Once thou wert of little value, Having neither form nor beauty, Neither strength nor great importance, When in form of milk thou rested, When for ages thou wert hidden In the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of G.o.d's three daughters, Hidden in their heaving bosoms, On the borders of the cloudlets, In the blue vault of the heavens.

"Thou wert once of little value, Having neither form nor beauty, Neither strength nor great importance, When like water thou wert resting On the broad back of the marshes, On the steep declines of mountains, When thou wert but formless matter, Only dust of rusty color.

"Surely thou wert void of greatness, Having neither strength nor beauty, When the moose was trampling on thee, When the roebuck trod upon thee, When the tracks of wolves were in thee, And the bear-paws scratched thy body.

Surely thou hadst little value When the skilful Ilmarinen, First of all the iron-workers, Brought thee from the blackened swamp-lands, Took thee to his ancient smithy, Placed thee in his fiery furnace.

Truly thou hadst little vigor, Little strength, and little danger, When thou in the fire wert hissing, Rolling forth like seething water, From the furnace of the smithy, When thou gavest oath the strongest, By the furnace, by the anvil, By the tongs, and by the hammer, By the dwelling of the blacksmith, By the fire within the furnace.

"Now forsooth thou hast grown mighty, Thou canst rage in wildest fury; Thou hast broken all thy pledges, All thy solemn vows hast broken, Like the dogs thou shamest honor, Shamest both thyself and kindred, Tainted all with breath of evil.

Tell who drove thee to this mischief, Tell who taught thee all thy malice, Tell who gavest thee thine evil!

Did thy father, or thy mother, Did the eldest of thy brothers, Did the youngest of thy sisters, Did the worst of all thy kindred Give to thee thine evil nature?

Not thy father, nor thy mother, Not the eldest of thy brothers, Not the youngest of thy sisters, Not the worst of all thy kindred, But thyself hast done this mischief, Thou the cause of all our trouble.

Come and view thine evil doings, And amend this flood of damage, Ere I tell thy gray-haired mother, Ere I tell thine aged father.

Great indeed a mother's anguish, Great indeed a father's sorrow, When a son does something evil, When a child runs wild and lawless.

"Crimson streamlet, cease thy flowing From the wounds of Wainamoinen; Blood of ages, stop thy coursing From the veins of the magician; Stand like heaven's crystal pillars, Stand like columns in the ocean, Stand like birch-trees in the forest, Like the tall reeds in the marshes, Like the high-rocks on the sea-coast, Stand by power of mighty magic!

"Should perforce thy will impel thee, Flow thou on thine endless circuit, Through the veins of Wainamoinen, Through the bones, and through the muscles, Through the lungs, and heart, and liver, Of the mighty sage and singer; Better be the food of heroes, Than to waste thy strength and virtue On the meadows and the woodlands, And be lost in dust and ashes.

Flow forever in thy circle; Thou must cease this crimson out-flow; Stain no more the gra.s.s and flowers, Stain no more these golden hill-tops, Pride and beauty of our heroes.

In the veins of the magician, In the heart of Wainamoinen, Is thy rightful home and storehouse.

Thither now withdraw thy forces, Thither hasten, swiftly flowing; Flow no more as crimson currents, Fill no longer crimson lakelets, Must not rush like brooks in spring-tide, Nor meander like the rivers.

"Cease thy flow, by word of magic, Cease as did the falls of Tyrya, As the rivers of Tuoni, When the sky withheld her rain-drops, When the sea gave up her waters, In the famine of the seasons, In the years of fire and torture.

If thou heedest not this order, I shall offer other measures, Know I well of other forces; I shall call the Hisi irons, In them I shall boil and roast thee, Thus to check thy crimson flowing, Thus to save the wounded hero.

"If these means be inefficient, Should these measures prove unworthy, I shall call omniscient Ukko, Mightiest of the creators, Stronger than all ancient heroes, Wiser than the world-magicians; He will check the crimson out-flow, He will heal this wound of hatchet.

