Kitabı oku: «Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland – Volume 02», sayfa 5

RUNE XXX
THE FROST-FIEND

 
  Lemminkainen, reckless minstrel,
  Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
  Hastens as the dawn is breaking,
  At the dawning of the morning,
  To the resting-place of vessels,
  To the harbor of the island,
  Finds the vessels sorely weeping,
  Hears the wailing of the rigging,
  And the ships intone this chorus:
  "Must we wretched lie forever
  In the harbor of this island,
  Here to dry and fall in pieces?
  Ahti wars no more in Northland,
  Wars no more for sixty summers,
  Even should he thirst for silver,
  Should he wish the gold of battle."
  Lemminkainen struck his vessels
  With his gloves adorned with copper,
  And addressed the ships as follows:
  "Mourn no more, my ships of fir-wood,
  Strong and hardy is your rigging,
  To the wars ye soon may hasten,
  Hasten to the seas of battle;
  Warriors may swarm your cabins
  Ere to-morrow's morn has risen.!'"
  Then the reckless Lemminkainen
  Hastened to his aged mother,
  Spake to her the words that follow:
  "Weep no longer, faithful mother,
  Do not sorrow for thy hero,
  Should he leave for scenes of battle,
  For the hostile fields of Pohya;
  Sweet revenge has fired my spirit,
  And my soul is well determined,
  To avenge the shameful insult
  That the warriors of Northland
  Gave to thee, defenseless woman."
  To restrain him seeks his mother,
  Warns her son again of danger:
  "Do not go, my son beloved,
  To the wars in Sariola;
  There the jaws of Death await thee,
  Fell destruction lies before thee!"
  Lemminkainen, little heeding,
  Still determined, speaks as follows:
  "Where may I secure a swordsman,
  Worthy of my race of heroes,
  To assist me in the combat?
  Often I have heard of Tiera,
  Heard of Kura of the islands,
  This one I will take to help me,
  Magic hero of the broadsword;
  He will aid me in the combat,
  Will protect me from destruction."
  Then he wandered to the islands,
  On the way to Tiera's hamlet,
  These the words that Ahti utters
  As he nears the ancient dwellings:
  Dearest friend, my noble Tiera,
  My, beloved hero-brother,
  Dost thou other times remember,
  When we fought and bled together,
  On the battle-fields of Northland?
  There was not an island-village
  Where there were not seven mansions,
  In each mansion seven heroes,
  And not one of all these foemen
  Whom we did not slay with broadswords,
  Victims of our skill and valor."
  Near the window sat the father
  Whittling out a javelin-handle;
  Near the threshold sat the mother
  Skimming cream and making butter;
  Near the portal stood the brother
  Working on a sledge of birch-wood
  Near the bridge-pass were the sisters
  Washing out their varied garments.
  Spake the father from the window,
  From the threshold spake the mother,
  From the portals spake the brother,
  And the sisters from the bridge-pass:
  "Tiera has no time for combat,
  And his broadsword cannot battle;
  Tiera is but late a bridegroom,
  Still unveiled his bride awaits him."
  Near the hearth was Tiera lying,
  Lying by the fire was Kura,
  Hastily one foot was shoeing,
  While the other lay in waiting.
  From the hook he takes his girdle,
  Buckles it around his body,
  Takes a javelin from its resting,
  Not the largest, nor the smallest,
  Buckles on his mighty scabbard,
  Dons his heavy mail of copper;
  On each javelin pranced a charger,
  Wolves were howling from his helmet,
  On the rings the bears were growling.
  Tiera poised his mighty javelin,
  Launched the spear upon its errand;
  Hurled the shaft across the pasture,
  To the border of the forest,
  O'er the clay-fields of Pohyola,
  O'er the green and fragrant meadows,
  Through the distant bills of Northland.
  Then great Tiera touched his javelin
  To the mighty spear of Ahti,
  Pledged his aid to Lemminkainen,
  As his combatant and comrade.
  Thereupon wild Kaukomieli
  Pushed his boat upon the waters;
  Like the serpent through the heather,
  Like the creeping of the adder,
  Sails the boat away to Pohya,
  O'er the seas of Sariola.
