Chapter 29

Wainamoinen, the magician, Then began his wondrous singing. On one side the magic vessel, Sang he youth with golden virtues, Bearded youth with strength of heroes, Sang them into mail of copper. On the other side the vessel, Sang he silver-tinselled maidens, Girded them with belts of copper, Golden rings upon their fingers. Sings again the great magician, Fills the magic ship with heroes, Ancient heroes, brave and mighty; Sings them into narrow limits, Since the young men came before them.

At the helm himself he seated, Near the last beam of the vessel, Steered his goodly boat in joyance, Thus addressed the willing war-ship: “Glide upon the trackless waters, Sail away, my ship of magic, Sail across the waves before thee, Speed thou like a dancing bubble, Like a flower upon the billows!”

Then the ancient Wainamoinen Set the young men to the rowing, Let the maidens sit in waiting. Eagerly the youthful heroes Bend the oars and try the row-locks, But the distance is not lessened. Then the minstrel, Wainamoinen, Set the maidens to the rowing, Let the young men rest in waiting. Eagerly the merry maidens Bend the aspen-oars in rowing, But the distance is not lessened. Then the master, Wainamoinen, Set the old men to the rowing, Let the youth remain in waiting. Lustily the aged heroes Bend and try the oars of aspen, But the distance is not lessened.

Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Grasped the oars with master-magic, And the boat leaped o’er the surges, Swiftly sped across the billows; Far and wide the oars resounded, Quickly was the distance lessened. With a rush and roar of waters Ilmarinen sped his vessel, Benches, ribs, and row-locks creaking, Oars of aspen far resounding; Flap the sails like wings of moor-cocks, And the prow dips like a white-swan; In the rear it croaks like ravens, Loud the oars and rigging rattle.

Straightway ancient Wainamoinen, Sitting by the bending rudder, Turns his magic vessel landward, To a jutting promontory, Where appears a Northland-village. On the point stands Lemminkainen, Kaukomieli, black magician, Ahti, wizard of Wainola, Wishing for the fish of Pohya, Weeping for his fated dwelling, For his perilous adventures, Hard at work upon a vessel, On the sail-yards of a fish-boat, Near the hunger-point and island, Near the village-home deserted. Good the ears of the magician, Good the wizard’s eyes for seeing; Casts his vision to the South-east, Turns his eyes upon the sunset, Sees afar a wondrous rainbow, Farther on, a cloudlet hanging; But the bow was a deception, And the cloudlet a delusion; ’Tis a vessel swiftly sailing, ’Tis a war-ship flying northward, O’er the blue-back of the broad-sea, On the far-extending waters, At the helm the master standing, At the oars a mighty hero. Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: “Do not know this wondrous vessel, Not this well-constructed war-ship, Coming from the distant Suomi, Rowing for the hostile Pohya.”

Thereupon wild Lemminkainen Called aloud in tones of thunder O’er the waters to the vessel; Made the distant hills re-echo With the music of his calling: “Whence this vessel on the waters, Whose the war-ship sailing hither?”

Spake the master of the vessel To the reckless Lemminkainen: “Who art thou from fen or forest, Senseless wizard from the woodlands, That thou dost not know this vessel, Magic war-ship of Wainola? Dost not know him at the rudder, Nor the hero at the row-locks?” Spake the wizard, Lemminkainen: “Well I know the helm-director, And I recognize the rower; Wainamoinen, old and trusty, At the helm directs the vessel; Ilmarinen does the rowing. Whither is the vessel sailing, Whither wandering, my heroes?” Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “We are sailing to the Northland, There to gain the magic Sampo, There to get the lid in colors, From the stone-berg of Pohyola, From the copper-bearing mountain.” Spake the evil Lemminkainen: “O, thou good, old Wainamoinen, Take me with thee to Pohyola, Make me third of magic heroes, Since thou goest for the Sampo, Goest for the lid in colors; I shall prove a valiant soldier, When thy wisdom calls for fighting; I am skilled in arts of warfare!”

