Thus was born the harp of magic From the mighty pike of Northland, From the relics from the feasting Of the heroes of Wainola.

All the young men came to view it, All the aged with their children, Mothers with their beauteous daughters, Maidens with their golden tresses; All the people on the islands Came to view the harp of joyance, Pride and beauty of the Northland.

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Let the aged try the harp-strings, Gave it to the young magicians, To the dames and to their daughters, To the maidens, silver-tinselled, To the singers of Wainola.

When the young men touched the harp-strings, Then arose the notes of discord; When the aged played upon it, Dissonance their only music.

Spake the wizard, Lemminkainen:

"O ye witless, worthless children, O ye senseless, useless maidens, O ye wisdom-lacking heroes, Cannot play this harp of magic, Cannot touch the notes of concord!

Give to me this thing of beauty, Hither bring the harp of fish-bones, Let me try my skillful fingers."

Lemminkainen touched the harp-strings, Carefully the strings adjusted, Turned the harp in all directions, Fingered all the strings in sequence, Played the instrument of wonder, But it did not speak in concord, Did not sing the notes of joyance.

Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:

"There is none among these maidens, None among these youthful heroes, None among the old magicians, That can play the harp of magic, Touch the notes of joy and pleasure.

Let us take the harp to Pohya, There to find a skillful player That can touch the strings in concord."

Then they sailed to Sariola, To Pohyola took the wonder, There to find the harp a master.

All the heroes of Pohyola, All the boys and all the maidens, Ancient dames and bearded minstrels, Vainly touched the harp of beauty.

Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Took the harp-strings in her fingers; All the youth of Sariola, Youth of every tribe and station, Vainly touched the harp of fish-bone; Could not find the notes of joyance, Dissonance their only pleasure; Shrieked the harp-strings like the whirlwinds, All the tones were harsh and frightful.

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, The eternal wisdom-singer, Laves his hands to snowy whiteness, Sits upon the rock of joyance, On the stone of song he settles, On the mount of song he settles, On the mount of silver clearness, On the summit, golden colored, Takes the harp by him created, In his hands the harp of fish-bone, With his knee the arch supporting, Takes the harp-strings in his fingers, Speaks these words to those a.s.sembled:

"Hither come, ye Northland people, Come and listen to my playing,-- To the harp's entrancing measures, To my songs of joy and gladness."

Then the singer of Wainola Took the harp of his creation, Quick adjusting, sweetly tuning, Deftly plied his skillful fingers To the strings that he had fashioned.

Now was gladness rolled on gladness, And the harmony of pleasure Echoed from the hills and mountains; Added singing to his playing, Out of joy did joy come welling, Now resounded marvellous music, All of Northland stopped and listened.

Every creature in the forest, All the beasts that haunt the woodlands On their nimble feet came bounding, Came to listen to his playing, Came to hear his songs of joyance.

Leaped the squirrels from the branches, Merrily from birch to aspen; Climbed the ermines on the fences, O'er the plains the elk deer bounded, And the lynxes purred with pleasure; Wolves awoke in far-off swamp-lands, Bounded o'er the marsh and heather, And the bear his den deserted, Left his lair within the pine-wood, Settled by a fence to listen, Leaned against the listening gate-posts, But the gate-posts yield beneath him; Now he climbs the fir-tree branches That he may enjoy and wonder, Climbs and listens to the music Of the harp of Wainamoinen.

Tapiola's wisest senior, Metsola's most n.o.ble landlord, And of Tapio, the people, Young and aged, men and maidens, Flew like red-deer up the mountains There to listen to the playing, To the harp of Wainamoinen.

Tapiola's wisest mistress, Hostess of the glen and forest, Robed herself in blue and scarlet, Bound her limbs with silken ribbons, Sat upon the woodland summit, On the branches of a birch-tree, There to listen to the playing, To the high-born hero's harping, To the songs of Wainamoinen.

All the birds that fly in mid-air Fell like snow-flakes from the heavens, Flew to hear the minstrel's playing, Hear the harp of Wainamoinen.

Eagles in their lofty eyrie Heard the songs of the enchanter; Swift they left their unfledged young ones, Flew and perched around the minstrel.

From the heights the hawks descended, From the clouds down swooped the falcon, Ducks arose from inland waters, Swans came gliding from the marshes; Tiny finches, green and golden, Flew in flocks that darkened sunlight, Came in myriads to listen, Perched upon the head and shoulders Of the charming Wainamoinen, Sweetly singing to the playing Of the ancient bard and minstrel.

And the daughters of the welkin, Nature's well-beloved daughters, Listened all in rapt attention; Some were seated on the rainbow, Some upon the crimson cloudlets, Some upon the dome of heaven.

In their hands the Moon's fair daughters Held their weaving-combs of silver; In their hands the Sun's sweet maidens Grasped the handles of their distaffs, Weaving with their golden shuttles, Spinning from their silver spindles, On the red rims of the cloudlets, On the bow of many colors.

