Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "What the ransom thou wilt give me If I cease from mine enchantment, If I turn away my magic, Lift thee from thy slough of horror, Loose thee from thy stony prison, Free thee from thy killing torment?"

Answered youthful Youkahainen: "Have at home two magic cross-bows, Pair of bows of wondrous power, One so light a child can bend it, Only strength can bend the other, Take of these the one that pleases."

Then the ancient Wainamoinen: "Do not wish thy magic cross-bows, Have a few of such already, Thine to me are worse than useless I have bows in great abundance, Bows on every nail and rafter, Bows that laugh at all the hunters, Bows that go themselves a-hunting."

Then the ancient Wainamoinen Sang alas! poor Youkahainen Deeper into mud and water, Deeper in the slough of torment.

Youkahainen thus made answer: "Have at home two magic shallops, Beautiful the boats and wondrous; One rides light upon the ocean, One is made for heavy burdens; Take of these the one that pleases."

Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "Do not wish thy magic shallops, Have enough of such already; All my bays are full of shallops, All my sh.o.r.es are lined with shallops, Some before the winds are sailors, Some were built to sail against them."

Still the Wainola bard and minstrel Sings again poor Youkahainen Deeper, deeper into torment, Into quicksand to his girdle, Till the Lapland bard in anguish Speaks again to Wainamoinen: "Have at home two magic stallions, One a racer, fleet as lightning, One was born for heavy burdens; Take of these the one that pleases."

Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "Neither do I wish thy stallions, Do not need thy hawk-limbed stallions, Have enough of these already; Magic stallions swarm my stables, Eating corn at every manger, Broad of back to hold the water, Water on each croup in lakelets."

Still the bard of Kalevala Sings the hapless Lapland minstrel Deeper, deeper into torment, To his shoulders into water.

Spake again young Youkahainen: "O thou ancient Wainamoinen, Thou the only true magician, Cease I pray thee thine enchantment, Only turn away thy magic, I will give thee gold abundant, Countless stores of shining silver; From the wars my father brought it, Brought it from the hard-fought battles."

Spake the wise, old Wainamoinen: "For thy gold I have no longing, Neither do I wish thy silver, Have enough of each already; Gold abundant fills my chambers, On each nail hang bags of silver, Gold that glitters in the sunshine, Silver shining in the moonlight."

Sank the braggart, Youkahainen, Deeper in his slough of torment, To his chin in mud and water, Ever praying, thus beseeching: "O thou ancient Wainamoinen, Greatest of the old magicians, Lift me from this pit of horror, From this prison-house of torture; I will give thee all my corn-fields, Give thee all my corn in garners, Thus my hapless life to ransom, Thus to gain eternal freedom."

Wainamoinen thus made answer: "Take thy corn to other markets, Give thy garners to the needy; I have corn in great abundance, Fields have I in every quarter, Corn in all my fields is growing; One's own fields are always richer, One's own grain is much the sweeter."

Lapland's young and reckless minstrel, Sorrow-laden, thus enchanted, Deeper sinks in mud and water, Fear-enchained and full of anguish, In the mire, his beard bedrabbled, Mouth once boastful filled with sea-weed, In the gra.s.s his teeth entangled, Youkahainen thus beseeches: "O thou ancient Wainamoinen, Wisest of the wisdom-singers, Cease at last thine incantations, Only turn away thy magic, And my former life restore me, Lift me from this stifling torment, Free mine eyes from sand and water, I will give thee sister, Aino, Fairest daughter of my mother, Bride of thine to be forever, Bride of thine to do thy pleasure, Sweep the rooms within thy cottage, Keep thy dwelling-place in order, Rinse for thee the golden platters, Spread thy couch with finest linens, For thy bed, weave golden covers, Bake for thee the honey-biscuit."

Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Finds at last the wished-for ransom, Lapland's young and fairest daughter, Sister dear of Youkahainen; Happy he, that he has won him, In his age a beauteous maiden, Bride of his to be forever, Pride and joy of Kalevala.

Now the happy Wainamoinen, Sits upon the rock of gladness, Joyful on the rock of music, Sings a little, sings and ceases, Sings again, and sings a third time, Thus to break the spell of magic, Thus to lessen the enchantment, Thus the potent charm to banish.

