Chapter 25

“But we must not grow disheartened, Let the Island-maidens cheer us; Here we are not yet enchanted, Not bewitched by magic singing, On the paths not left to perish, Sink and perish on our journey. Full of youth we should not suffer, Strong, we should not die unworthy, Whom the wizards have enchanted, Have bewitched with songs of magic; Sorcerers may charm and conquer, Bury them within their dungeons, Hide them spell-bound in their cabins. Let the wizards charm each other, And bewitch their magic offspring, Bring their tribes to fell destruction. Never did my gray-haired father Bow submission to a wizard, Offer worship to magicians. These the words my father uttered, These the thoughts his son advances: ‘Guard us, thou O great Creator, Shield us, thou O God of mercy, With thine arms of grace protect us, Help us with thy strength and wisdom, Guide the minds of all thy heroes, Keep aright the thoughts of women, Keep the old from speaking evil, Keep the young from sin and folly, Be to us a help forever, Be our Guardian and our Father, That our children may not wander From the ways of their Creator, From the path that God has given!’”

Then the hero Lemminkainen, Made from cares the fleetest racers, Sable racers from his sorrows, Reins he made from days of evil, From his sacred pains made saddles. To the saddle, quickly springing, Galloped he away from trouble, To his dear and aged mother; And his comrade, faithful Tiera, Galloped to his Island-dwelling.

Now departs wild Lemminkainen, Brave and reckless Kaukomieli, From these ancient songs and legends; Only guides his faithful Kura To his waiting bride and kindred, While these lays and incantations Shall be turned to other heroes.

RUNE XXXI. KULLERWOINEN SON OF EVIL.

In the ancient times a mother Hatched and raised some swans and chickens, Placed the chickens in the brushwood, Placed her swans upon the river; Came an eagle, hawk, and falcon, Scattered all her swans and chickens, One was carried to Karyala, And a second into Ehstland, Left a third at home in Pohya. And the one to Ehstland taken Soon became a thriving merchant; He that journeyed to Karyala Flourished and was called Kalervo; He that hid away in Pohya Took the name of Untamoinen, Flourished to his father’s sorrow, To the heart-pain of his mother.

Untamoinen sets his fish-nets In the waters of Kalervo; Kullerwoinen sees the fish-nets, Takes the fish home in his basket. Then Untamo, evil-minded, Angry grew and sighed for vengeance, Clutched his fingers for the combat, Bared his mighty arms for battle, For the stealing of his salmon, For the robbing of his fish-nets. Long they battled, fierce the struggle, Neither one could prove the victor; Should one beat the other fiercely, He himself was fiercely beaten.

Then arose a second trouble; On the second and the third days, Kalerwoinen sowed some barley Near the barns of Untamoinen; Untamoinen’s sheep in hunger Ate the crop of Kullerwoinen; Kullerwoinen’s dog in malice Tore Untamo’s sheep in pieces; Then Untamo sorely threatened To annihilate the people Of his brother, Kalerwoinen, To exterminate his tribe-folk, To destroy the young and aged, To out-root his race and kingdom; Conjures men with broadswords girded, For the war he fashions heroes, Fashions youth with spears adjusted, Bearing axes on their shoulders; Conjures thus a mighty army, Hastens to begin a battle, Bring a war upon his brother.

Kalerwoinen’s wife in beauty Sat beside her chamber-window, Looking out along the highway, Spake these words in wonder guessing: “Do I see some smoke arising, Or perchance a heavy storm-cloud, Near the border of the forest, Near the ending of the prairie?”

It was not some smoke arising, Nor indeed a heavy storm-cloud, It was Untamoinen’s soldiers Marching to the place of battle. Warriors of Untamoinen Came equipped with spears and arrows, Killed the people of Kalervo, Slew his tribe and all his kindred, Burned to ashes many dwellings, Levelled many courts and cabins, Only left Kalervo’s daughter, With her unborn child, survivors Of the slaughter of Untamo; And she led the hostile army To her father’s halls and mansion, Swept the rooms and made them cheery, Gave the heroes home-attentions.

