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

Mariatta, child of beauty,
Lived a shepherd-maid for ages,
As a virgin with her mother.
Wretched are the lives of shepherds,
Lives of maidens still more wretched,
Guarding flocks upon the mountains;
Serpents creep in bog and stubble,
On the greensward dart the lizards;
But it was no serpent singing,
Nor a sacred lizard calling,
It was but the mountain-berry
Calling to the lonely maiden:
“Come, O virgin, come and pluck me,
Come and take me to thy bosom,
Take me, tinsel-breasted virgin,
Take me, maiden, copper-belted,
Ere the slimy snail devours me,
Ere the black-worm feeds upon me.
Hundreds pass my way unmindful,
Thousands come within my hearing,
Berry-maidens swarm about me,
Children come in countless numbers,
None of these has come to gather,
Come to pluck this ruddy berry.”

Mariatta, child of beauty,
Listened to its gentle pleading,
Ran to pick the berry, calling,
With her fair and dainty fingers,
Saw it smiling near the meadow,
Like a cranberry in feature,
Like a strawberry in flavor;
But the virgin, Mariatta,
Could not pluck the woodland-stranger,
Thereupon she cut a charm-stick,
Downward pressed upon the berry,
When it rose as if by magic,
Rose above her shoes of ermine,
Then above her copper girdle,
Darted upward to her bosom,
Leaped upon the maiden’s shoulder,
On her dimpled chin it rested,
On her lips it perched a moment,
Hastened to her tongue expectant;
To and fro it rocked and lingered,
Thence it hastened on its journey,
Settled in the maiden’s bosom.
Mariatta, child of beauty,
Thus became a bride impregnate,
Wedded to the mountain-berry;
Lingered in her room at morning,
Sat at midday in the darkness,
Hastened to her couch at evening.
Thus the watchful mother wonders:
“What has happened to our Mary,
To our virgin, Mariatta,
That she throws aside her girdle,
Shyly slips through hall and chamber,
Lingers in her room at morning,
Hastens to her couch at evening,
Sits at midday in the darkness?”

On the floor a babe was playing,
And the young child thus made answer:
“This has happened to our Mary,
To our virgin, Mariatta,
This misfortune to the maiden:
She has lingered by the meadows,
Played too long among the lambkins,
Tasted of the mountain-berry.”

Long the virgin watched and waited,
Anxiously the days she counted,
Waiting for the dawn of trouble.
Finally she asked her mother,
These the words of Mariatta:
“Faithful mother, fond and tender,
Mother whom I love and cherish,
Make for me a place befitting,
Where my troubles may be lessened,
And my heavy burdens lightened.”
This the answer of the mother:
“Woe to thee, thou Hisi-maiden,
Since thou art a bride unworthy,
Wedded only to dishonor!”

Mariatta, child of beauty,
Thus replied in truthful measures:
“I am not a maid of Hisi,
I am not a bride unworthy,
Am not wedded to dishonor;
As a shepherdess I wandered
With the lambkins to the glen-wood,
Wandered to the berry-mountain,
Where the strawberry had ripened;
Quick as thought I plucked the berry,
On my tongue I gently laid it,
To and fro it rocked and lingered,
Settled in my heaving bosom.
This the source of all my trouble,
Only cause of my dishonor!”

As the mother was relentless,
Asked the maiden of her father,
This the virgin-mother’s pleading:
“O my father, full of pity,
Source of both my good and evil,
Build for me a place befitting,
Where my troubles may be lessened,
And my heavy burdens lightened.”

This the answer of the father,
Of the father unforgiving:
“Go, thou evil child of Hisi,
Go, thou child of sin and sorrow,
Wedded only to dishonor,
To the Great Bear’s rocky chamber,
To the stone-cave of the growler,
There to lessen all thy troubles,
There to cast thy heavy burdens!”

Mariatta, child of beauty,
Thus made answer to her father:
“I am not a child of Hisi,
I am not a bride unworthy,
Am not wedded to dishonor;
I shall bear a noble hero,
I shall bear a son immortal,
Who will rule among the mighty,
Rule the ancient Wainamoinen.”

Thereupon the virgin-mother
Wandered hither, wandered thither,
Seeking for a place befitting,
Seeking for a worthy birthplace
For her unborn son and hero;
Finally these words she uttered:
“Piltti, thou my youngest maiden,
Trustiest of all my servants,
Seek a place within the village,
Ask it of the brook of Sara,
For the troubled Mariatta,
Child of sorrow and misfortune.”

Thereupon the little maiden,
Piltti, spake these words in answer:
“Whom shall I entreat for succor,
Who will lend me his assistance?”
These the words of Mariatta:
“Go and ask it of Ruotus,
Where the reed-brook pours her waters.”

Thereupon the servant, Piltti,
Ever hopeful, ever willing,
Hastened to obey her mistress,
Needing not her exhortation;
Hastened like the rapid river,
Like the flying smoke of battle
To the cabin of Ruotus.
When she walked the hill-tops tottered,
When she ran the mountains trembled;
Shore-reeds danced upon the pasture,
Sandstones skipped about the heather
As the maiden, Piltti, hastened
To the dwelling of Ruotus.

At his table in his cabin
Sat Ruotus, eating, drinking,
In his simple coat of linen.
With his elbows on the table
Spake the wizard in amazement:
“Why hast thou, a maid of evil,
Come to see me in my cavern,
What the message thou art bringing?”

Thereupon the servant, Piltti,
Gave this answer to the wizard:
“Seek I for a spot befitting,
Seek I for a worthy birthplace,
For an unborn child and hero;
Seek it near the Sara-streamlet,
Where the reed-brook pours her waters.”

Came the wife of old Ruotus,
Walking with her arms akimbo,
Thus addressed the maiden, Piltti:
“Who is she that asks assistance,
Who the maiden thus dishonored,
What her name, and who her kindred?”

“I have come for Mariatta,
For the worthy virgin-mother.”

Spake the wife of old Ruotus,
Evil-minded, cruel-hearted:
“Occupied are all our chambers,
All our bath-rooms near the reed-brook;
In the mount of fire are couches,
Is a stable in the forest,
For the flaming horse of Hisi;
In the stable is a manger,
Fitting birthplace for the hero
From the wife of cold misfortune,
Worthy couch for Mariatta!”

Thereupon the servant, Piltti,
Hastened to her anxious mistress,
Spake these measures, much regretting.
“There is not a place befitting,
On the silver brook of Sara.
Spake the wife of old Ruotus:
‘Occupied are all the chambers,
All the bath-rooms near the reed-brook;
In the mount of fire are couches,
Is a stable in the forest,
For the flaming horse of Hisi;
In the stable is a manger,
Fitting birthplace for the hero
From the wife of cold misfortune,
Worthy couch for Mariatta.’ ”

Thereupon the hapless maiden,
Mariatta, virgin-mother,
Fell to bitter tears and murmurs,
Spake these words in depths of sorrow:
“I, alas! must go an outcast,
Wander as a wretched hireling,
Like a servant in dishonor,
Hasten to the burning mountain,
To the stable in the forest,
Make my bed within a manger,
Near the flaming steed of Hisi!”

Quick the hapless virgin-mother,
Outcast from her father’s dwelling,
Gathered up her flowing raiment,
Grasped a broom of birchen branches,
Hastened forth in pain and sorrow
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