  Quick the wicked hostess, Louhi,
  Sends the black-frost of the heavens
  To the waters of Pohyola,
  O'er the far-extending sea-plains,
  Gave the black-frost these directions:
  "Much-loved Frost, my son and hero,
  Whom thy mother has instructed,
  Hasten whither I may send thee,
  Go wherever I command thee,
  Freeze the vessel of this hero,
  Lemminkainen's bark of magic,
  On the broad back of the ocean,
  On the far-extending waters;
  Freeze the wizard in his vessel,
  Freeze to ice the wicked Ahti,
  That he never more may wander,
  Never waken while thou livest,
  Or at least till I shall free him,
  Wake him from his icy slumber!"
  Frost, the son of wicked parents,
  Hero-son of evil manners,
  Hastens off to freeze the ocean,
  Goes to fasten down the flood-gates,
  Goes to still the ocean-currents.
  As he hastens on his journey,
  Takes the leaves from all the forest,
  Strips the meadows of their verdure,
  Robs the flowers of their colors.
  When his journey he had ended,
  Gained the border of the ocean,
  Gained the sea-shore curved and endless,
  On the first night of his visit,
  Freezes he the lakes and rivers,
  Freezes too the shore of ocean,
  Freezes not the ocean-billows,
  Does not check the ocean-currents.
  On the sea a finch is resting,
  Bird of song upon the waters,
  But his feet are not yet frozen,
  Neither is his head endangered.
  When the second night Frost lingered,
  He began to grow important,
  He became a fierce intruder,
  Fearless grew in his invasions,
  Freezes everything before him;
  Sends the fiercest cold of Northland,
  Turns to ice the boundless waters.
  Ever thicker, thicker, thicker,
  Grew the ice on sea and ocean,
  Ever deeper, deeper, deeper,
  Fell the snow on field and forest,
  Froze the hero's ship of beauty,
  Cold and lifeless bark of Ahti;
  Sought to freeze wild Lemminkainen,
  Freeze him lifeless as his vessel,
  Asked the minstrel for his life-blood,
  For his ears, and feet, and fingers.
  Then the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Angry grew and filled with magic,
  Hurled the black-frost to the fire-god,
  Threw him to the fiery furnace,
  Held him in his forge of iron,
  Then addressed the frost as follows:
  "Frost, thou evil son of Northland,
  Dire and only son of Winter,
  Let my members not be stiffened,
  Neither ears, nor feet, nor fingers,
  Neither let my head be frozen.
  Thou hast other things to feed on,
  Many other beads to stiffen;
  Leave in peace the flesh of heroes,
  Let this minstrel pass in safety,
  Freeze the swamps, and lakes, and rivers,
  Fens and forests, bills and valleys;
  Let the cold stones grow still colder,
  Freeze the willows in the waters,
  Let the aspens freeze and suffer,
  Let the bark peel from the birch-trees,
  Let the Pines burst on the mountains,
  Let this hero pass in safety,
  Do not let his locks be stiffened.
  "If all these prove insufficient,
  Feed on other worthy matters;
  Lot the hot stones freeze asunder,
  Let the flaming rocks be frozen,
  Freeze the fiery blocks of iron,
  Freeze to ice the iron mountains;
  Stiffen well the mighty Wuoksi,
  Let Imatra freeze to silence;
  Freeze the sacred stream and whirlpool,
  Let their boiling billows stiffen,
  Or thine origin I'll sing thee,
  Tell thy lineage of evil.
  Well I know thine evil nature,
  Know thine origin and power,
  Whence thou camest, where thou goest,
  Know thine ancestry of evil.
  Thou wert born upon the aspen,
  Wert conceived upon the willows,
  Near the borders of Pohyola,
  In the courts of dismal Northland;
  Sin-begotten was thy father,
  And thy mother was Dishonor.
  "While in infancy who fed thee
  While thy mother could not nurse thee?
  Surely thou wert fed by adders,
  Nursed by foul and slimy serpents;
  North-winds rocked thee into slumber,
  Cradled thee in roughest weather,
  In the worst of willow-marshes,
  In the springs forever flowing,
  Evil-born and evil-nurtured,
  Grew to be an evil genius,
  Evil was thy mind and spirit,
  And the infant still was nameless,
  Till the name of Frost was given
  To the progeny of evil.