Time had gone but little distance, Ere a boy was born in magic Of the virgin, Untamala, Of a mother, trouble-laden, Him the mother named Kullervo, “Pearl of Combat,” said Untamo. Then they laid the child of wonder, Fatherless, the magic infant, In the cradle of attention, To be rocked, and fed, and guarded; But he rocked himself at pleasure, Rocked until his locks stood endwise; Rocked one day, and then a second, Rocked the third from morn till noontide; But before the third day ended, Kicks the boy with might of magic, Forwards, backwards, upwards, downwards, Kicks in miracles of power, Bursts with might his swaddling garments; Creeping from beneath his blankets, Knocks his cradle into fragments, Tears to tatters all his raiment, Seemed that he would grow a hero, And his mother, Untamala, Thought that he, when full of stature, When he found his strength and reason, Would become a great magician, First among a thousand heroes.

When three months the boy had thriven, He began to speak as follows: “When my form is full of stature, When these arms grow strong and hardy, Then will I avenge the murder Of Kalervo and his people!”

Untamoinen hears the saying, Speaks these words to those about him: “To my tribe he brings destruction, In him grows a new Kalervo!”

Then the heroes well considered, And the women gave their counsel, How to kill the magic infant, That their tribe may live in safety. It appeared the boy would prosper; Finally, they all consenting, He was placed within a basket, And with willows firmly fastened, Taken to the reeds and rushes, Lowered to the deepest waters, In his basket there to perish.

When three nights had circled over, Messengers of Untamoinen Went to see if he had perished In his basket in the waters; But the prodigy was living, Had not perished in the rushes; He had left his willow-basket, Sat in triumph on a billow, In his hand a rod of copper, On the rod a golden fish-line, Fishing for the silver whiting, Measuring the deeps beneath him; In the sea was little water, Scarcely would it fill three measures.

Untamoinen then reflected, This the language of the wizard: “Whither shall we take this wonder, Lay this prodigy of evil, That destruction may o’ertake him, Where the boy will sink and perish?”

Then his messengers he ordered To collect dried poles of brushwood, Birch-trees with their hundred branches, Pine-trees full of pitch and resin, Ordered that a pyre be builded, That the boy might be cremated, That Kullervo thus might perish. High they piled the arid branches, Dried limbs from the sacred birch-tree, Branches from a hundred fir-trees, Knots and branches full of resign; Filled with bark a thousand sledges, Seasoned oak, a hundred measures; Piled the brushwood to the tree-tops, Set the boy upon the summit, Set on fire the pile of brushwood, Burned one day, and then a second, Burned the third from morn till evening.

When Untamo sent his heralds To inspect the pyre and wizard, There to learn if young Kullervo Had been burned to dust and ashes, There they saw the young boy sitting On a pyramid of embers, In his hand a rod of copper, Raking coals of fire about him, To increase their heat and power; Not a hair was burned nor injured, Not a ringlet singed nor shrivelled.

Then Untamo, evil-humored, Thus addressed his trusted heralds: “Whither shall the boy be taken, To what place this thing of evil, That destruction may o’ertake him. That the boy may sink and perish?”

Then they hung him to an oak-tree, Crucified him in the branches, That the wizard there might perish.

When three days and nights had ended, Untamoinen spake as follows: “It is time to send my heralds To inspect the mighty oak-tree, There to learn if young Kullervo Lives or dies among the branches.”

Thereupon he sent his servants, And the heralds brought this message: “Young Kullervo has not perished, Has not died among the branches Of the oak-tree where we hung him. In the oak he maketh pictures With a wand between his fingers; Pictures hang from all the branches, Carved and painted by Kullervo; And the heroes, thick as acorns, With their swords and spears adjusted, Fill the branches of the oak-tree, Every leaf becomes a soldier.”

Who can help the grave Untamo Kill the boy that threatens evil To Untamo’s tribe and country, Since he will not die by water, Nor by fire, nor crucifixion? Finally it was decided That his body was immortal, Could not suffer death nor torture.

In despair grave Untamoinen Thus addressed the boy, Kullervo: “Wilt thou live a life becoming, Always do my people honor, Should I keep thee in my dwelling? Shouldst thou render servant’s duty, Then thou wilt receive thy wages, Reaping whatsoe’er thou sowest; Thou canst wear the golden girdle, Or endure the tongue of censure.”

When the boy had grown a little, Had increased in strength and stature, He was given occupation, He was made to tend an infant, Made to rock the infant’s cradle. These the words of Untamoinen: “Often look upon the young child, Feed him well and guard from danger, Wash his linen in the river, Give the infant good attention.”