As they hear the minstrel playing, Hear the harp of Wainamoinen, Quick they drop their combs of silver, Drop the spindles from their fingers, And the golden threads are broken, Broken are the threads of silver.

All the fish in Suomi-waters Heard the songs of the magician, Came on flying fins to listen To the harp of Wainamoinen.

Came the trout with graceful motions, Water-dogs with awkward movements, From the water-cliffs the salmon, From the sea-caves came the whiting, From the deeper caves the bill-fish; Came the pike from beds of sea-fern, Little fish with eyes of scarlet, Leaning on the reeds and rushes, With their heads above the surface; Came to hear the harp of joyance, Hear the songs of the enchanter.

Ahto, king of all the waters, Ancient king with beard of sea-gra.s.s, Raised his head above the billows, In a boat of water-lilies, Glided to the coast in silence, Listened to the wondrous singing, To the harp of Wainamoinen.

These the words the sea-king uttered:

"Never have I heard such playing, Never heard such strains of music, Never since the sea was fashioned, As the songs of this enchanter, This sweet singer, Wainamoinen."

Satko's daughters from the blue-deep, Sisters of the wave-washed ledges, On the colored strands were sitting, Smoothing out their sea-green tresses With the combs of molten silver, With their silver-handled brushes, Brushes forged with golden bristles.

When they hear the magic playing, Hear the harp of Wainamoinen, Fall their brushes on the billows, Fall their combs with silver handles To the bottom of the waters, Unadorned their heads remaining, And uncombed their sea-green tresses.

Came the hostess of the waters, Ancient hostess robed in flowers, Rising from her deep sea-castle, Swimming to the sh.o.r.e in wonder, Listened to the minstrel's playing, To the harp of Wainamoinen.

As the magic tones re-echoed, As the singer's song outcircled, Sank the hostess into slumber, On the rocks of many colors, On her watery couch of joyance, Deep the sleep that settled o'er her.

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Played one day and then a second, Played the third from morn to even.

There was neither man nor hero, Neither ancient dame nor maiden, Not in Metsola a daughter, Whom he did not touch to weeping; Wept the young and wept the aged, Wept the mothers, wept the daughters, At the music of his playing, At the songs of the magician.

_Crawford's Translation, Runes XL.-XLI._

THE AENEID.

The Aeneid was written by Publius Vergilius Maro, commonly known as Vergil, who was born at Andes, near Mantua, Oct. 15, 70 B. C., and died at Brundusium, Sept. 22, 19 B.C.

He was educated at Cremona, Milan, Naples, and Rome. When the lands near Cremona and Mantua were a.s.signed by Octavia.n.u.s to his soldiers after the battle of Philippi, Vergil lost his estates; but they were afterwards restored to him through Asinius Pollio.

He became a favorite of Augustus, and spent part of his time in Rome, near his patron, Maecenas, the emperor's minister.

Vergil's first work was the Bucolics, in imitation of Theocritus. His second work, the Georgics, treats of husbandry. The Aeneid relates the adventures of Aeneas, the legendary ancestor of the Romans.

The Aeneid is in twelve books, of which the first six describe the wanderings of Aeneas, and the last six his wars in Italy. Its metre is the dactyllic hexameter.

Vergil worked for eleven years on the poem, and considered it incomplete at his death.

The Aeneid tells the story of the flight of Aeneas from burning Troy to Italy, and makes him an ancestor of the Romans. With the story of his wanderings are interwoven praises of the Caesars and the glory of Rome.

It is claimed that because Vergil was essentially a poet of rural life, he was especially fitted to be the national poet, since the Roman life was founded on the agricultural country life. He also chose a theme which particularly appealed to the patriotism of the Romans. For this reason, the poem was immediately received into popular favor, and was made a text-book of the Roman youths. It is often said of Vergil by way of reproach, that his work was an imitation of Homer, and the first six books of the Aeneid are compared to the Odyssey, the last six to the Iliad. But while Vergil may be accused of imitation of subject matter, his style is his own, and is entirely different from that of Homer. There is a tender grace in the Roman writer which the Greek does not possess. Vergil also lacks that purely pagan enjoyment of life; in its place there is a tender melancholy that suggests the pa.s.sing of the golden age. This difference of treatment, this added grace and charm, which are always mentioned as peculiarly Vergil's own, united with his poetical feeling, and skill in versification, are sufficient to absolve him from the reproach of a mere imitator.

The Aeneid was greatly admired and imitated during the Middle Ages, and still retains its high place in literature.

BIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE AENEID.

R. W. Brown's History of Roman Cla.s.sical Literature, n. d., pp. 257-265;

John Alfred Church's Story of the Aeneid, 1886;

Domenico Comparetti's Virgil in the Middle Ages, Tr. by Benecke, 1895;

C. T. Cruttwell's Virgil (see his History of Roman Literature, n. d. pp.

252-375);

John Davis's Observations on the poems of Homer and Virgil, out of the French, 1672;