As the magic spell is broken, Youkahainen, sad, but wiser, Drags his feet from out the quicksand, Lifts his beard from out the water, From the rocks leads forth his courser, Brings his sledge back from the rushes, Calls his whip back from the ocean, Sets his golden sledge in order, Throws himself upon the cross-bench, Snaps his whip and hies him homeward, Hastens homeward, heavy-hearted, Sad indeed to meet his mother, Aino's mother, gray and aged.

Careless thus be hastens homeward, Nears his home with noise and bustle, Reckless drives against the pent-house, Breaks the shafts against the portals, Breaks his handsome sledge in pieces.

Then his mother, quickly guessing, Would have chided him for rashness, But the father interrupted: "Wherefore dost thou break thy snow-sledge, Wherefore dash thy thills in fragments, Wherefore comest home so strangely, Why this rude and wild behavior?"

Now alas! poor Youkahainen, Cap awry upon his forehead, Falls to weeping, broken-hearted, Head depressed and mind dejected, Eyes and lips expressing sadness, Answers not his anxious father.

Then the mother quickly asked him, Sought to find his cause for sorrow: "Tell me, first-born, why thou weepest, Why thou weepest, heavy-hearted, Why thy mind is so dejected, Why thine eyes express such sadness."

Youkahainen then made answer: "Golden mother, ever faithful, Cause there is to me sufficient, Cause enough in what has happened, Bitter cause for this my sorrow, Cause for bitter tears and murmurs: All my days will pa.s.s unhappy, Since, O mother of my being, I have promised beauteous Aino, Aino, thy beloved daughter, Aino, my devoted sister, To decrepit Wainamoinen, Bride to be to him forever, Roof above him, prop beneath him, Fair companion at his fire-side."

Joyful then arose the mother, Clapped her hands in glee together, Thus addressing Youkahainen: "Weep no more, my son beloved, Thou hast naught to cause thy weeping, Hast no reason for thy sorrow, Often I this hope have cherished; Many years have I been praying That this mighty bard and hero, Wise and valiant Wainamoinen, Spouse should be to beauteous Aino, Son-in-law to me, her mother."

But the fair and lovely maiden, Sister dear of Youkahainen, Straightway fell to bitter weeping, On the threshold wept and lingered, Wept all day and all the night long, Wept a second, then a third day, Wept because a bitter sorrow On her youthful heart had fallen.

Then the gray-haired mother asked her: "Why this weeping, lovely Aino?

Thou hast found a n.o.ble suitor, Thou wilt rule his s.p.a.cious dwelling, At his window sit and rest thee, Rinse betimes his golden platters, Walk a queen within his dwelling."

Thus replied the tearful Aino: "Mother dear, and all-forgiving, Cause enough for this my sorrow, Cause enough for bitter weeping: I must loose my sunny tresses, Tresses beautiful and golden, Cannot deck my hair with jewels, Cannot bind my head with ribbons, All to be hereafter hidden Underneath the linen bonnet That the wife. must wear forever; Weep at morning, weep at evening, Weep alas! for waning beauty, Childhood vanished, youth departed, Silver sunshine, golden moonlight, Hope and pleasure of my childhood, Taken from me now forever, And so soon to be forgotten At the tool-bench of my brother, At the window of my sister, In the cottage of my father."

Spake again the gray-haired mother To her wailing daughter Aino: "Cease thy sorrow, foolish maiden, By thy tears thou art ungrateful, Reason none for thy repining, Not the slightest cause for weeping; Everywhere the silver sunshine Falls as bright on other households; Not alone the moonlight glimmers Through thy father's open windows, On the work-bench of thy brother; Flowers bloom in every meadow, Berries grow on every mountain; Thou canst go thyself and find them, All the day long go and find them; Not alone thy brother's meadows Grow the beauteous vines and flowers; Not alone thy father's mountains Yield the ripe, nutritious berries; Flowers bloom in other meadows, Berries grow on other mountains, There as here, my lovely Aino."

RUNE IV.

THE FATE OF AINO.

When the night had pa.s.sed, the maiden, Sister fair of Youkahainen, Hastened early to the forest, Birchen shoots for brooms to gather, Went to gather birchen ta.s.sels; Bound a bundle for her father, Bound a birch-broom for her mother, Silken ta.s.sels for her sister.