Young Kullervo, wicked wizard, Nurses one day then a second; On the morning of the third day, Gives the infant cruel treatment, Blinds its eyes and breaks its fingers; And when evening shadows gather, Kills the young child while it slumbers, Throws its body to the waters, Breaks and burns the infant’s cradle. Untamoinen thus reflected: “Never will this fell Kullervo Be a worthy nurse for children, Cannot rock a babe in safety; Do not know how I can use him, What employment I can give him!”

Then he told the young magician He must fell the standing forest, And Kullervo gave this answer: “Only will I be a hero, When I wield the magic hatchet; I am young, and fair, and mighty, Far more beautiful than others, Have the skill of six magicians.”

Thereupon he sought the blacksmith, This the order of Kullervo: “Listen, O thou metal-artist, Forge for me an axe of copper, Forge the mighty axe of heroes, Wherewith I may fell the forest, Fell the birch, and oak, and aspen.”

This behest the blacksmith honors, Forges him an axe of copper, Wonderful the blade he forges. Kullerwoinen grinds his hatchet, Grinds his blade from morn till evening, And the next day makes the handle; Then he hastens to the forest, To the upward-sloping mountain, To the tallest of the birches, To the mightiest of oak-trees; There he swings his axe of copper, Swings his blade with might of magic, Cuts with sharpened edge the aspen, With one blow he fells the oak-tree, With a second blow, the linden; Many trees have quickly fallen, By the hatchet of Kullervo. Then the wizard spake as follows: “This the proper work of Lempo, Let dire Hisi fell the forest!”

In the birch he sank his hatchet, Made an uproar in the woodlands, Called aloud in tones of thunder, Whistled to the distant mountains, Till they echoed to his calling, When Kullervo spake as follows: “May the forest, in the circle Where my voice rings, fall and perish, In the earth be lost forever! May no tree remain unlevelled, May no saplings grow in spring-time, Never while the moonlight glimmers, Where Kullervo’s voice has echoed, Where the forest hears my calling; Where the ground with seed is planted, And the grain shall sprout and flourish, May it never come to ripeness, May the ears of corn be blasted!”

When the strong man, Untamoinen, Went to look at early evening, How Kullervo was progressing, In his labors in the forest; Little was the work accomplished, Was not worthy of a hero; Untamoinen thus reflected: “Young Kullervo is not fitted For the work of clearing forests, Wastes the best of all the timber, To my lands he brings destruction; I shall set him making fences.”

Then the youth began the building Of a fence for Untamoinen; Took the trunks of stately fir-trees, Trimmed them with his blade for fence-posts, Cut the tallest in the woodlands, For the railing of his fences; Made the smaller poles and cross-bars From the longest of the lindens; Made the fence without a pass-way, Made no wicket in his fences, And Kullervo spake these measures: “He that does not rise as eagles, Does not sail on wings through ether, Cannot cross Kullervo’s pickets, Nor the fences he has builded.”

Untamoinen left his mansion To inspect the young boy’s labors, View the fences of Kullervo; Saw the fence without a pass-way, Not a wicket in his fences; From the earth the fence extended To the highest clouds of heaven. These the words of Untamoinen: “For this work he is not fitted, Useless is the fence thus builded; Is so high that none can cross it, And there is no passage through it: He shall thresh the rye and barley.”

Young Kullervo, quick preparing, Made an oaken flail for threshing, Threshed the rye to finest powder, Threshed the barley into atoms, And the straw to worthless fragments.

Untamoinen went at evening, Went to see Kullervo’s threshing, View the work of Kullerwoinen; Found the rye was ground to powder, Grains of barley crushed to atoms, And the straw to worthless rubbish.

Untamoinen then grew angry, Spake these words in bitter accents: “Kullerwoinen as a workman Is a miserable failure; Whatsoever work he touches Is but ruined by his witchcraft; I shall carry him to Ehstland, In Karyala I shall sell him To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, There to swing the heavy hammer.”

Untamoinen sells Kullervo, Trades him off in far Karyala, To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, To the master of the metals, This the sum received in payment: Seven worn and worthless sickles, Three old caldrons worse than useless, Three old scythes, and hoes, and axes, Recompense, indeed, sufficient For a boy that will not labor For the good of his employer.

RUNE XXXII. KULLERVO AS A SHEPHERD.

Kullerwoinen, wizard-servant Of the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Purchased slave from Untamoinen, Magic son with sky-blue stockings, With a head of golden ringlets, In his shoes of marten-leather, Waiting little, asked the blacksmith, Asked the host for work at morning, In the evening asked the hostess, These the words of Kullerwoinen: “Give me work at early morning, In the evening, occupation, Labor worthy of thy servant.”