  "Then the young lad lived in hedges,
  Dwelt among the weeds and willows,
  Lived in springs in days of summer,
  On the borders of the marshes,
  Tore the lindens in the winter,
  Stormed among the glens and forests,
  Raged among the sacred birch-trees,
  Rattled in the alder-branches,
  Froze the trees, the shoots, the grasses,
  Evened all the plains and prairies,
  Ate the leaves within the woodlands,
  Made the stalks drop down their blossoms,
  Peeled the bark on weeds and willows.
  "Thou hast grown to large proportions,
  Hast become too tall and mighty;
  Dost thou labor to benumb me,
  Dost thou wish mine ears and fingers,
  Of my feet wouldst thou deprive me?
  Do not strive to freeze this hero,
  In his anguish and misfortune;
  In my stockings I shall kindle
  Fire to drive thee from my presence,
  In my shoes lay flaming faggots,
  Coals of fire in every garment,
  Heated sandstones in my rigging;
  Thus will hold thee at a distance.
  Then thine evil form I'll banish
  To the farthest Northland borders;
  When thy journey is completed,
  When thy home is reached in safety,
  Freeze the caldrons in the castle,
  Freeze the coal upon the hearthstone,
  In the dough, the hands of women,
  On its mother's lap, the infant,
  Freeze the colt beside its mother.
  "If thou shouldst not heed this order,
  I shall banish thee still farther,
  To the carbon-piles of Hisi,
  To the chimney-hearth of Lempo,
  Hurl thee to his fiery furnace,
  Lay thee on the iron anvil,
  That thy body may be hammered
  With the sledges of the blacksmith,
  May be pounded into atoms,
  Twixt the anvil and the hammer.
  "If thou shouldst not heed this order,
  Shouldst not leave me to my freedom,
  Know I still another kingdom,
  Know another spot of resting;
  I shall drive thee to the summer,
  Lead thy tongue to warmer climates,
  There a prisoner to suffer,
  Never to obtain thy freedom
  Till thy spirit I deliver,
  Till I go myself and free thee."
  Wicked Frost, the son of Winter,
  Saw the magic bird of evil
  Hovering above his spirit,
  Straightway prayed for Ahti's mercy,
  These the words the Frost-fiend uttered:
  "Let us now agree together,
  Neither one to harm the other,
  Never in the course of ages,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers
  On the snow-capped hills of Northland.
  If thou hearest that I bring thee
  Cold to freeze thy feet and fingers,
  Hurl me to the fiery furnace,
  Hammer me upon the anvil
  Of the blacksmith, Ilmarinen;
  Lead my tongue to warmer climates,
  Banish me to lands of summer,
  There a prisoner to suffer,
  Nevermore to gain my freedom."
  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen
  Left his vessel in the ocean,
  Frozen in the ice of Northland,
  Left his warlike boat forever,
  Started on his cheerless journey
  To the borders of Pohyola,
  And the mighty Tiera followed
  In the tracks of his companion.
  On the ice they journeyed northward
  Briskly walked upon the ice-plain,
  Walked one day, and then a second,
  Till the closing of the third day,
  When the Hunger-land approached them,
  When appeared Starvation-island.
  Here the hardy Lemminkainen
  Hastened forward to the castle,
  This the hero's prayer and question;
  "Is there food within this castle,
  Fish or fowl within its larders,
  To refresh us on our journey,
  Mighty heroes, cold and weary?
  When the hero, Lemminkainen,
  Found no food within the castle,
  Neither fish, nor fowl, nor bacon,
  Thus he cursed it and departed:
  "May the fire destroy these chambers,
  May the waters flood this dwelling,
  Wash it to the seas of Mana!"
  Then they hastened onward, onward,
  Hastened on through field and forest,
  Over by-ways long untrodden,
  Over unknown paths and snow-fields;
  Here the hardy Lemminkainen,
  Reckless hero, Kaukomieli,
  Pulled the soft wool from the ledges,
  Gathered lichens from the tree-trunks,
  Wove them into magic stockings,
  Wove them into shoes and mittens,
  On the settles of the hoar-frost,
  In the stinging cold of Northland.
  Then he sought to find some pathway,
  That would guide their wayward footsteps,
  And the hero spake as follows:
  "O thou Tiera, friend beloved,
  Shall we reach our destination,
  Wandering for days together,
  Through these Northland fields and forests?
  Kura thus replies to Ahti:
  "We, alas! have come for vengeance,
  Come for blood and retribution,
  To the battle-fields of Northland,
  To the dismal Sariola,
  Here to leave our souls and bodies,
  Here to starve, and freeze, and perish,
  In the dreariest of places,
  In this sun-forsaken country!