Straightway then she hastened homeward, By a foot-path left the forest; As she neared the woodland border, Lo! the ancient Wainamoinen, Quickly spying out the maiden, As she left the birchen woodland, Trimly dressed in costly raiment, And the minstrel thus addressed her: "Aino, beauty of the Northland, Wear not, lovely maid, for others, Only wear for me, sweet maiden, Golden cross upon thy bosom, Shining pearls upon thy shoulders; Bind for me thine auburn tresses, Wear for me thy golden braidlets."

Thus the maiden quickly answered: "Not for thee and not for others, Hang I from my neck the crosslet, Deck my hair with silken ribbons; Need no more the many trinkets Brought to me by ship or shallop; Sooner wear the simplest raiment, Feed upon the barley bread-crust, Dwell forever with my mother In the cabin with my father."

Then she threw the gold cross from her, Tore the jewels from her fingers, Quickly loosed her shining necklace, Quick untied her silken ribbons, Cast them all away indignant Into forest ferns and flowers.

Thereupon the maiden, Aino, Hastened to her mother's cottage.

At the window sat her father Whittling on an oaken ax-helve: "Wherefore weepest, beauteous Aino, Aino, my beloved daughter?

"Cause enough for weeping, father, Good the reasons for my mourning, This, the reason for my weeping, This, the cause of all my sorrow: From my breast I tore the crosslet, From my belt, the clasp of copper, From my waist, the belt of silver, Golden was my pretty crosslet."

Near the door-way sat her brother, Carving out a birchen ox-bow: "Why art weeping, lovely Aino, Aino, my devoted sister?"

"Cause enough for weeping, brother, Good the reasons for my mourning Therefore come I as thou seest, Rings no longer on my fingers, On my neck no pretty necklace; Golden were the rings thou gavest, And the necklace, pearls and silver!"

On the threshold sat her sister, Weaving her a golden girdle: "Why art weeping, beauteous Aino, Aino, my beloved sister?"

"Cause enough for weeping, sister, Good the reasons for my sorrow: Therefore come I as thou seest, On my head no scarlet fillet, In my hair no braids of silver, On mine arms no purple ribbons, Round my neck no shining necklace, On my breast no golden crosslet, In mine ears no golden ear-rings."

Near the door-way of the dairy, Skimming cream, sat Aino's mother.

"Why art weeping, lovely Aino, Aino, my devoted daughter?"

Thus the sobbing maiden answered; "Loving mother, all-forgiving, Cause enough for this my weeping, Good the reasons for my sorrow, Therefore do I weep, dear mother: I have been within the forest, Brooms to bind and shoots to gather, There to pluck some birchen ta.s.sels; Bound a bundle for my father, Bound a second for my mother, Bound a third one for my brother, For my sister silken ta.s.sels.

Straightway then I hastened homeward, By a foot-path left the forest; As I reached the woodland border Spake Osmoinen from the cornfield, Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: 'Wear not, beauteous maid, for others, Only wear for me, sweet maiden, On thy breast a golden crosslet, Shining pearls upon thy shoulders, Bind for me thine auburn tresses, Weave for me thy silver braidlets.'

Then I threw the gold-cross from me, Tore the jewels from my fingers, Quickly loosed my shining necklace, Quick untied my silken ribbons, Cast them all away indignant, Into forest ferns and flowers.

Then I thus addressed the singer: 'Not for thee and not for others, Hang I from my neck the crosslet, Deck my hair with silken ribbons; Need no more the many trinkets, Brought to me by ship and shallop; Sooner wear the simplest raiment, Feed upon the barley bread-crust, Dwell forever with my mother In the cabin with my father.'"

Thus the gray-haired mother answered Aino, her beloved daughter: "Weep no more, my lovely maiden, Waste no more of thy sweet young-life; One year eat thou my sweet b.u.t.ter, It will make thee strong and ruddy; Eat another year fresh bacon, It will make thee tall and queenly; Eat a third year only dainties, It will make thee fair and lovely.

Now make haste to yonder hill-top, To the store-house on the mountain, Open there the large compartment, Thou will find it filled with boxes, Chests and cases, trunks and boxes; Open thou the box, the largest, Lift away the gaudy cover, Thou will find six golden girdles, Seven rainbow-tinted dresses, Woven by the Moon's fair daughters, Fashioned by the Sun's sweet virgins.

In my young years once I wandered, As a maiden on the mountains, In the happy days of childhood, Hunting berries in the coppice; There by chance I heard the daughters Of the Moon as they were weaving; There I also heard the daughters Of the Sun as they were spinning On the red rims of the cloudlets, O'er the blue edge of the forest, On the border of the pine-wood, On a high and distant mountain.

