,
  Heard his songs upon the waters,
  Heard within the seventh village,
  Heard beyond the seven oceans.
  Sat a crane within the rushes,
  On a hillock clothed in verdure,
  And the crane his toes was counting;
  Suddenly he heard the singing
  Of the wizard, Lemminkainen;
  And the bird was justly frightened
  At the songs of the magician.
  Then with horrid voice, and screeching,
  Flew the crane across the broad-sea
  To the lakes of Sariola,
  O'er Pohyola's hills and hamlets,
  Screeching, screaming, over Northland,
  Till the people of the darkness
  Were awakened from their slumbers.
  Louhi hastens to her hurdles,
  Hastens to her droves of cattle,
  Hastens also to her garners,
  Counts her herds, inspects her store-house;
  Undisturbed she finds her treasures.
  Quick she journeys to the entrance
  To the copper-bearing mountain,
  Speaks these words as she approaches:
  "Woe is me, my life hard-fated,
  Woe to Louhi, broken-hearted!
  Here the tracks of the destroyers,
  All my locks and bolts are broken
  By the hands of cruel strangers!
  Broken are my iron hinges,
  Open stand the mountain-portals
  Leading to the Northland-treasure.
  Has Pohyola lost her Sampo?"
  Then she hastened to the chambers
  Where the Sampo had been grinding;
  But she found the chambers empty,
  Lid and Sampo gone to others,
  From the stone-berg of Pohyola,
  From behind nine locks of copper,
  In the copper-bearing mountain.
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Angry grew and cried for vengeance;
  As she found her fame departing,
  Found her-strength fast disappearing,
  Thus addressed the sea-fog virgin:
  "Daughter of the morning-vapors,
  Sift thy fogs from distant cloud-land,
  Sift the thick air from the heavens,
  Sift thy vapors from the ether,
  On the blue-back of the broad-sea,
  On the far extending waters,
  That the ancient Wainamoinen,
  Friend of ocean-wave and billow,
  May not baffle his pursuers!
  "Should this prayer prove unavailing,
  Iku-Turso, son of Old-age,
  Raise thy head above the billows,
  And destroy Wainola's heroes,
  Sink them to thy deep sea-castles,
  There devour them at thy pleasure;
  Bring thou back the golden Sampo
  To the people of Pohyola!
  "Should these words be ineffective,
  Ukko, mightiest of rulers,
  Golden king beyond the welkin,
  Sitting on a throne of silver,
  Fill thy skies with heavy storm-clouds,
  Call thy fleetest winds about thee,
  Send them o'er the seven broad-seas,
  There to find the fleeing vessel,
  That the ancient Wainamoinen
  May not baffle his pursuers!"
  Quick the virgin of the vapors
  Breathed a fog upon the waters,
  Made it settle on the war-ship
  Of the heroes of the Northland,
  Held the minstrel, Wainamoinen,
  Anchored in the fog and darkness;
  Bound him one day, then a second,
  Then a third till dawn of morning,
  In the middle of the blue-sea,
  Whence he could not flee in safety
  From the wrath of his pursuers.
  When the third night had departed,
  Resting in the sea, and helpless,
  Wainamoinen spake as follows,
  "Not a man of strength and courage,
  Not the weakest of the heroes,
  Who upon the sea will suffer,
  Sink and perish in the vapors,
  Perish in the fog and darkness!"
  With his sword he smote the billows,
  From his magic blade flowed honey;
  Quick the vapor breaks, and rises,
  Leaves the waters clear for rowing;
  Far extend the sky and waters,
  Large the ring of the horizon,
  And the troubled sea enlarges.
  Time had journeyed little distance,
  Scarce a moment had passed over,
  When they heard a mighty roaring,
  Heard a roaring and a rushing
  Near the border of the vessel,
  Where the foam was shooting skyward
  O'er the boat of Wainamoinen.
  Straightway youthful Ilmarinen
  Sank in gravest apprehension,
  From his cheeks the blood departed;
  Pulled his cap down o'er his forehead,
  Shook and trembled with emotion.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Casts his eyes upon the waters
  Near the broad rim of his war-ship;
  There perceives an ocean-wonder
  With his head above the sea-foam.
  Wainamoinen, brave and mighty,
  Seizes quick the water-monster,
  Lifts him by his ears and questions:
  "Iku-Turso, son of Old-age,
  Why art rising from the blue-sea?
  Wherefore dost thou leave thy castle,
  Show thyself to mighty heroes,
  To the heroes of Wainola?"