  Never shall we gain the knowledge,
  Never learn it, never tell it,
  Which the pathway that can guide us
  To the forest-beds to suffer,
  To the Pohya-plains to perish,
  In the home-land of the ravens,
  Fitting food for crows and eagles.
  Often do the Northland vultures
  Hither come to feed their fledgelings;
  Hither bring the birds of heaven
  Bits of flesh and blood of heroes;
  Often do the beaks of ravens
  Tear the flesh of kindred corpses,
  Often do the eagle's talons
  Carry bones and trembling vitals,
  Such as ours, to feed their nestlings,
  In their rocky homes and ledges.
  "Oh! my mother can but wonder,
  Never can divine the answer,
  Where her reckless son is roaming,
  Where her hero's blood is flowing,
  Whether in the swamps and lowlands
  Whether in the heat of battle,
  Or upon the waves of the ocean,
  Or upon the hop-feld mountains,
  Or along some forest by-way.
  Nothing can her mind discover
  Of the frailest of her heroes,
  Only think that he has perished.
  Thus the hoary-headed mother
  Weeps and murmurs in her chambers:
  'Where is now my son beloved,
  In the kingdom of Manala?
  Sow thy crops, thou dread Tuoni,
  Harrow well the fields of Kalma!
  Now the bow receives its respite
  From the fingers of my Tiera;
  Bow and arrow now are useless,
  Now the merry birds can fatten
  In the fields, and fens, and forests;
  Bears may live in dens of freedom,
  On the fields may sport the elk-herds.'"
  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen:
  "Thus it is, mine aged mother,
  Thou that gavest me existence!
  Thou hast reared thy broods of chickens,
  Hatched and reared thy flights of white-swans
  All of them the winds have scattered,
  Or the evil Lempo frightened;
  One flew hither, and one thither,
  And a third one, lost forever!
  Think thou of our former pleasures,
  Of our better days together,
  When I wandered like the flowers,
  Like the berry in the meadows.
  Many saw my form majestic,
  Many thought me well-proportioned.
  Now is not as then with Ahti,
  Into evil days have fallen,
  Since I see but storms and darkness!
  Then my eyes beheld but sunshine,
  Then we did not weep and murmur,
  Did not fill our hearts with sorrow,
  When the maids in joy were singing,
  When the virgins twined their tresses;
  Then the women joined in joyance,
  Whether brides were happy-wedded,
  Whether bridegrooms choose discreetly,
  Whether they were wise or unwise.
  "But we must not grow disheartened,
  Let the Island-maidens cheer us;
  Here we are not yet enchanted,
  Not bewitched by magic singing,
  On the paths not left to perish,
  Sink and perish on our journey.
  Full of youth we should not suffer,
  Strong, we should not die unworthy,
  Whom the wizards have enchanted,
  Have bewitched with songs of magic;
  Sorcerers may charm and conquer,
  Bury them within their dungeons,
  Hide them spell-bound in their cabins.
  Let the wizards charm each other,
  And bewitch their magic offspring,
  Bring their tribes to fell destruction.
  Never did my gray-haired father
  Bow submission to a wizard,
  Offer worship to magicians.
  These the words my father uttered,
  These the thoughts his son advances:
  'Guard us, thou O great Creator,
  Shield us, thou O God of mercy,
  With thine arms of grace protect us,
  Help us with thy strength and wisdom,
  Guide the minds of all thy heroes,
  Keep aright the thoughts of women,
  Keep the old from speaking evil,
  Keep the young from sin and folly,
  Be to us a help forever,
  Be our Guardian and our Father,
  That our children may not wander
  From the ways of their Creator,
  From the path that God has given!'"
  Then the hero Lemminkainen,
  Made from cares the fleetest racers,
  Sable racers from his sorrows,
  Reins he made from days of evil,
  From his sacred pains made saddles.
  To the saddle, quickly springing,
  Galloped he away from trouble,
  To his dear and aged mother;
  And his comrade, faithful Tiera,
  Galloped to his Island-dwelling.
  Now departs wild Lemminkainen,
  Brave and reckless Kaukomieli,
  From these ancient songs and legends;
  Only guides his faithful Kura
  To his waiting bride and kindred,
  While these lays and incantations
  Shall be turned to other heroes.