Then the wife of Ilmarinen, Once the Maiden of the Rainbow, Thinking long, and long debating, How to give the youth employment, How the purchased slave could labor; Finally a shepherd made him, Made him keeper of her pastures; But the over-scornful hostess, Baked a biscuit for the herdsman, Baked a loaf of wondrous thickness, Baked the lower-half of oat-meal, And the upper-half of barley, Baked a flint-stone in the centre, Poured around it liquid butter, Then she gave it to the shepherd, Food to still the herdsman’s hunger; Thus she gave the youth instructions: “Do not eat the bread in hunger, Till the herd is in the woodlands!”

Then the wife of Ilmarinen Sent her cattle to the pasture, Thus addressing Kullerwoinen: “Drive the cows to yonder bowers, To the birch-trees and the aspens, That they there may feed and fatten, Fill themselves with milk and butter, In the open forest-pastures, On the distant hills and mountains, In the glens among the birch-trees, In the lowlands with the aspens, In the golden pine-tree forests, In the thickets silver-laden.

“Guard them, thou O kind Creator, Shield them, omnipresent Ukko, Shelter them from every danger, And protect them from all evil, That they may not want, nor wander From the paths of peace and plenty. As at home Thou didst protect them In the shelters and the hurdles, Guard them now beneath the heavens, Shelter them in woodland pastures, That the herds may live and prosper To the joy of Northland’s hostess, And against the will of Lempo.

“If my herdsman prove unworthy, If the shepherd-maids seem evil, Let the pastures be their shepherds, Let the alders guard the cattle, Make the birch-tree their protector, Let the willow drive them homeward, Ere the hostess go to seek them, Ere the milkmaids wait and worry. Should the birch-tree not protect them, Nor the aspen lend assistance, Nor the linden be their keeper, Nor the willow drive them homeward, Wilt thou give them better herdsmen, Let Creation’s beauteous daughters Be their kindly shepherdesses. Thou hast many lovely maidens, Many hundreds that obey thee, In the Ether’s spacious circles, Beauteous daughters of creation.

“Summer-daughter, magic maiden, Southern mother of the woodlands, Pine-tree daughter, Kateyatar, Pihlayatar, of the aspen, Alder-maiden, Tapio’s daughter, Daughter of the glen, Millikki, And the mountain-maid, Tellervo, Of my herds be ye protectors, Keep them from the evil-minded, Keep them safe in days of summer, In the times of fragrant flowers, While the tender leaves are whispering, While the Earth is verdure-laden.

“Summer-daughter, charming maiden, Southern mother of the woodlands, Spread abroad thy robes of safety, Spread thine apron o’er the forest, Let it cover all my cattle, And protect the unprotected, That no evil winds may harm them, May not suffer from the storm-clouds. Guard my flocks from every danger, Keep them from the hands of wild-beasts, From the swamps with sinking pathways, From the springs that bubble trouble, From the swiftly running waters, From the bottom of the whirlpool, That they may not find misfortune, May not wander to destruction, In the marshes sink and perish, Though against God’s best intentions, Though against the will of Ukko.

“From a distance bring a bugle, Bring a shepherd’s horn from heaven, Bring the honey-flute of Ukko, Play the music of creation, Blow the pipes of the magician, Play the flowers on the highlands, Charm the hills, and dales, and mountains, Charm the borders of the forest, Fill the forest-trees with honey, Fill with spice the fountain-borders.

“For my herds give food and shelter, Feed them all on honeyed pastures, Give them drink at honeyed fountains Feed them on thy golden grasses, On the leaves of silver saplings, From the springs of life and beauty, From the crystal-waters flowing, From the waterfalls of Rutya, From the uplands green and golden, From the glens enriched in silver. Dig thou also golden fountains On the four sides of the willow, That the cows may drink in sweetness, And their udders swell with honey, That their milk may flow in streamlets; Let the milk be caught in vessels, Let the cow’s gift be not wasted, Be not given to Manala.

“Many are the sons of evil, That to Mana take their milkings, Give their milk to evil-doers, Waste it in Tuoni’s empire; Few there are, and they the worthy, That can get the milk from Mana; Never did my ancient mother Ask for counsel in the village, Never in the courts for wisdom; She obtained her milk from Mana, Took the sour-milk from the dealers, Sweet-milk from the greater distance, From the kingdom of Manala, From Tuoni’s fields and pastures; Brought it in the dusk of evening, Through the by-ways in the darkness, That the wicked should not know it, That it should not find destruction.