I approached them, drawing nearer, Stole myself within their hearing, Then began I to entreat them, Thus besought them, gently pleading: 'Give thy silver, Moon's fair daughters, To a poor, but worthy maiden; Give thy gold, O Sun's sweet virgins, To this maiden, young and needy.'

Thereupon the Moon's fair daughters Gave me silver from their coffers; And the Sun's sweet shining virgins Gave me gold from their abundance, Gold to deck my throbbing temples, For my hair the shining silver.

Then I hastened joyful homeward, Richly laden with my treasures, Happy to my mother's cottage; Wore them one day, than a second, Then a third day also wore them, Took the gold then from my temples, From my hair I took the silver, Careful laid them in their boxes, Many seasons have they lain there, Have not seen them since my childhood.

Deck thy brow with silken ribbon, Trim with gold thy throbbing temples, And thy neck with pearly necklace, Hang the gold-cross on thy bosom, Robe thyself in pure, white linen Spun from flax of finest fiber; Wear withal the richest short-frock, Fasten it with golden girdle; On thy feet, put silken stockings, With the shoes of finest leather; Deck thy hair with golden braidlets, Bind it well with threads of silver; Trim with rings thy fairy fingers, And thy hands with dainty ruffles; Come bedecked then to thy chamber, Thus return to this thy household, To the greeting of thy kindred, To the joy of all that know thee, Flushed thy cheeks as ruddy berries, Coming as thy father's sunbeam, Walking beautiful and queenly, Far more beautiful than moonlight."

Thus she spake to weeping Aino, Thus the mother to her daughter; But the maiden, little bearing, Does not heed her mother's wishes; Straightway hastens to the court-yard, There to weep in bitter sorrow, All alone to weep in anguish.

Waiting long the wailing Aino Thus at last soliloquizes: "Unto what can I now liken Happy homes and joys of fortune?

Like the waters in the river, Like the waves in yonder lakelet, Like the crystal waters flowing.

Unto what, the biting sorrow Of the child of cold misfortune?

Like the spirit of the sea-duck, Like the icicle in winter, Water in the well imprisoned.

Often roamed my mind in childhood, When a maiden free and merry, Happily through fen and fallow, Gamboled on the meads with lambkins, Lingered with the ferns and flowers, Knowing neither pain nor trouble; Now my mind is filled with sorrow, Wanders though the bog and stubble, Wanders weary through the brambles, Roams throughout the dismal forest, Till my life is filled with darkness, And my spirit white with anguish.

Better had it been for Aino Had she never seen the sunlight, Or if born had died an infant, Had not lived to be a maiden In these days of sin and sorrow, Underneath a star so luckless.

Better had it been for Aino, Had she died upon the eighth day After seven nights had vanished; Needed then but little linen, Needed but a little coffin, And a grave of smallest measure; Mother would have mourned a little, Father too perhaps a trifle, Sister would have wept the day through, Brother might have shed a tear-drop, Thus had ended all the mourning."

Thus poor Aino wept and murmured, Wept one day, and then a second, Wept a third from morn till even, When again her mother asked her: "Why this weeping, fairest daughter, Darling daughter, why this grieving?

Thus the tearful maiden answered: Therefore do I weep and sorrow, Wretched maiden all my life long, Since poor Aino, thou hast given, Since thy daughter thou hast promised To the aged Wainamoinen, Comfort to his years declining Prop to stay him when he totters, In the storm a roof above him, In his home a cloak around him; Better far if thou hadst sent me Far below the salt-sea surges, To become the whiting's sister, And the friend of perch and salmon; Better far to ride the billows, Swim the sea-foam as a mermaid, And the friend of nimble fishes, Than to be an old man's solace, Prop to stay him when be totters, Hand to aid him when he trembles, Arm to guide him when he falters, Strength to give him when he weakens; Better be the whiting's sister And the friend of perch and salmon, Than an old man's slave and darling."

Ending thus she left her mother, Straightway hastened to the mountain?

To the store-house on the summit, Opened there the box the largest, From the box six lids she lifted, Found therein six golden girdles, Silken dresses seven in number.