  Iku-Turso, son of Old-age,
  Ocean monster, manifested
  Neither pleasure, nor displeasure,
  Was not in the least affrighted,
  Did not give the hero answer.
  Whereupon the ancient minstrel,
  Asked the second time the monster,
  Urgently inquired a third time:
  "Iku-Turso, son of Old-age,
  Why art rising from the waters,
  Wherefore dost thou leave the blue-sea?
  Iku-Turso gave this answer:
  For this cause I left my castle
  Underneath the rolling billows:
  Came I here with the intention
  To destroy the Kalew-heroes,
  And return the magic Sampo
  To the people of Pohyola.
  If thou wilt restore my freedom,
  Spare my life, from pain and sorrow,
  I will quick retrace my journey,
  Nevermore to show my visage
  To the people of Wainola,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers
  On the hills of Kalevala!"
  Then the singer, Wainamoinen,
  Freed the monster, Iku-Turso,
  Sent him to his deep sea-castles,
  Spake these words to him departing:
  "Iku-Turso, son of Old-age,
  Nevermore arise from ocean,
  Nevermore let Northland-heroes
  See thy face above the waters I
  Nevermore has Iku-Turso
  Risen to the ocean-level;
  Never since have Northland sailors
  Seen the head of this sea-monster.
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Onward rowed his goodly vessel,
  Journeyed but a little distance,
  Scarce a moment had passed over,
  When the King of all creators,
  Mighty Ukko of the heavens,
  Made the winds blow full of power,
  Made the storms arise in fury,
  Made them rage upon the waters.
  From the west the winds came roaring,
  From the north-east came in anger,
  Winds came howling from the south-west,
  Came the winds from all directions,
  In their fury, rolling, roaring,
  Tearing branches from the lindens,
  Hurling needles from the pine-trees,
  Blowing flowers from the heather,
  Grasses blowing from the meadow,
  Tearing up the very bottom
  Of the deep and boundless blue-sea.
  Roared the winds and lashed the waters
  Till the waves were white with fury;
  Tossed the war-ship high in ether,
  Tossed away the harp of fish-bone,
  Magic harp of Wainamoinen,
  To the joy of King Wellamo,
  To the pleasure of his people,
  To the happiness of Ahto,
  Ahto, rising from his caverns,
  On the floods beheld his people
  Carry off the harp of magic
  To their home below the billows.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  Heavy-hearted, spake these measures:
  "I have lost what I created,
  I have lost the harp of joyance;
  Now my strength has gone to others,
  All my pleasure too departed,
  All my hope and comfort vanished!
  Nevermore the harp of fish-bone
  Will enchant the hosts of Suomi!"
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Sorrow-laden, spake as follows:
  "Woe is me, my life hard-fated!
  Would that I had never journeyed
  On these waters filled with dangers,
  On the rolling waste before me,
  In this war-ship false and feeble.
  Winds and storms have I encountered,
  Wretched days of toil and trouble,
  I have witnessed in the Northland;
  Never have I met such dangers
  On the land, nor on the ocean,
  Never in my hero life-time!"
  Then the ancient Wainamoinen
  Spake and these the words he uttered:
  "Weep no more, my goodly comrades,
  In my bark let no one murmur;
  Weeping cannot mend disaster,
  Tears can never still misfortune,
  Mourning cannot save from evil.
  "Sea, command thy warring forces,
  Bid thy children cease their fury!
  Ahto, still thy surging billows!
  Sink, Wellamo, to thy slumber,
  That our boat may move in safety.
  Rise, ye storm-winds, to your kingdoms,
  Lift your heads above the waters,
  To the regions of your kindred,
  To your people and dominions;
  Cut the trees within the forest,
  Bend the lindens of the valley,
  Let our vessel sail in safety!"
  Then the reckless Lemminkainen,
  Handsome wizard, Kaukomieli,
  Spake these words in supplication:
  "Come, O eagle, Turyalander,
  Bring three feathers from thy pinions,
  Three, O raven, three, O eagle,
  To protect this bark from evil!"
  All the heroes of Wainola
  Call their forces to the rescue,
  And repair the sinking vessel.
  By the aid of master-magic,
  Wainamoinen saved his war-ship,
  Saved his people from destruction,
  Well repaired his ship to battle
  With the roughest seas of Northland;
  Steers his mighty boat in safety
  Through the perils of the whirlpool,
  Through the watery deeps and dangers.