Kitabı oku: «Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland – Volume 02», sayfa 8

RUNE XXXVI
KULLERWOINEN'S VICTORY AND DEATH

 
  Kullerwionen, wicked wizard,
  In his purple-colored stockings,
  Now prepares himself for battle;
  Grinds a long time on his broadsword,
  Sharpens well his trusty weapon,
  And his mother speaks as follows:
  "Do not go, my son beloved,
  Go not to the wars, my hero,
  Struggle not with hostile spearsmen.
  Whoso goes to war for nothing,
  Undertakes a fearful combat,
  Undertakes a fatal issue;
  Those that war without a reason
  Will be slaughtered for their folly,
  Easy prey to bows and arrows.
  Go thou with a goat to battle,
  Shouldst thou go to fight the roebuck,
  'Tis the goat that will be vanquished,
  And the roebuck will be slaughtered;
  With a frog thou'lt journey homeward,
  Victor, with but little honor!"
  These the words of Kullerwoinen:
  "Shall not journey through the marshes,
  Shall not sink upon the heather,
  On the home-land of the raven,
  Where the eagles scream at day-break.
  When I yield my life forever,
  Bravely will I fall in battle,
  Fall upon the field of glory,
  Beautiful to die in armor,
  And the clang and clash of armies,
  Beautiful the strife for conquest!
  Thus Kullervo soon will hasten
  To the kingdom of Tuoni,
  To the realm of the departed,
  Undeformed by wasting sickness."
  This the answer of the mother:
  "If thou diest in the conflict,
  Who will stay to guard thy father,
  Who will give thy sire protection?"
  These the words of Kullerwoinen:
  "Let him die upon the court-yard,
  Sleeping out his life of sorrow!"
  "Who then will protect thy mother,
  Be her shield in times of danger?"
  "Let her die within the stable,
  Or the cabin where she lingers!"
  "Who then will defend thy brother,
  Give him aid in times of trouble?"
  "Let him die within the forest,
  Sleep his life away unheeded!"
  "Who will comfort then thy sister,
  Who will aid her in affliction?"
  "Let her sink beneath the waters,
  Perish in the crystal fountain,
  Where the brook flows on in beauty,
  Like a silver serpent winding
  Through the valley to the ocean!"
  Thereupon the wild Kullervo
  Hastens from his home to battle,
  To his father speaks, departing:
  "Fare thou well, my aged father!
  Wilt thou weep for me, thy hero,
  When thou hearest I have perished,
  Fallen from thy tribe forever,
  Perished on the field of glory?"
  Thus the father speaks in answer:
  "I shall never mourn the downfall
  Of my evil son, Kullervo;
  Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
  Shall beget a second hero
  That will do me better service,
  That will think and act in wisdom."
  Kullerwoinen gives this answer:
  "Neither shall I mourn thy downfall,
  Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
  I shall make a second father,
  Make the head from loam and sandstone,
  Make the eyes from swamp-land berries,
  Make the beard from withered sea-grass,
  Make the feet from roots of willow,
  Make the form from birch-wood fungus."
  Thereupon the youth, Kullervo,
  To his brother speaks as follows:
  "Fare thou well, beloved brother!
  Wilt thou weep for me departed,
  Shouldst thou hear that I have perished,
  Fallen on the field of battle?"
  This the answer of the brother:
  "I shall never mourn the downfall
  Of my brother, Kullerwoinen,
  Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
  I shall find a second brother;
  Find one worthier and wiser!"
  This is Kullerwoinen's answer:
  "Neither shall I mourn thy downfall,
  Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
  I shall form a second brother,
  Make the head from dust and ashes,
  Make the eyes from pearls of ocean,
  Make the beard from withered verdure,
  Make the form from pulp of birch-wood."
  To his sister speaks Kullervo:
  "Fare thou well, beloved sister!
  Surely thou wilt mourn my downfall,
  Weep for me when I have perished,
  When thou hearest I have fallen
  In the heat and din of battle,
  Fallen from thy race forever!"
  But the sister makes this answer:
  "Never shall I mourn thy downfall,
  Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
  I shall seek a second brother,
  Seek a brother, purer, better,
  One that will not shame his sister!"
  Kullerwoinen thus makes answer:
  "Neither shall I mourn thee fallen,
  Shall not weep when thou hast perished;
  I shall form a second sister,
  Make the head from whitened marble,
  Make the eyes from golden moonbeams,
  Make the tresses from the rainbow,
  Make the ears from ocean-flowers,
  And her form from gold and silver.