 

RUNE XXXI
KULLERWOINEN SON OF EVIL

 
  In the ancient times a mother
  Hatched and raised some swans and chickens,
  Placed the chickens in the brushwood,
  Placed her swans upon the river;
  Came an eagle, hawk, and falcon,
  Scattered all her swans and chickens,
  One was carried to Karyala,
  And a second into Ehstland,
  Left a third at home in Pohya.
  And the one to Ehstland taken
  Soon became a thriving merchant;
  He that journeyed to Karyala
  Flourished and was called Kalervo;
  He that hid away in Pohya
  Took the name of Untamoinen,
  Flourished to his father's sorrow,
  To the heart-pain of his mother.
  Untamoinen sets his fish-nets
  In the waters of Kalervo;
  Kullerwoinen sees the fish-nets,
  Takes the fish home in his basket.
  Then Untamo, evil-minded,
  Angry grew and sighed for vengeance,
  Clutched his fingers for the combat,
  Bared his mighty arms for battle,
  For the stealing of his salmon,
  For the robbing of his fish-nets.
  Long they battled, fierce the struggle,
  Neither one could prove the victor;
  Should one beat the other fiercely,
  He himself was fiercely beaten.
  Then arose a second trouble;
  On the second and the third days,
  Kalerwoinen sowed some barley
  Near the barns of Untamoinen;
  Untamoinen's sheep in hunger
  Ate the crop of Kullerwoinen;
  Kullerwoinen's dog in malice
  Tore Untamo's sheep in pieces;
  Then Untamo sorely threatened
  To annihilate the people
  Of his brother, Kalerwoinen,
  To exterminate his tribe-folk,
  To destroy the young and aged,
  To out-root his race and kingdom;
  Conjures men with broadswords girded,
  For the war he fashions heroes,
  Fashions youth with spears adjusted,
  Bearing axes on their shoulders,
  Conjures thus a mighty army,
  Hastens to begin a battle,
  Bring a war upon his brother.
  Kalerwoinen's wife in beauty
  Sat beside her chamber-window,
  Looking out along the highway,
  Spake these words in wonder guessing:
  "Do I see some smoke arising,
  Or perchance a heavy storm-cloud,
  Near the border of the forest,
  Near the ending of the prairie?"
  It was not some smoke arising,
  Nor indeed a heavy storm-cloud,
  It was Untamoinen's soldiers
  Marching to the place of battle.
  Warriors of Untamoinen
  Came equipped with spears and arrows,
  Killed the people of Kalervo,
  Slew his tribe and all his kindred,
  Burned to ashes many dwellings,
  Levelled many courts and cabins,
  Only, left Kalervo's daughter,
  With her unborn child, survivors
  Of the slaughter of Untamo;
  And she led the hostile army
  To her father's halls and mansion,
  Swept the rooms and made them cheery,
  Gave the heroes home-attentions.
  Time had gone but little distance,
  Ere a boy was born in magic
  Of the virgin, Untamala,
  Of a mother, trouble-laden,
  Him the mother named Kullervo,
  "Pearl of Combat," said Untamo.
  Then they laid the child of wonder,
  Fatherless, the magic infant,
  In the cradle of attention,
  To be rocked, and fed, and guarded;
  But he rocked himself at pleasure,
  Rocked until his locks stood endwise;
  Rocked one day, and then a second,
  Rocked the third from morn till noontide;
  But before the third day ended,
  Kicks the boy with might of magic,
  Forwards, backwards, upwards, downwards,
  Kicks in miracles of power,
  Bursts with might his swaddling garments
  Creeping from beneath his blankets,
  Knocks his cradle into fragments,
  Tears to tatters all his raiment,
  Seemed that he would grow a hero,
  And his mother, Untamala,
  Thought that be, when full of stature,
  When he found his strength and reason,
  Would become a great magician,
  First among a thousand heroes.
  When three months the boy had thriven,
  He began to speak as follows:
  "When my form is full of stature,
  When these arms grow strong and hardy,
  Then will I avenge the murder
  Of Kalervo and his people!"
  Untamoinen bears the saying,
  Speaks these words to those about him;
  "To my tribe he brings destruction,
  In him grows a new Kalervo!"
  Then the heroes well considered,
  And the women gave their counsel,
  How to kill the magic infant,
  That their tribe may live in safety.
