The Kalevala Elias Lönnrot (read more books .TXT) 📖

heads off all the adders,
Speaks these words of master-magic:
“Thus, hereafter, let the serpent
Drink the famous beer of barley,
Feed upon the Northland-spices!”

Wainamoinen, the magician,
The eternal wizard-singer,
Sought to open wide the portals
With the hands and words of magic;
But his hands had lost their cunning,
And his magic gone to others.

Thereupon the ancient minstrel
Quick returning, heavy-hearted,
To his native halls and hamlets,
Thus addressed his brother-heroes:
“Woman, he without his weapons,
With no implements, a weakling!
Sun and Moon have I discovered,
But I could not force the portals
Leading to their rocky cavern
In the copper-bearing mountain.”
Spake the reckless Lemminkainen
“O thou ancient Wainamoinen,
Why was I not taken with thee
To become thy war-companion?
Would have been of goodly service,
Would have drawn the bolts or broken,
All the portals to the cavern,
Where the Sun and Moon lie hidden
In the copper-bearing mountain!”

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
Thus replied to Lemminkainen:
“Empty words will break no portals,
Draw no bolts of any moment;
Locks and bolts are never broken
With the words of little wisdom!
Greater means than thou commandest
Must be used to free the sunshine,
Free the moonlight from her dungeon.”

Wainamoinen, not discouraged,
Hastened to the forge and smithy,
Spake these words to Ilmarinen:
“O thou famous metal-artist,
Forge for me a magic trident,
Forge from steel a dozen stout-rings,
Master-keys, a goodly number,
Iron bars and heavy hammers,
That the Sun we may uncover
In the copper-bearing mountain,
In the stone-berg of Pohyola.”

Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
The eternal metal-worker,
Forged the needs of Wainamoinen,
Forged for him the magic trident,
Forged from steel a dozen stout-rings,
Master-keys, a goodly number,
Iron bars and heavy hammers,
Not the largest, nor the smallest,
Forged them of the right dimensions.

Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
Northland’s old and toothless wizard,
Fastened wings upon her shoulders,
As an eagle, sailed the heavens,
Over field, and fen, and forest,
Over Pohya’s many waters,
To the hamlets of Wainola,
To the forge of Ilmarinen.

Quick the famous metal-worker
Went to see if winds were blowing;
Found the winds at peace and silent,
Found an eagle, sable-colored,
Perched upon his window-casement.
Spake the artist, Ilmarinen:
“Magic bird, whom art thou seeking,
Why art sitting at my window?”
This the answer of the eagle:
“Art thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
The eternal iron-forger,
Master of the magic metals,
Northland’s wonder-working artist?”
Ilmarinen gave this answer:
“There is nothing here of wonder,
Since I forged the dome of heaven,
Forged the earth a concave cover!”
Spake again the magic eagle:
“Why this ringing of thine anvil,
Why this knocking of thy hammer,
Tell me what thy hands are forging?”
This the answer of the blacksmith:
“ ’Tis a collar I am forging
For the neck of wicked Louhi,
Toothless witch of Sariola,
Stealer of the silver sunshine,
Stealer of the golden moonlight;
With this collar I shall bind her
To the iron-rock of Ehstland!”

Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
Saw misfortune fast approaching,
Saw destruction flying over,
Saw the signs of bad-luck lower;
Quickly winged her way through ether
To her native halls and chambers,
To the darksome Sariola,
There unlocked the massive portals
Where the Sun and Moon were hidden,
In the rock of many colors,
In the cavern iron-banded,
In the copper-bearing mountain.

Then again the wicked Louhi
Changed her withered form and features,
And became a dove of good-luck;
Straightway winged the starry heavens,
Over field, and fen, and forest,
To the meadows of Wainola,
To the plains of Kalevala,
To the forge of Ilmarinen.
This the question of the blacksmith:
“Wherefore comest, dove of good-luck,
What the tidings that thou bringest?”
Thus the magic bird made answer:
“Wherefore come I to thy smithy?
Come to bring the joyful tidings
That the Sun has left his cavern,
Left the rock of many colors,
Left the stone-berg of Pohyola;
That the Moon no more is hidden
In the copper-bearing mountains,
In the caverns iron-banded.”