  "Fare thou well, beloved mother,
  Mother, beautiful and faithful!
  Wilt thou weep when I have perished,
  Fallen on the field of glory,
  Fallen from thy race forever?"
  Thus the mother speaks in answer:
  "Canst not fathom love maternal,
  Canst not smother her affection;
  Bitterly I'll mourn thy downfall,
  I would weep if thou shouldst perish,
  Shouldst thou leave my race forever;
  I would weep in court or cabin,
  Sprinkle all these fields with tear-drops,
  Weep great rivers to the ocean,
  Weep to melt the snows of Northland,
  Make the hillocks green with weeping,
  Weep at morning, weep at evening,
  Weep three years in bitter sorrow
  O'er the death of Kullerwoinen!"
  Thereupon the wicked wizard
  Went rejoicing to the combat;
  In delight to war he hastened
  O'er the fields, and fens, and fallows,
  Shouting loudly on the heather,
  Singing o'er the hills and mountains,
  Rushing through the glens and forests,
  Blowing war upon his bugle.
  Time had gone but little distance,
  When a messenger appearing,
  Spake these words to Kullerwoinen:
  "Lo! thine aged sire has perished,
  Fallen from thy race forever;
  Hasten home and do him honor,
  Lay him in the lap of Kalma."
  Kullerwoinen inade this answer:
  "Has my aged father perished,
  There is home a sable stallion
  That will take him to his slumber,
  Lay him in the lap of Kalma."
  Then Kullervo journeyed onward,
  Calling war upon his bugle,
  Till a messenger appearing,
  Brought this word to Kullerwoinen:
  "Lo! thy brother too has perished,
  Dead he lies within the forest,
  Manalainen's trumpet called him;
  Home return and do him honor,
  Lay him in the lap of Kalma."
  Kullerwoinen thus replying:
  "Has my hero-brother perished,
  There is home a sable stallion
  That will take him' to his slumber,
  Lay him in the lap of Kalma."
  Young Kullervo journeyed onward
  Over vale and over mountain,
  Playing on his reed of battle,
  Till a messenger appearing
  Brought the warrior these tidings:
  "Lo! thy sister too has perished,
  Perished in the crystal fountain,
  Where the waters flow in beauty,
  Like a silver serpent winding
  Through the valley to the ocean;
  Home return and do her honor,
  Lay her in the lap of Kalma."
  These the words of Kullerwoinen:
  "Has my beauteous sister perished,
  Fallen from my race forever,
  There is home a sable filly
  That will take her to her resting,
  Lay her in the lap of Kalma."
  Still Kullervo journeyed onward,
  Through the fens he went rejoicing,
  Sounding war upon his bugle,
  Till a messenger appearing
  Brought to him these words of sorrow:
  "Lo! thy mother too has perished,
  Died in anguish, broken-hearted;
  Home return and do her honor,
  Lay her in the lap of Kalma."
  These the measures of Kullervo:
  "Woe is me, my life hard-fated,
  That my mother too has perished,
  She that nursed me in my cradle,
  Made my couch a golden cover,
  Twirled for me the spool and spindle!
  Lo! Kullervo was not present
  When his mother's life departed;
  May have died upon the mountains,
  Perished there from cold and hunger.
  Lave the dead form of my mother
  In the crystal waters flowing;
  Wrap her in the robes of ermine,
  Tie her hands with silken ribbon,
  Take her to the grave of ages,
  Lay her in the lap of Kalma.
  Bury her with songs of mourning,
  Let the singers chant my sorrow;
  Cannot leave the fields of battle
  While Untamo goes unpunished,
  Fell destroyer of my people."
  Kullerwoinen journeyed onward,
  Still rejoicing, to the combat,
  Sang these songs in supplication:
  "Ukko, mightiest of rulers,
  Loan to me thy sword of battle,
  Grant to me thy matchless weapon,
  And against a thousand armies
  I will war and ever conquer."
  Ukko, gave the youth his broadsword,
  Gave his blade of magic powers
  To the wizard, Kullerwoinen.
  Thus equipped, the mighty hero
  Slew the people of Untamo,
  Burned their villages to ashes;
  Only left the stones and ovens,
  And the chimneys of their hamlets.