"Ukko, G.o.d of love and mercy, G.o.d and Master Of the heavens, Come thou hither, thou art needed, Come thou quickly I beseech thee, Lend thy hand to aid thy children, Touch this wound with healing fingers, Stop this hero's streaming life-blood, Bind this wound with tender leaflets, Mingle with them healing flowers, Thus to check this crimson current, Thus to save this great magician, Save the life of Wainamoinen."

Thus at last the blood-stream ended, As the magic words were spoken.

Then the gray-beard, much rejoicing, Sent his young son to the smithy, There to make a healing balsam, From the herbs of tender fibre, From the healing plants and flowers, From the stalks secreting honey, From the roots, and leaves, and blossoms.

On the way he meets an oak-tree, And the oak the son addresses: "Hast thou honey in thy branches, Does thy sap run full of sweetness?"

Thus the oak-tree wisely answers: "Yea, but last night dripped the honey Down upon my spreading branches, And the clouds their fragrance sifted, Sifted honey on my leaflets, From their home within the heavens."

Then the son takes oak-wood splinters, Takes the youngest oak-tree branches, Gathers many healing gra.s.ses, Gathers many herbs and flowers, Rarest herbs that grow in Northland, Places them within the furnace In a kettle made of copper; Lets them steep and boil together, Bits of bark chipped from the oak-tree, Many herbs of healing virtues; Steeps them one day, then a second, Three long days of summer weather, Days and nights in quick succession; Then he tries his magic balsam, Looks to see if it is ready, If his remedy is finished; But the balsam is unworthy.

Then he added other gra.s.ses, Herbs of every healing virtue, That were brought from distant nations, Many hundred leagues from Northland, Gathered by the wisest minstrels, Thither brought by nine enchanters.

Three days more be steeped the balsam, Three nights more the fire be tended, Nine the days and nights be watched it, Then again be tried the ointment, Viewed it carefully and tested, Found at last that it was ready, Found the magic balm was finished.

Near by stood a branching birch-tree.

On the border of the meadow, Wickedly it had been broken, Broken down by evil Hisi; Quick he takes his balm of healing, And anoints the broken branches, Rubs the balsam in the fractures, Thus addresses then the birch-tree: "With this balsam I anoint thee, With this salve thy wounds I cover, Cover well thine injured places; Now the birch-tree shall recover, Grow more beautiful than ever."

True, the birch-tree soon recovered, Grew more beautiful than ever, Grew more uniform its branches, And its bole more strong and stately.

Thus it was be tried the balsam, Thus the magic salve he tested, Touched with it the splintered sandstone, Touched the broken blocks of granite, Touched the fissures in the mountains, And the broken parts united, All the fragments grew together.

Then the young boy quick returning With the balsam he had finished, To the gray-beard gave the ointment, And the boy these measures uttered "Here I bring the balm of healing, Wonderful the salve I bring thee; It will join the broken granite, Make the fragments grow together, Heat the fissures in the mountains, And restore the injured birch-tree."

With his tongue the old man tested, Tested thus the magic balsam, Found the remedy effective, Found the balm had magic virtues; Then anointed he the minstrel, Touched the wounds of Wainamoinen, Touched them with his magic balsam, With the balm of many virtues; Speaking words of ancient wisdom, These the words the gray-beard uttered: "Do not walk in thine own virtue, Do not work in thine own power, Walk in strength of thy Creator; Do not speak in thine own wisdom, Speak with tongue of mighty Ukko.

In my mouth, if there be sweetness, It has come from my Creator; If my bands are filled with beauty, All the beauty comes from Ukko."

When the wounds had been anointed, When the magic salve had touched them, Straightway ancient Wainamoinen Suffered fearful pain and anguish, Sank upon the floor in torment, Turning one way, then another, Sought for rest and found it nowhere, Till his pain the gray-beard banished, Banished by the aid of magic, Drove away his killing torment To the court of all our trouble, To the highest hill of torture, To the distant rocks and ledges, To the evil-bearing mountains, To the realm of wicked Hisi.