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Gave assent to Ahti’s wishes; Thereupon wild Lemminkainen Hastened to Wainola’s war-ship, Bringing floats of aspen-timber, To the ships of Wainamoinen.

Thus the hero of the Northland Speaks to reckless Lemminkainen: “There is aspen on my vessel, Aspen-floats in great abundance, And the boat is heavy-laden. Wherefore dost thou bring the aspen To the vessel of Wainola?” Lemminkainen gave this answer: “Not through caution sinks a vessel, Nor a hay-stack by its proppings; Seas abound in hidden dangers, Heavy storms arise and threaten Fell destruction to the sailor That would brave the angry billows.” Spake the good, old Wainamoinen: “Therefore is this warlike vessel Built of trusty steel and copper, Trimmed and bound in toughest iron, That the winds may not destroy it, May not harm my ship of magic.”

RUNE XL. BIRTH OF THE HARP.

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Onward steered his goodly vessel, From the isle of Lemminkainen, From the borders of the village; Steered his war-ship through the waters, Sang it o’er the ocean-billows, Joyful steered it to Pohyola.

On the banks were maidens standing, And the daughters spake these measures: “List the music on the waters! What this wonderful rejoicing, What this singing on the billows? Far more beautiful this singing, This rejoicing on the waters, Than our ears have heard in Northland.”

Wainamoinen, the magician, Steered his wonder-vessel onward, Steered one day along the sea-shore, Steered the next through shallow waters, Steered the third day through the rivers.

Then the reckless Lemminkainen Suddenly some words remembered, He had heard along the fire-stream Near the cataract and whirlpool, And these words the hero uttered: “Cease, O cataract, thy roaring, Cease, O waterfall, thy foaming! Maidens of the foam and current, Sitting on the rocks in water, On the stone-blocks in the river, Take the foam and white-capped billows In your arms and still their anger, That our ships may pass in safety! Aged dame beneath the eddy, Thou that livest in the sea-foam, Swimming, rise above the waters, Lift thy head above the whirlpool, Gather well the foam and billows In thine arms and still their fury, That our ship may pass in safety! Ye, O rocks beneath the current, Underneath the angry waters, Lower well your heads of danger, Sink below our magic vessel, That our ship may pass in safety!

“Should this prayer prove inefficient, Kimmo, hero son of Kammo, Bore an outlet with thine auger, Cut a channel for this vessel Through the rocks beneath the waters, That our ship may pass in safety! Should all this prove unavailing, Hostess of the running water, Change to moss these rocky ledges, Change this vessel to an air-bag, That between these rocks and billows It may float, and pass in safety!

“Virgin of the sacred whirlpool, Thou whose home is in the river, Spin from flax of strongest fiber, Spin a thread of crimson color, Draw it gently through the water, That the thread our ship may follow, And our vessel pass in safety! Goddess of the helm, thou daughter Of the ocean-winds and sea-foam, Take thy helm endowed with mercy, Guide our vessel through these dangers, Hasten through these floods enchanted, Passing by the house of envy, By the gates of the enchanters, That our ship may pass in safety!

“Should this prayer prove inefficient, Ukko, Ruler of creation, Guide our vessel with thy fire-sword, Guide it with thy blade of lightning, Through the dangers of these rapids, Through the cataract and whirlpool, That our ship may pass in safety!”

Thereupon old Wainamoinen Steered his boat through winds and waters, Through the rocky chinks and channels, Through the surges wildly tossing; And the vessel passed in safety Through the dangers of the current, Through the sacred stream and whirlpool. As it gains the open waters, Gains at length the broad-lake’s bosom, Suddenly its motion ceases, On some object firmly anchored. Thereupon young Ilmarinen, With the aid of Lemminkainen, Plunges in the lake the rudder, Struggles with the aid of magic; But he cannot move the vessel, Cannot free it from its moorings.

Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Thus addresses his companion: “O thou hero, Lemminkainen, Stoop and look beneath this war-ship, See on what this boat is anchored, See on what our craft is hanging, In this broad expanse of water, In the broad-lake’s deepest soundings, If upon some rock or tree-snag, Or upon some other hindrance.”

Thereupon wild Lemminkainen Looked beneath the magic vessel, Peering through the crystal waters, Spake and these the words he uttered: “Does not rest upon a sand-bar, Nor upon a rock, nor tree-snag, But upon the back and shoulders Of the mighty pike of Northland, On the fin-bones of the monster.”

Wainamoinen, old and trusty, Spake these words to Lemminkainen: “Many things we find in water, Rocks, and trees, and fish, and sea-duck; Are we on the pike’s broad shoulders, On the fin-bones of the monster, Pierce the waters with thy broadsword, Cut the monster into pieces.”

Thereupon wild Lemminkainen, Reckless wizard, filled with courage, Pulls his broadsword from his girdle, From its sheath, the bone-divider, Strikes with might of magic hero, Headlong falls into the water; And the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Lifts the wizard from the river, Speaks these words to dripping Ahti: “Accidents will come to mortals, Accidents will come to heroes, By the hundreds, by the thousands, Even to the gods above us!”

Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Drew his broadsword from his girdle, From its sheath his blade of honor, Tried to slay the pike of Northland With the weapon of his forging; But he broke his sword in pieces, Did not harm the water-monster.

Wainamoinen, old and trusty, Thus addresses his companions: “Poor apologies for heroes! When occasion calls for victors, When we need some great magician, Need a hero filled with valor, Then the arm that comes is feeble, And the mind insane or witless, Strength and reason gone to others!”

Straightway ancient Wainamoinen, Miracle of strength and wisdom, Draws his fire-sword from his girdle, Wields the mighty blade of magic, Strikes the waters as the lightning, Strikes the pike beneath the vessel, And impales the mighty monster; Raises him above the surface, In the air the pike he circles, Cuts the monster into pieces; To the water falls the pike-tail, To the ship the head and body; Easily the ship moves onward.

Wainamoinen, old and faithful, To the shore directs his vessel, On the strand the boat he anchors, Looks in every nook and corner For the fragments of the monster; Gathers well the parts together, Speaks these words to those about him: “Let the oldest of the heroes Slice for me the pike of Northland, Slice the fish to fitting morsels.”

Answered all the men and heroes, And the maidens spake, assenting: “Worthier the catcher’s fingers, Wainamoinen’s hands are sacred!”

Thereupon the wise magician Drew a fish-knife from his girdle, Sliced the pike to fitting morsels, Spake again to those about him: “Let the youngest of the maidens Cook for me the pike of Northland, Set for me a goodly dinner!”

All the maidens quick responded, All the virgins vied in cooking; Neither could outdo the other, Thus the pike was rendered toothsome. Feasted all the old magicians, Feasted all the younger heroes, Feasted all the men and maidens; On the rocks were left the fish-bones, Only relics of their feasting.

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Looked upon the pile of fragments, On the fish-bones looked and pondered, Spake these words in meditation: “Wondrous things might be constructed From the relics of this monster, Were they in the blacksmith’s furnace, In the hands of the magician, In the hands of Ilmarinen.” Spake the blacksmith of Wainola: “Nothing fine can be constructed From the bones and teeth of fishes By the skillful forger-artist, By the hands of the magician.” These the words of Wainamoinen: “Something wondrous might be builded From these jaws, and teeth, and fish-bones; Might a magic harp be fashioned, Could an artist be discovered That could shape them to my wishes.”

But he found no fish-bone artist That could shape the harp of joyance From the relics of their feasting, From the jaw-bones of the monster, To the will of the magician. Thereupon wise Wainamoinen Set himself at work designing; Quick became a fish-bone artist, Made a harp of wondrous beauty, Lasting joy and pride of Suomi. Whence the harp’s enchanting arches? From the jaw-bones of the monster. Whence the necessary harp-pins? From the pike-teeth firmly fastened. Whence the sweetly singing harp-strings? From the tail of Lempo’s stallion. Thus was born the harp of magic From the mighty pike of Northland, From the relies 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 wore harsh and frightful.