  Then the conqueror, Kullervo,
  Turned his footsteps to his home-land,
  To the cabin of his father;
  To his ancient fields and forests.
  Empty did he find the cabin,
  And the forests were deserted;
  No one came to give him greeting,
  None to give the hand of welcome;
  Laid his fingers on the oven,
  But he found it cold and lifeless;
  Then he knew to satisfaction
  That his mother lived no longer;
  Laid his hand upon the fire-place,
  Cold and lifeless were the hearth-stones;
  Then he knew to satisfaction
  That his sister too had perished;
  Then he sought the landing-places,
  Found no boats upon the rollers;
  Then he knew to satisfaction
  That his brother too had perished;
  Then he looked upon the fish-nets,
  And he found them torn and tangled;
  And he knew to satisfaction
  That his father too had perished.
  Bitterly he wept and murmured,
  Wept one day, and then a second,
  On the third day spake as follows:
  "Faithful mother, fond and tender,
  Why hast left me here to sorrow
  In this wilderness of trouble?
  But thou dost not hear my calling,
  Though I sing in magic accents,
  Though my tear-drops speak lamenting,
  Though my heart bemoans thine absence.
  From her grave awakes the mother,
  To Kullervo speaks these measures:
  "Thou has still the dog remaining,
  He will lead thee to the forest;
  Follow thou the faithful watcher,
  Let him lead thee to the woodlands,
  To the farthest woodland border,
  To the caverns of the wood-nymphs;
  Kullerwoinen's Victory and Death
  There the forest maidens linger,
  They will give thee food and shelter,
  Give my hero joyful greetings."
  Kullerwoinen, with his watch-dog,
  Hastens onward through the forest,
  Journeys on through fields and fallows;
  Journeys but a little distance,
  Till he comes upon the summit
  Where he met his long-lost sister;
  Finds the turf itself is weeping,
  Finds the glen-wood filled with sorrow,
  Finds the heather shedding tear-drops,
  Weeping are the meadow-flowers,
  O'er the ruin of his sister.
  Kullerwoinen, wicked wizard,
  Grasps the handle of his broadsword,
  Asks the blade this simple question:
  "Tell me, O my blade of honor,
  Dost thou wish to drink my life-blood,
  Drink the blood of Kullerwoinen?"
  Thus his trusty sword makes answer,
  Well divining his intentions:
  Why should I not drink thy life-blood,
  Blood of guilty Kullerwoinen,
  Since I feast upon the worthy,
  Drink the life-blood of the righteous?"
  Thereupon the youth, Kullervo,
  Wicked wizard of the Northland,
  Lifts the mighty sword of Ukko,
  Bids adieu to earth and heaven;
  Firmly thrusts the hilt in heather,
  To his heart he points the weapon,
  Throws his weight upon his broadsword,
  Pouring out his wicked life-blood,
  Ere be journeys to Manala.
  Thus the wizard finds destruction,
  This the end of Kullerwoinen,
  Born in sin, and nursed in folly.
  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
  As he hears the joyful tidings,
  Learns the death of fell Kullervo,
  Speaks these words of ancient wisdom:
  "O, ye many unborn nations,
  Never evil nurse your children,
  Never give them out to strangers,
  Never trust them to the foolish!
  If the child is not well nurtured,
  Is not rocked and led uprightly,
  Though he grow to years of manhood,
  Bear a strong and shapely body,
  He will never know discretion,
  Never eat. the bread of honor,
  Never drink the cup of wisdom."
 

RUNE XXXVII
ILMARINEN'S BRIDE OF GOLD

 
  Ilmarinen, metal-worker,
  Wept one day, and then a second,
  Wept the third from morn till evening,
  O'er the death of his companion,
  Once the Maiden of the Rainbow;
  Did not swing his heavy hammer,
  Did not touch its copper handle,
  Made no sound within his smithy,
  Made no blow upon his anvil,
  Till three months had circled over;
  Then the blacksmith spake as follows:
  "Woe is me, unhappy hero!
  Do not know how I can prosper;
  Long the days, and cold, and dreary,
  Longer still the nights, and colder;
  I am weary in the evening,
  In the morning still am weary,
  Have no longing for the morning,
  And the evening is unwelcome;
  Have no pleasure in the future,
  All my pleasures gone forever,
  With my faithful life-companion
  Slaughtered by the hand of witchcraft!
  Often will my heart-strings quiver
  When I rest within my chamber,
  When I wake at dreamy midnight,
  Half-unconscious, vainly searching
  For my noble wife departed."