Choosing such as pleased her fancy, She adorned herself as bidden, Robed herself to look her fairest, Gold upon her throbbing temples, In her hair the shining silver, On her shoulders purple ribbons, Band of blue around her forehead, Golden cross, and rings, and jewels, Fitting ornaments to beauty.

Now she leaves her many treasures, Leaves the store-house on the mountain, Filled with gold and silver trinkets, Wanders over field and meadow, Over stone-fields waste and barren, Wanders on through fen and forest, Through the forest vast and cheerless, Wanders. .h.i.ther, wanders thither, Singing careless as she wanders, This her mournful song and echo: "Woe is me, my life hard-fated!

Woe to Aino, broken-hearted!

Torture racks my heart and temples, Yet the sting would not be deeper, Nor the pain and anguish greater, If beneath this weight of sorrow, In my saddened heart's dejection, I should yield my life forever, Now unhappy, I should perish!

Lo! the time has come for Aino From this cruel world to hasten, To the kingdom of Tuoni, To the realm of the departed, To the isle of the hereafter.

Weep no more for me, O Father, Mother dear, withhold thy censure, Lovely sister, dry thine eyelids, Do not mourn me, dearest brother, When I sink beneath the sea-foam, Make my home in salmon-grottoes, Make my bed in crystal waters, Water-ferns my couch and pillow."

All day long poor Aino wandered, All the next day, sad and weary, So the third from morn till evening, Till the cruel night enwrapped her, As she reached the sandy margin, Reached the cold and dismal sea-sh.o.r.e, Sat upon the rock of sorrow, Sat alone in cold and darkness, Listened only to the music Of the winds and rolling billows, Singing all the dirge of Aino.

All that night the weary maiden Wept and wandered on the border Through the sand and sea-washed pebbles.

As the day dawns, looking round her, She beholds three water-maidens, On a headland jutting seaward, Water-maidens four in number, Sitting on the wave-lashed ledges, Swimming now upon the billows, Now upon the rocks reposing.

Quick the weeping maiden, Aino, Hastens there to join the mermaids, Fairy maidens of the waters.

Weeping Aino, now disrobing, Lays aside with care her garments, Hangs her silk robes on the alders, Drops her gold-cross on the sea-sh.o.r.e, On the aspen hangs her ribbons, On the rocks her silken stockings, On the gra.s.s her shoes of deer-skin, In the sand her shining necklace, With her rings and other jewels.

Out at sea a goodly distance, Stood a rock of rainbow colors, Glittering in silver sunlight.

Toward it springs the hapless maiden, Thither swims the lovely Aino, Up the standing-stone has clambered, Wishing there to rest a moment, Rest upon the rock of beauty; When upon a sudden swaying To and fro among the billows, With a crash and roar of waters Falls the stone of many colors, Falls upon the very bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea.

With the stone of rainbow colors, Falls the weeping maiden, Aino, Clinging to its craggy edges, Sinking far below the surface, To the bottom of the blue-sea.

Thus the weeping maiden vanished.

Thus poor Aino sank and perished, Singing as the stone descended, Chanting thus as she departed: Once to swim I sought the sea-side, There to sport among the billows; With the stone or many colors Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Like a pretty son-bird. perished.

Never come a-fishing, father, To the borders of these waters, Never during all thy life-time, As thou lovest daughter Aino.

"Mother dear, I sought the sea-side, There to sport among the billows; With the stone of many colors, Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Like a pretty song-bird perished.

Never mix thy bread, dear mother, With the blue-sea's foam and waters, Never during all thy life-time, As thou lovest daughter Aino.

Brother dear, I sought the sea-side, There to sport among the billows; With the stone of many colors Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Like a pretty song-bird perished.

Never bring thy prancing war-horse, Never bring thy royal racer, Never bring thy steeds to water, To the borders of the blue-sea, Never during all thy life-time, As thou lovest sister Aino.

"Sister dear, I sought the sea-side, There to sport among the billows; With the stone of many colors Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Like a pretty song-bird perished.

Never come to lave thine eyelids In this rolling wave and sea-foam, Never during all thy life-time, As thou lovest sister Aino.

All the waters in the blue-sea Shall be blood of Aino's body; All the fish that swim these waters Shall be Aino's flesh forever; All the willows on the sea-side Shall be Aino's ribs hereafter; All the sea-gra.s.s on the margin Will have grown from Aino's tresses."

Thus at last the maiden vanished, Thus the lovely Aino perished.