  It appeared the boy would prosper;
  Finally, they all consenting,
  He was placed within a basket,
  And with willows firmly fastened,
  Taken to the reeds and rushes,
  Lowered to the deepest waters,
  In his basket there to perish.
  When three nights had circled over,
  Messengers of Untamoinen
  Went to see if he had perished
  In his basket in the waters;
  But the prodigy, was living,
  Had not perished in the rushes;
  He had left his willow-basket,
  Sat in triumph on a billow,
  In his hand a rod of copper,
  On the rod a golden fish-line,
  Fishing for the silver whiting,
  Measuring the deeps beneath him;
  In the sea was little water,
  Scarcely would it fill three measures.
  Untamoinen then reflected,
  This the language of the wizard:
  "Whither shall we take this wonder,
  Lay this prodigy of evil,
  That destruction may o'ertake him,
  Where the boy will sink and perish?"
  Then his messengers he ordered
  To collect dried poles of brushwood,
  Birch-trees with their hundred branches,
  Pine-trees full of pitch and resin,
  Ordered that a pyre be builded,
  That the boy might be cremated,
  That Kullervo thus might perish.
  High they piled the and branches,
  Dried limbs from the sacred birch-tree,
  Branches from a hundred fir-trees,
  Knots and branches full of resign;
  Filled with bark a thousand sledges,
  Seasoned oak, a hundred measures;
  Piled the brushwood to the tree-tops,
  Set the boy upon the summit,
  Set on fire the pile of brushwood,
  Burned one day, and then a second,
  Burned the third from morn till evening.
  When Untamo sent his heralds
  To inspect the pyre and wizard,
  There to learn if young Kullervo
  Had been burned to dust and ashes,
  There they saw the young boy sitting
  On a pyramid of embers,
  In his band a rod of copper,
  Raking coals of fire about him,
  To increase their heat and power;
  Not a hair was burned nor injured,
  Not a ringlet singed nor shrivelled.
  Then Untamo, evil-humored,
  Thus addressed his trusted heralds:
  "Whither shall the boy be taken,
  To what place this thing of evil,
  That destruction may o'ertake him.
  That the boy may sink and perish?"
  Then they hung him to an oak-tree,
  Crucified him in the branches,
  That the wizard there might perish.
  When three days and nights had ended,
  Untamoinen spake as follows:
  "It is time to send my heralds
  To inspect the mighty oak-tree,
  There to learn if young Kullervo
  Lives or dies among the branches."
  Thereupon he sent his servants,
  And the heralds brought this message:
  "Young Kullervo has not perished,
  Has not died among the branches
  Of the oak-tree where we hung him.
  In the oak he maketh pictures
  With a wand between his fingers;
  Pictures hang from all the branches,
  Carved and painted by Kullervo;
  And the heroes, thick as acorns,
  With their swords and spears adjusted,
  Fill the branches of the oak-tree,
  Every leaf becomes a soldier."
  Who can help the grave Untamo
  Kill the boy that threatens evil
  To Untamo's tribe and country,
  Since he will not die by water,
  Nor by fire, nor crucifixion?
  Finally it was decided
  That his body was immortal,
  Could not suffer death nor torture.
  In despair grave Untamoinen
  Thus addressed the boy, Kullervo:
  "Wilt thou live a life becoming,
  Always do my people honor,
  Should I keep thee in my dwelling?
  Shouldst thou render servant's duty,
  Then thou wilt receive thy wages,
  Reaping whatsoe'er thou sowest;
  Thou canst wear the golden girdle,
  Or endure the tongue of censure."
  When the boy had grown a little,
  Had increased in strength and stature,
  He was given occupation,
  He was made to tend an infant,
  Made to rock the infant's cradle.
  These the words of Untamoinen:
  "Often look upon the young child,
  Feed him well and guard from danger,
  Wash his linen in the river,
  Give the infant good attention."
  Young Kullervo, wicked wizard,
  Nurses one day then a second;
  On the morning of the third day,
  Gives the infant cruel treatment,
  Blinds its eyes and breaks its fingers;
  And when evening shadows gather,
  Kills the young child while it slumbers,
  Throws its body to the waters,
  Breaks and burns the infant's cradle.
  Untamoinen thus reflected:
  "Never will this fell Kullervo
  Be a worthy nurse for children,
  Cannot rock a babe in safety;
  Do not know how I can use him,
  What employment I can give him!"