  Wifeless lived the mourning blacksmith,
  Altered in his form and features;
  Wept one month and then another,
  Wept three months in full succession.
  Then the magic metal-worker
  Gathered gold from deeps of ocean,
  Gathered silver from the mountains,
  Gathered many heaps of birch-wood.
  Filled with faggots thirty sledges,
  Burned the birch-wood into ashes,
  Put the ashes in the furnace,
  Laid the gold upon the embers,
  Lengthwise laid a piece of silver
  Of the size of lambs in autumn,
  Or the fleet-foot hare in winter;
  Places servants at the bellows,
  Thus to melt the magic metals.
  Eagerly the servants labor,
  Gloveless, hatless, do the workmen
  Fan the flames within the furnace.
  Ilmarinen, magic blacksmith,
  Works unceasing at his forging,
  Thus to mould a golden image,
  Mould a bride from gold and silver;
  But the workmen fail their master,
  Faithless stand they at the bellows.
  Wow the artist, Ilmarinen,
  Fans the flame with force of magic,
  Blows one day, and then a second,
  Blows the third from morn till even;
  Then he looks within the furnace,
  Looks around the oven-border,
  Hoping there to see an image
  Rising from the molten metals.
  Comes a lambkin from the furnace,
  Rising from the fire of magic,
  Wearing hair of gold and copper,
  Laced with many threads of silver;
  All rejoice but Ilmarinen
  At the beauty of the image.
  This the language of the blacksmith:
  "May the wolf admire thy graces;
  I desire a bride of beauty
  Born from molten gold and silver!"
  Ilmarinen, the magician,
  To the furnace threw the lambkin;
  Added gold in great abundance,
  And increased the mass of silver,
  Added other magic metals,
  Set the workmen at the bellows;
  Zealously the servants labor,
  Gloveless, hatless, do the workmen
  Fan the flames within the furnace.
  Ilmarinen, wizard-forgeman,
  Works unceasing with his metals,
  Moulding well a golden image,
  Wife of molten gold and silver;
  But the workmen fail their master,
  Faithless do they ply the bellows.
  Now the artist, Ilmarinen,
  Fans the flames by force of magic;
  Blows one day, and then a second,
  Blows a third from morn till evening,
  When he looks within the furnace,
  Looks around the oven-border,
  Hoping there, to see an image
  Rising from the molten metals.
  From the flames a colt arises,
  Golden-maned and silver-headed,
  Hoofs are formed of shining copper.
  All rejoice but Ilmarinen
  At the wonderful creation;
  This the language of the blacksmith;
  "Let the bears admire thy graces;
  I desire a bride of beauty
  Born of many magic metals."
  Thereupon the wonder-forger
  Drives the colt back to the furnace,
  Adds a greater mass of silver,
  And of gold the rightful measure,
  Sets the workmen at the bellows.
  Eagerly the servants labor,
  Gloveless, hatless, do the workmen
  Fan the flames within the furnace.
  Ilmarinen, the magician,
  Works unceasing at his witchcraft,
  Moulding well a golden maiden,
  Bride of molten gold and silver;
  But the workmen fail their master,
  Faithlessly they ply the bellows.
  Now the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Fans the flames with magic powers,
  Blows one day, and then a second,
  Blows a third from morn till even;
  Then he looks within his furnace,
  Looks around the oven-border,
  Trusting there to see a maiden
  Coming from the molten metals.
  From the fire a virgin rises,
  Golden-haired and silver-headed,
  Beautiful in form and feature.
  All are filled with awe and wonder,
  But the artist and magician.
  Ilmarinen, metal-worker,
  Forges nights and days unceasing,
  On the bride of his creation;
  Feet he forges for the maiden,
  Hands and arms, of gold and silver;
  But her feet are not for walking,
  Neither can her arms embrace him.
  Ears he forges for the virgin,
  But her ears are not for hearing;
  Forges her a mouth of beauty,
  Eyes he forges bright and sparkling;
  But the magic mouth is speechless,
  And the eyes are not for seeing.
  Spake the artist, Ilmarinen:
  "This, indeed, a priceless maiden,
  Could she only speak in wisdom,
  Could she breathe the breath of Ukko!"
  Thereupon he lays the virgin
  On his silken couch of slumber,
  On his downy place of resting.