Then be took some silken fabric, Quick he tore the silk asunder, Making equal strips for wrapping, Tied the ends with silken ribbons, Making thus a healing bandage; Then he wrapped with skilful fingers Wainamoinen's knee and ankle, Wrapped the wounds of the magician, And this prayer the gray-beard uttered "Ukko's fabric is the bandage, Ukko's science is the surgeon, These have served the wounded hero, Wrapped the wounds of the magician.

Look upon us, G.o.d of mercy, Come and guard us, kind Creator, And protect us from all evil!

Guide our feet lest they may stumble, Guard our lives from every danger, From the wicked wilds of Hisi."

Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Felt the mighty aid of magic, Felt the help of gracious Ukko, Straightway stronger grew in body, Straightway were the wounds united, Quick the fearful pain departed.

Strong and hardy grew the hero, Straightway walked in perfect freedom, Turned his knee in all directions, Knowing neither pain nor trouble.

Then the ancient Wainamoinen Raised his eyes to high Jumala, Looked with grat.i.tude to heaven, Looked on high, in joy and gladness, Then addressed omniscient Ukko, This the prayer the minstrel uttered: "O be praised, thou G.o.d of mercy, Let me praise thee, my Creator, Since thou gavest me a.s.sistance, And vouchsafed me thy protection, Healed my wounds and stilled mine anguish, Banished all my pain and trouble, Caused by Iron and by Hisi.

O, ye people of Wainola, People of this generation, And the folk of future ages, Fashion not in emulation, River boat, nor ocean shallop, Boasting of its fine appearance, G.o.d alone can work completion, Give to cause its perfect ending, Never hand of man can find it, Never can the hero give it, Ukko is the only Master."

RUNE X.

ILMARINEN FORGES THE SAMPO.

Wainamoinen, the magician, Takes his steed of copper color, Hitches quick his fleet-foot courser, Puts his racer to the snow-sledge, Straightway springs upon the cross-seat, Snaps his whip adorned with jewels.

Like the winds the steed flies onward, Like a lightning flash, the racer Makes the snow-sledge creak and rattle, Makes the highway quickly vanish, Dashes on through fen and forest, Over hills and through the valleys, Over marshes, over mountains, Over fertile plains and meadows; Journeys one day, then a second, So a third from morn till evening, Till the third day evening brings him To the endless bridge of Osmo, To the Osmo-fields and pastures, To the plains of Kalevala; When the hero spake as follows: "May the wolves devour the dreamer, Eat the Laplander for dinner, May disease destroy the braggart, Him who said that I should never See again my much-loved home-land, Nevermore behold my kindred, Never during all my life-time, Never while the sunshine brightens, Never while the moonlight glimmers On the meadows of Wainola, On the plains of Kalevala."

Then began old Wainamoinen, Ancient bard and famous singer, To renew his incantations; Sang aloft a wondrous pine-tree, Till it pierced the clouds in growing With its golden top and branches, Till it touched the very heavens, Spread its branches in the ether, In the ever-shining sunlight.

Now he sings again enchanting, Sings the Moon to shine forever In the fir-tree's emerald branches; In its top he sings the Great Bear.

Then be quickly journeys homeward, Hastens to his golden portals, Head awry and visage wrinkled, Crooked cap upon his forehead, Since as ransom he had promised Ilmarinen, magic artist, Thus to save his life from torture On the distant fields of Northland In the dismal Sariola.

When his stallion he had halted On the Osmo-field and meadow, Quickly rising in his snow-sledge, The magician heard one knocking, Breaking coal within the smithy, Beating with a heavy hammer.

Wainamoinen, famous minstrel, Entering the smithy straightway, Found the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Knocking with his copper hammer.

Ilmarinen spake as follows: "Welcome, brother Wainamoinen, Old and worthy Wainamoinen!

Why so long hast thou been absent, Where hast thou so long been hiding?"

Wainamoinen then made answer, These the words of the magician: "Long indeed have I been living, Many dreary days have wandered, Many cheerless nights have lingered, Floating on the cruel ocean, Weeping in the fens and woodlands Of the never-pleasant Northland, In the dismal Sariola; With the Laplanders I've wandered, With the people filled with witchcraft."