Straightway hastened Ilmarinen
To the threshold of his smithy,
Quickly scanned the far horizon,
Saw again the silver sunshine,
Saw once more the golden moonlight,
Bringing peace, and joy, and plenty,
To the homes of Kalevala.

Thereupon the blacksmith hastened
To his brother, Wainamoinen,
Spake these words to the magician:
“O thou ancient bard and minstrel,
The eternal wizard-singer,
See, the Sun again is shining,
And the golden Moon is beaming
From their long-neglected places,
From their stations in the sky-vault!”

Wainamoinen, old and faithful,
Straightway hastened to the court-yard,
Looked upon the far horizon,
Saw once more the silver sunshine,
Saw again the golden moonlight,
Bringing peace, and joy, and plenty,
To the people of the Northland,
And the minstrel spake these measures:
“Greetings to thee, Sun of fortune,
Greetings to thee, Moon of good-luck,
Welcome sunshine, welcome moonlight,
Golden is the dawn of morning!
Free art thou, O Sun of silver,
Free again, O Moon beloved,
As the sacred cuckoo’s singing,
As the ring-dove’s liquid cooings.

“Rise, thou silver Sun, each morning,
Source of light and life hereafter,
Bring us, daily, joyful greetings,
Fill our homes with peace and plenty,
That our sowing, fishing, hunting,
May be prospered by thy coming.
Travel on thy daily journey,
Let the Moon be ever with thee;
Glide along thy way rejoicing,
End thy journeyings in slumber;
Rest at evening in the ocean,
When the daily cares have ended,
To the good of all thy people,
To the pleasure of Wainola,
To the joy of Kalevala!”

Rune L Mariatta⁠—Wainamoinen’s Departure

Mariatta, child of beauty,
Grew to maidenhood in Northland,
In the cabin of her father,
In the chambers of her mother,
Golden ringlets, silver girdles,
Worn against the keys paternal,
Glittering upon her bosom;
Wore away the father’s threshold
With the long robes of her garments;
Wore away the painted rafters
With her beauteous silken ribbons;
Wore away the gilded pillars
With the touching of her fingers;
Wore away the birchen flooring
With the tramping of her fur-shoes.

Mariatta, child of beauty,
Magic maid of little stature,
Guarded well her sacred virtue,
Her sincerity and honor,
Fed upon the dainty whiting,
On the inner bark of birch-wood,
On the tender flesh of lambkins.

When she hastened in the evening
To her milking in the hurdles,
Spake in innocence as follows:
“Never will the snow-white virgin
Milk the kine of one unworthy!”

When she journeyed over snow-fields,
On the seat beside her father,
Spake in purity as follows:
“Not behind a steed unworthy
Will I ever ride the snow-sledge!”

Mariatta, child of beauty,
Lived a virgin with her mother,
As a maiden highly honored,
Lived in innocence and beauty,
Daily drove her flocks to pasture,
Walking with the gentle lambkins.
When the lambkins climbed the mountains,
When they gamboled on the hill-tops,
Stepped the virgin to the meadow,
Skipping through a grove of lindens,
At the calling of the cuckoo,
To the songster’s golden measures.

Mariatta, child of beauty,
Looked about, intently listened,
Sat upon the berry-meadow,
Sat awhile, and meditated
On a hillock by the forest,
And soliloquized as follows:
“Call to me, thou golden cuckoo,
Sing, thou sacred bird of Northland,
Sing, thou silver breasted songster,
Speak, thou strawberry of Ehstland,
Tell how long must I unmarried,
As a shepherdess neglected,
Wander o’er these hills and mountains,
Through these