  Ilmarinen heats his bath-room,
  Makes it ready for his service,
  Binds together silken brushes,
  Brings three cans of crystal water,
  Wherewithal to lave the image,
  Lave the golden maid of beauty.
  When this task had been completed,
  Ilmarinen, hoping, trusting,
  Laid his golden bride to slumber,
  On his downy couch of resting;
  Ordered many silken wrappings,
  Ordered bear-skins, three in number,
  Ordered seven lambs-wool blankets,
  Thus to keep him warm in slumber,
  Sleeping by the golden image
  Re had forged from magic metals.
  Warm the side of Ilmarinen
  That was wrapped in furs and blankets;
  Chill the parts beside the maiden,
  By his bride of gold and silver;
  One side warm, the other lifeless,
  Turning into ice from coldness.
  Spake the artist, Ilmarinen:
  "Not for me was born this virgin
  From the magic molten metals;
  I shall take her to Wainola,
  Give her to old Wainamoinen,
  As a bride and life-companion,
  Comfort to him in his dotage."
  Ilmarinen, much disheartened,
  Takes the virgin to Wainola,
  To the plains of Kalevala,
  To his brother speaks as follows:
  "O, thou ancient Wainamoinen,
  Look with favor on this image;
  Make the maiden fair and lovely,
  Beautiful in form and feature,
  Suited to thy years declining!"
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Looked in wonder on the virgin,
  On the golden bride of beauty,
  Spake these words to Ilmarinen:
  "Wherefore dost thou bring this maiden,
  Wherefore bring to Wainamoinen
  Bride of molten gold and silver?
  Spake in answer Ilmarinen:
  "Wherefore should I bring this image,
  But for purposes the noblest?
  I have brought her as companion
  To thy life in years declining,
  As a joy and consolation,
  When thy days are full of trouble!"
  Spake the good, old Wainamoinen:
  "Magic brother, wonder-forger,
  Throw the virgin to the furnace,
  To the flames, thy golden image,
  Forge from her a thousand trinkets.
  Take the image into Ehstland,
  Take her to the plains of Pohya,
  That for her the mighty powers
  May engage in deadly contest,
  Worthy trophy for the victor;
  Not for me this bride of wonder,
  Neither for my worthy people.
  I shall never wed an image
  Born from many magic metals,
  Never wed a silver maiden,
  Never wed a golden virgin."
  Then the hero of the waters
  Called together all his people,
  Spake these words of ancient wisdom:
  "Every child of Northland, listen,
  Whether poor, or fortune-favored:
  Never bow before an image
  Born of molten gold and silver:
  Never while the sunlight brightens,
  Never while the moonlight glimmers,
  Choose a maiden of the metals,
  Choose a bride from gold created
  Cold the lips of golden maiden,
  Silver breathes the breath of sorrow."
 

RUNE XXXVIII
ILMARINEN'S FRUITLESS WOOING

 
  Ilmarinen, the magician,
  The eternal metal-artist,
  Lays aside the golden image,
  Beauteous maid of magic metals;
  Throws the harness on his courser,
  Binds him to his sledge of birch-wood,
  Seats himself upon the cross-bench,
  Snaps the whip above the racer,
  Thinking once again to journey
  To the mansions of Pohyola,
  There to woo a bride in honor,
  Second daughter of the Northland.
  On he journeyed, restless, northward,
  Journeyed one day, then a second,
  So the third from morn till evening,
  When he reached a Northland-village
  On the plains of Sariola.
  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
  Standing in the open court-yard,
  Spied the hero, Ilmarinen,
  Thus addressed the metal-worker:
  "Tell me how my child is living,
  How the Bride of Beauty prospers,
  As a daughter to thy mother."
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Head bent down and brow dejected,
  Thus addressed the Northland hostess:
  "O, thou dame of Sariola,
  Do not ask me of thy daughter,
  Since, alas I in Tuonela
  Sleeps the Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Sleeps in death the Bride, of Beauty,
  Underneath the fragrant heather,
  In the kingdom of Manala.
  Come I for a second daughter,
  For the fairest of thy virgins.
  Beauteous hostess of Pohyola,
  Give to me thy youngest maiden,
  For my former wife's compartments,
  For the chambers of her sister."
  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,
  Spake these words to Ilmarinen:
  "Foolish was the Northland-hostess,
  When she gave her fairest virgin,
  In the bloom of youth and beauty
  To the blacksmith of Wainola,
  Only to be led to Mana,
  Like a lambkin to the slaughter!