“This the language of my mother, And these words I also echo: ‘Whither does the cow’s gift wander, Whither has the milk departed? Has it gone to feed the strangers, Banished to the distant village, Gone to feed the hamlet-lover, Or perchance to feed the forest, Disappeared within the woodlands, Scattered o’er the hills and mountains, Mingled with the lakes and rivers? It shall never go to Mana, Never go to feed the stranger, Never to the village-lover; Neither shall it feed the forest, Nor be lost upon the mountains, Neither sprinkled in the woodlands, Nor be mingled with the waters; It is needed for our tables, Worthy food for all our children.’

“Summer-daughter, maid of beauty, Southern daughter of Creation, Give Suotikki tender fodder, To Watikki, give pure water, To Hermikki milk abundant, Fresh provisions to Tuorikki, From Mairikki let the milk flow, Fresh milk from my cows in plenty, Coming from the tips of grasses, From the tender herbs and leaflets, From the meadows rich in honey, From the mother of the forest, From the meadows sweetly dripping, From the berry-laden branches, From the heath of flower-maidens, From the verdure-maiden bowers, From the clouds of milk-providers, From the virgin of the heavens, That the milk may flow abundant From the cows that I have given To the keeping of Kullervo.

“Rise thou virgin of the valley, From the springs arise in beauty, Rise thou maiden of the fountain, Beautiful, arise in ether, Take the waters from the cloudlets, And my roaming herds besprinkle, That my cows may drink and flourish, May be ready for the coming Of the shepherdess of evening.

“O Millikki, forest-hostess, Mother of the herds at pasture, Send the tallest of thy servants, Send the best of thine assistants, That my herds may well be guarded, Through the pleasant days of summer, Given us by our Creator.

“Beauteous virgin of the woodlands, Tapio’s most charming daughter, Fair Tellervo, forest-maiden, Softly clad in silken raiment, Beautiful in golden ringlets, Do thou give my herds protection, In the Metsola dominions, On the hills of Tapiola; Shield them with thy hands of beauty, Stroke them gently with thy fingers, Give to them a golden lustre, Make them shine like fins of salmon, Grow them robes as soft as ermine.

“When the evening star brings darkness, When appears the hour of twilight, Send my lowing cattle homeward, Milk within their vessels coursing, Water on their backs in lakelets. When the Sun has set in ocean, When the evening-bird is singing, Thus address my herds of cattle:

“Ye that carry horns, now hasten To the sheds of Ilmarinen; Ye enriched in milk go homeward, To the hostess now in waiting, Home, the better place for sleeping, Forest-beds are full of danger; When the evening comes in darkness, Straightway journey to the milkmaids Building fires to light the pathway On the turf enriched in honey, In the pastures berry-laden!

“Thou, O Tapio’s son, Nyrikki, Forest-son, enrobed in purple, Cut the fir-trees on the mountains, Cut the pines with cones of beauty, Lay them o’er the streams for bridges, Cover well the sloughs of quicksand, In the swamps and in the lowlands, That my herd may pass in safety, On their long and dismal journey, To the clouds of smoke may hasten, Where the milkmaids wait their coming. If the cows heed not this order, Do not hasten home at evening, Then, O service-berry maiden, Cut a birch-rod from the glenwood, From the juniper, a whip-stick, Near to Tapio’s spacious mansion, Standing on the ash-tree mountain, Drive my wayward, lowing cattle, Into Metsola’s wide milk-yards, When the evening-star is rising.

“Thou, O Otso, forest-apple, Woodland bear, with honeyed fingers, Let us make a lasting treaty, Make a vow for future ages, That thou wilt not kill my cattle, Wilt not eat my milk-providers; That I will not send my hunters To destroy thee and thy kindred, Never in the days of summer, The Creator’s warmest season.

“Dost thou hear the tones of cow-bells, Hear the calling of the bugles, Hide thyself within the meadow, Sink upon the turf in slumber, Bury both thine ears in clover, Crouch within some alder-thicket Climb between the mossy ledges, Visit thou some rocky cavern, Flee away to other mountains, Till thou canst not hear the cow-bells, Nor the calling of the herdsmen.