In a corner slept a blind man, Lay a gray-beard on the oven, Rousing from his couch of slumber, Murmured thus within his corner: “Cease at once this wretched playing, Make an end of all this discord; It benumbs mine ears for hearing, Racks my brain, despoils my senses, Robs me of the sweets of sleeping. If the harp of Suomi’s people True delight cannot engender, Cannot bring the notes of pleasure, Cannot sing to sleep the aged, Cast the thing upon the waters, Sink it in the deeps of ocean, Take it back to Kalevala, To the home of him that made it, To the hands of its creator.”

Thereupon the harp made answer, To the blind man sang these measures: “Shall not fall upon the waters, Shall not sink within the ocean; I will play for my creator, Sing in melody and concord In the fingers of my master.”

Carefully the harp was carried To the artist that had made it, To the hands of its creator, To the feet of Wainamoinen.

RUNE XLI. WAINAMOINEN’S HARP-SONGS.

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 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 assembled: “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 marvelous 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 noble 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 bear the harp of joyance, Hear the songs of the enchanter.

Ahto, king of all the waters, Ancient king with beard of sea-grass, 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 shore in wonder, Listened to the minstrel’s playing, To the harp of Wainamoinen. As the magic tones re-echoed, As the singer’s song out-circled, 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 till 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 Wept the warriors and heroes At the music of his playing, At the songs of the magician.

Wainamoinen’s tears came flowing, Welling from the master’s eyelids, Pearly tear-drops coursing downward, Larger than the whortle-berries, Finer than the pearls of ocean, Smoother than the eggs of moor-hens, Brighter than the eyes of swallows. From his eyes the tear-drops started, Flowed adown his furrowed visage, Falling from his beard in streamlets, Trickled on his heaving bosom, Streaming o’er his golden girdle, Coursing to his garment’s border, Then beneath his shoes of ermine, Flowing on, and flowing ever, Part to earth for her possession, Part to water for her portion. As the tear-drops fall and mingle, Form they streamlets from the eyelids Of the minstrel, Wainamoinen, To the blue-mere’s sandy margin, To the deeps of crystal waters, Lost among the reeds and rushes. Spake at last the ancient minstrel: “Is there one in all this concourse, One in all this vast assembly That can gather up my tear-drops From the deep, pellucid waters?”

Thus the younger heroes answered, Answered thus the bearded seniors: “There is none in all this concourse, None in all this vast assembly, That can gather up thy tear-drops From the deep, pellucid waters.” Spake again wise Wainamoinen: “He that gathers up my tear-drops From the deeps of crystal waters Shall receive a beauteous plumage.”

Came a raven, flying, croaking, And the minstrel thus addressed him: “Bring, O raven, bring my tear-drops From the crystal lake’s abysses; I will give thee beauteous plumage, Recompense for golden service.” But the raven failed his master.

Came a duck upon the waters, And the hero thus addressed him: “Bring, O water-bird, my tear-drops; Often thou dost dive the deep-sea, Sink thy bill upon the bottom Of the waters thou dost travel; Dive again my tears to gather, I will give thee beauteous plumage, Recompense for golden service.”

Thereupon the duck departed, Hither, thither, swam, and circled, Dived beneath the foam and billow, Gathered Wainamoinen’s tear-drops From the blue-sea’s pebbly bottom, From the deep, pellucid waters; Brought them to the great magician, Beautifully formed and colored, Glistening in the silver sunshine, Glimmering in the golden moonlight, Many-colored as the rainbow, Fitting ornaments for heroes, Jewels for the maids of beauty. This the origin of sea-pearls, And the blue-duck’s beauteous plumage.

RUNE XLII. CAPTURE OF THE SAMPO.