  Then he told the young magician
  He must fell the standing forest,
  And Kullervo gave this answer:
  "Only will I be a hero,
  When I wield the magic hatchet;
  I am young, and fair, and mighty,
  Far more beautiful than others,
  Have the skill of six magicians."
  Thereupon he sought the blacksmith,
  This the order of Kullervo:
  "Listen, O thou metal-artist,
  Forge for me an axe of copper,
  Forge the mighty axe of heroes,
  Wherewith I may fell the forest,
  Fell the birch, and oak, and aspen."
  This behest the blacksmith honors,
  Forges him an axe of copper,
  Wonderful the blade he forges.
  Kullerwoinen grinds his hatchet,
  Grinds his blade from morn till evening,
  And the next day makes the handle;
  Then he hastens to the forest,
  To the upward-sloping mountain,
  To the tallest of the birches,
  To the mightiest of oak-trees;
  There he swings his axe of copper,
  Swings his blade with might of magic,
  Cuts with sharpened edge the aspen,
  With one blow he fells the oak-tree,
  With a second blow, the linden;
  Many trees have quickly fallen,
  By the hatchet of Kullervo.
  Then the wizard spake as follows:
  "This the proper work of Lempo,
  Let dire Hisi fell the forest!"
  In the birch he sank his hatchet,
  Made an uproar in the woodlands,
  Called aloud in tones, of thunder,
  Whistled to the distant mountains,
  Till they echoed to his calling,
  When Kullervo spake as follows:
  "May the forest, in the circle
  Where my voice rings, fall and perish,
  In the earth be lost forever!
  May no tree remain unlevelled,
  May no saplings grow in spring-time,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers,
  Where Kullervo's voice has echoed,
  Where the forest hears my calling;
  Where the ground with seed is planted,
  And the grain shall sprout and flourish,
  May it never come to ripeness,
  Mar the ears of corn be blasted!"
  When the strong man, Untamoinen,
  Went to look at early evening,
  How Kullervo was progressing,
  In his labors in the forest;
  Little was the work accomplished,
  Was not worthy of a here;
  Untamoinen thus reflected:
  "Young Kullervo is not fitted
  For the work of clearing forests,
  Wastes the best of all the timber,
  To my lands he brings destruction;
  I shall set him making fences."
  Then the youth began the building
  Of a fence for Untamoinen;
  Took the trunks of stately fir-trees,
  Trimmed them with his blade for fence-posts,
  Cut the tallest in the woodlands,
  For the railing of his fences;
  Made the smaller poles and cross-bars
  From the longest of the lindens;
  Made the fence without a pass-way,
  Made no wicket in his fences,
  And Kullervo spake these measures.
  "He that does not rise as eagles,
  Does not sail on wings through ether,
  Cannot cross Kullervo's pickets,
  Nor the fences he has builded."
  Untamoinen left his mansion
  To inspect the young boy's labors,
  View the fences of Kullervo;
  Saw the fence without a pass-way,
  Not a wicket in his fences;
  From the earth the fence extended
  To the highest clouds of heaven.
  These the words of Untamoinen:
  "For this work he is not fitted,
  Useless is the fence thus builded;
  Is so high that none can cross it,
  And there is no passage through it:
  He shall thresh the rye and barley."
  Young Kullervo, quick preparing
  Made an oaken flail for threshing,
  Threshed the rye to finest powder,
  Threshed the barley into atoms,
  And the straw to worthless fragments.
  Untamoinen went at evening,
  Went to see Kullervo's threshing,
  View the work of Kullerwoinen;
  Found the rye was ground to powder,
  Grains of barley crushed to atoms,
  And the straw to worthless rubbish.
  Untamoinen then grew angry,
  Spake these words in bitter accents:
  "Kullerwoinen as a workman
  Is a miserable failure;
  Whatsoever work he touches
  Is but ruined by his witchcraft;
  I shall carry him to Ehstland,
  In Karyala I shall sell him
  To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  There to swing the heavy hammer."
  Untamoinen sells Kullervo,
  Trades him off in far Karyala,
  To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  To the master of the metals,
  This the sum received in payment:
  Seven worn and worthless sickles,
  Three old caldrons worse than useless,
  Three old scythes, and hoes, and axes,
  Recompense, indeed, sufficient
  For a boy that will not labor
  For the good of his employer.