  I shall never give my daughter,
  Shall not give my youngest maiden
  Bride of thine to be hereafter,
  Life-companion at thy fireside.
  Sooner would I give the fair one
  To the cataract and whirlpool,
  To the river of Manala,
  To the waters of Tuoni!"
  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
  Drew away his head, disdainful,
  Shook his sable locks in anger,
  Entered to the inner court-room,
  Where the maiden sat in waiting,
  Spake these measures to the daughter:
  "Come with me, thou bright-eyed maiden,
  To the cottage where thy sister
  Lived and lingered in contentment,
  Baked for me the toothsome biscuit,
  Brewed for me the beer of barley,
  Kept my dwelling-place in order."
  On the floor a babe was lying,
  Thus he sang to Ilmarinen:
  "Uninvited, leave this mansion,
  Go, thou stranger, from this dwelling;
  Once before thou camest hither,
  Only bringing pain and trouble,
  Filling all our hearts with sorrow.
  Fairest daughter of my mother,
  Do not give this suitor welcome,
  Look not on his eyes with pleasure,
  Nor admire his form and features.
  In his mouth are only wolf-teeth,
  Cunning fox-claws in his mittens,
  In his shoes art only bear-claws,
  In his belt a hungry dagger;
  Weapons these of blood and murder,
  Only worn by the unworthy."
  Then the daughter spake as follows
  To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen:
  "Follow thee this maid will never,
  Never heed unworthy suitors;
  Thou hast slain the Bride of Beauty,
  Once the Maiden of the Rainbow,
  Thou wouldst also slay her sister.
  I deserve a better suitor,
  Wish a truer, nobler husband,
  Wish to ride in richer sledges,
  Have a better home-protection;
  Never will I sweep the cottage
  And the coal-place of a blacksmith."
  Then the hero, Ilmarinen,
  The eternal metal-artist,
  Turned his head away, disdainful,
  Shook his sable locks in anger,
  Quickly seized the trembling maiden,
  Held her in his grasp of iron,
  Hastened from the court of Louhi
  To his sledge upon the highway.
  In his sleigh he seats the virgin,
  Snugly wraps her in his far-robes,
  Snaps his whip above the racer,
  Gallops on the high-road homeward;
  With one hand the reins be tightens,
  With the other holds the maiden.
  Speaks the virgin-daughter, weeping:
  We have reached the lowland-berries,
  Here the herbs of water-borders;
  Leave me here to sink and perish
  As a child of cold misfortune.
  Wicked Ilmarinen, listen!
  If thou dost not quickly free me,
  I will break thy sledge to pieces,
  Throw thy fur-robes to the north-winds."
  Ilmarinen makes this answer:
  "When the blacksmith builds his snow-sledge,
  All the parts are hooped with iron;
  Therefore will the beauteous maiden
  Never beat my sledge to fragments."
  Then the silver-tinselled daughter
  Wept and wailed in bitter accents,
  Wrung her hands in desperation,
  Spake again to Ilmarinen:
  "If thou dost not quickly free me,
  I shall change to ocean-salmon,
  Be a whiting of the waters."
  "Thou wilt never thus escape me,
  As a pike I'll fleetly follow."
  Then the maiden of Pohyola
  Wept and wailed in bitter accents,
  Wrung her hands in desperation,
  Spake again to Ilmarinen;
  "If thou dost not quickly free me,
  I shall hasten to the forest,
  Mid the rocks become an ermine!"
  "Thou wilt never thus escape me,
  As a serpent I will follow."
  Then the beauty of the Northland,
  Wailed and wept in bitter accents,
  Wrung her hands in desperation,
  Spake once more to Ilmarinen:
  "Surely, if thou dost not free me,
  As a lark I'll fly the ether,
  Hide myself within the storm-clouds."
  "Neither wilt thou thus escape me,
  As an eagle I will follow."
  They had gone but little distance,
  When the courser shied and halted,
  Frighted at some passing object;
  And the maiden looked in wonder,
  In the snow beheld some foot-prints,
  Spake these words to Ilmarinen:
  Who has run across our highway?"
  "'Tis the timid hare", he answered.
  Thereupon the stolen maiden
  Sobbed, and moaned, in deeps of sorrow,
  Heavy-hearted, spake these measures:
  "Woe is me, ill-fated virgin!