Promptly answers Ilmarinen, These the words the blacksmith uses: "O thou ancient Wainamoinen, Famous and eternal singer, Tell me of thy journey northward, Of thy wanderings in Lapland, Of thy dismal journey homeward."

Spake the minstrel, Wainamoinen: "I have much to tell thee, brother, Listen to my wondrous story: In the Northland lives a virgin, In a village there, a maiden, That will not accept a lover, That a hero's hand refuses, That a wizard's heart disdaineth; All of Northland sings her praises, Sings her worth and magic beauty, Fairest maiden of Pohyola, Daughter of the earth and ocean.

From her temples beams the moonlight, From her breast, the gleam of sunshine, From her forehead shines the rainbow, On her neck, the seven starlets, And the Great Bear from her shoulder.

"Ilmarinen, worthy brother, Thou the only skilful blacksmith, Go and see her wondrous beauty, See her gold and silver garments, See her robed in finest raiment, See her sitting on the rainbow, Walking on the clouds of purple.

Forge for her the magic Sampo, Forge the lid in many colors, Thy reward shall be the virgin, Thou shalt win this bride of beauty; Go and bring the lovely maiden To thy home in Kalevala."

Spake the brother, Ilmarinen: O thou cunning Wainamoinen, Thou hast promised me already To the ever-darksome Northland, Thy devoted head to ransom, Thus to rescue thee from trouble.

I shall never visit Northland, Shall not go to see thy maiden, Do not love the Bride of Beauty; Never while the moonlight glimmers, Shall I go to dreary Pohya, To the plains of Sariola, Where the people eat each other, Sink their heroes in the ocean, Not for all the maids of Lapland."

Spake the brother, Wainamoinen: "I can tell thee greater wonders, Listen to my wondrous story: I have seen the fir-tree blossom, Seen its flowers with emerald branches, On the Osmo-fields and woodlands; In its top, there shines the moonlight, And the Bear lives in its branches."

Ilmarinen thus made answer: "I cannot believe thy story, Cannot trust thy tale of wonder, Till I see the blooming fir-tree, With its many emerald branches, With its Bear and golden moonlight."

This is Wainamoinen's answer: "Wilt thou not believe my story?

Come with me and I will show thee If my lips speak fact or fiction."

Quick they journey to discover, Haste to view the wondrous fir-tree; Wainamoinen leads the journey, Ilmarinen closely follows.

As they near the Os...o...b..rders, Ilmarinen hastens forward That be may behold the wonder, Spies the Bear Within the fir-top, Sitting on its emerald branches, Spies the gleam of golden moonlight.

Spake the ancient Wainamoinen, These the words the singer uttered: Climb this tree, dear Ilmarinen, And bring down the golden moonbeams, Bring the Moon and Bear down with thee From the fir-tree's lofty branches."

Ilmarinen, full consenting, Straightway climbed the golden fir-tree, High upon the bow of heaven, Thence to bring the golden moonbeams, Thence to bring the Bear of heaven, From the fir-tree's topmost branches.

Thereupon the blooming fir-tree Spake these words to Ilmarinen: "O thou senseless, thoughtless hero, Thou hast neither wit nor instinct; Thou dost climb my golden branches, Like a thing of little judgment, Thus to get my pictured moonbeams, Take away my silver starlight, Steal my Bear and blooming branches."

Quick as thought old Wainamoinen Sang again in magic accents, Sang a storm-wind in the heavens, Sang the wild winds into fury, And the singer spake as follows: 'Take, O storm-wind, take the forgeman, Carry him within thy vessel, Quickly hence, and land the hero On the ever-darksome Northland, On the dismal Sariola."

Now the storm-wind quickly darkens, Quickly piles the air together, Makes of air a sailing vessel, Takes the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Fleetly from the fir-tree branches, Toward the never-pleasant Northland, Toward the dismal Sariola.