  Happier far my life hereafter,
  If the hare I could but follow
  To his burrow in the woodlands!
  Crook-leg's fur to me is finer
  Than the robes of Ilmarinen."
  Ilmarinen, the magician,
  Tossed his head in full resentment,
  Galloped on the highway homeward,
  Travelled but a little distance,
  When again his courser halted,
  Frighted at some passing stranger.
  Quick the maiden looked and wondered,
  In the snow beheld some foot-prints,
  Spake these measures to the blacksmith:
  Who has crossed our snowy pathway?"
  "'Tis a fox", replied the minstrel.
  Thereupon the beauteous virgin
  Moaned again in depths of anguish,
  Sang these accents, heavy-hearted:
  "Woe is me, ill-fated maiden!
  Happier far my life hereafter,
  With the cunning fox to wander,
  Than with this ill-mannered suitor;
  Reynard's fur to me is finer
  Than the robes of Ilmarinen."
  Thereupon the metal-worker
  Shut his lips in sore displeasure,
  Hastened on the highway homeward;
  Travelled but a little distance,
  When again his courser halted.
  Quick the maiden looked in wonder,
  in the snow beheld some foot-prints,
  Spake these words to the magician:
  Who again has crossed our pathway?"
  "'Tis the wolf", said Ilmarinen.
  Thereupon the fated daughter
  Fell again to bitter weeping,
  And Intoned these words of sorrow:
  "Woe is me, a hapless maiden!
  Happier far my life hereafter,
  Brighter far would be my future,
  If these tracks I could but follow;
  On the wolf the hair is finer
  Than the furs of Ilmarinen,
  Faithless suitor of the Northland."
  Then the minstrel of Wainola
  Closed his lips again in anger,
  Shook his sable locks, resentful,
  Snapped the whip above the racer,
  And the steed flew onward swiftly,
  O'er the way to Kalevala,
  To the village of the blacksmith.
  Sad and weary from his journey,
  Ilmarinen, home-returning,
  Fell upon his couch in slumber,
  And the maiden laughed derision.
  In the morning, slowly waking,
  Head confused, and locks dishevelled,
  Spake the wizard, words as follow:
  "Shall I set myself to singing
  Magic songs and incantations?
  Shall I now enchant this maiden
  To a black-wolf on the mountains,
  To a salmon of the ocean?
  Shall not send her to the woodlands,
  All the forest would be frighted;
  Shall not send her to the waters,
  All the fish would flee in terror;
  This my sword shall drink her life-blood,
  End her reign of scorn and hatred."
  Quick the sword feels his intention,
  Quick divines his evil purpose,
  Speaks these words to Ilmarinen:
  "Was not born to drink the life-blood
  Of a maiden pure and lovely,
  Of a fair but helpless virgin."
  Thereupon the magic minstrel,
  Filled with rage, began his singing;
  Sang the very rocks asunder,
  Till the distant hills re-echoed;
  Sang the maiden to a sea-gull,
  Croaking from the ocean-ledges,
  Calling from the ocean-islands,
  Screeching on the sandy sea-coast,
  Flying to the winds opposing.
  When his conjuring had ended,
  Ilmarinen joined his snow-sledge,
  Whipped his steed upon a gallop,
  Hastened to his ancient smithy,
  To his home in Kalevala.
  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,
  Comes to meet him on the highway,
  Speaks these words to the magician:
  "Ilmarinen, worthy brother,
  Wherefore comest heavy-hearted
  From the dismal Sariola?
  Does Pohyola live and prosper?
  Spake the minstrel, Ilmarinen:
  "Why should not Pohyola prosper?
  There the Sampo grinds unceasing,
  Noisy rocks the lid in colors;
  Grinds one day the flour for eating,
  Grinds the second flour for selling,
  Grinds the third day flour for keeping;
  Thus it is Pohyola prospers.
  While the Sampo is in Northland,
  There is plowing, there is sowing,
  There is growth of every virtue,
  There is welfare never-ending."
  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:
  "Ilmarinen, artist-brother,
  Where then is the Northland-daughter,
  Far renowned and beauteous maiden,
  For whose hand thou hast been absent?
  These the words of Ilmarinen:
  "I have changed the hateful virgin
  To a sea-gull on the ocean;
  Now she calls above the waters,
  Screeches from the ocean-islands;
  On the rocks she calls and murmurs
  Vainly calling for a suitor."