Through the air sailed Ilmarinen, Fast and far the hero travelled, Sweeping onward, sailing northward, Riding in the track of storm-winds, O'er the Moon, beneath the sunshine, On the broad back of the Great Bear, Till he neared Pohyola's woodlands, Neared the homes of Sariola, And alighted undiscovered, Was Dot noticed by the hunters, Was not scented by the watch-dogs.

Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Ancient, toothless dame of Northland, Standing in the open court-yard, Thus addresses Ilmarinen, As she spies the hero-stranger: "Who art thou of ancient heroes, Who of all the host of heroes, Coming here upon the storm-wind, O'er the sledge-path of the ether, Scented not by Pohya's watch-dogs?

This is Ilmarinen's answer: "I have surely not come hither To be barked at by the watch-dogs, At these unfamiliar portals, At the gates of Sariola."

Thereupon the Northland hostess Asks again the hero-stranger: "Hast thou ever been acquainted With the blacksmith of Wainola, With the hero, Ilmarinen, With the skilful smith and artist?

Long I've waited for his coming, Long this one has been expected, On the borders of the Northland, Here to forge for me the Sampo."

Spake the hero, Ilmarinen: "Well indeed am I acquainted With the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, I myself am Ilmarinen, I, the skilful smith and artist."

Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Toothless dame of Sariola, Straightway rushes to her dwelling, These the words that Louhi utters: "Come, thou youngest of my daughters, Come, thou fairest of my maidens, Dress thyself in finest raiment, Deck thy hair with rarest jewels, Pearls upon thy swelling bosom, On thy neck, a golden necklace, Bind thy head with silken ribbons, Make thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy, And thy visage fair and winsome, Since the artist, Ilmarinen, Hither comes from Kalevala, Here to forge for us the Sampo, Hammer us the lid in colors."

Now the daughter of the Northland, Honored by the land and water, Straightway takes her choicest raiment, Takes her dresses rich in beauty, Finest of her silken wardrobe, Now adjusts her silken fillet, On her brow a band of copper, Round her waist a golden girdle, Round her neck a pearly necklace, Shining gold upon her bosom, In her hair the threads of silver.

From her dressing-room she hastens, To the hall she bastes and listens, Full of beauty, full of joyance, Ears erect and eyes bright-beaming, Ruddy cheeks and charming visage, Waiting for the hero-stranger.

Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Leads the hero, Ilmarinen, To her dwelling-rooms in Northland, To her home in Sariola, Seats him at her well-filled table, Gives to him the finest viands, Gives him every needed comfort, Then addresses him as follows: "O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Master of the forge and smithy, Canst thou forge for me the Sampo, Hammer me the lid in colors, From the tips of white-swan feathers, From the milk of greatest virtue, From a single grain of barley, From the finest wool of lambkins?

Thou shalt have my fairest daughter, Recompense for this thy service."

These the words of Ilmarinen: "I will forge for thee the Sampo, Hammer thee the lid in colors, From the tips of white-swan feathers, From the milk of greatest virtue, From a single grain of barley, From the finest wool of lambkins?

Since I forged the arch of heaven, Forged the air a concave cover, Ere the earth had a beginning."

Thereupon the magic blacksmith Went to forge the wondrous Sampo, Went to find a blacksmith's workshop, Went to find the tools to work with; But he found no place for forging, Found no smithy, found no bellows, Found no chimney, found no anvil, Found no tongs, and found no hammer.

Then the-artist, Ilmarinen.

Spake these words, soliloquizing: "Only women grow discouraged, Only knaves leave work unfinished, Not the devils, nor the heroes, Nor the G.o.ds of greater knowledge."

Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Sought a place to build a smithy, Sought a place to plant a bellows, On the borders of the Northland, On the Pohya-hills and meadows; Searched one day, and then a second; Ere the evening of the third day, Came a rock within his vision, Came a stone with rainbow-colors.

There the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Set at work to build his smithy, Built a fire and raised a chimney; On the next day laid his bellows, On the third day built his furnace, And began to forge the Sampo.

The eternal magic artist, Ancient blacksmith, Ilmarinen, First of all the iron-workers, Mixed together certain metals, Put the mixture in the caldron, Laid it deep within the furnace, Called the hirelings to the forging.