Chapter 7

"Then was born smith Ilmarinen, Thus was born, and thus was nurtured, Born upon a hill of charcoal, Reared upon a plain of charcoal, 110 In his hands a copper hammer, And his little pincers likewise.

"Ilmari was born at night-time, And at day he built his smithy, Sought a place to build his smithy, Where he could construct his bellows, In the swamp he found a land-ridge, And a small place in the marshes, So he went to gaze upon it, And examined the surroundings, 120 And erected there his bellows, And his anvil there constructed.

"Then he hastened to the wolf-tracks, And the bear-tracks also followed, And the ore of iron he saw there, And the lumps of steel he found there, In the wolves' enormous footprints; Where the bears' paws left their imprints. Then he spoke the words which follow: "'O thou most unlucky Iron, 130 In an ill abode thou dwellest, In a very lowly station, 'Neath the wolf-prints in the marshes, And the imprints of the bear-paws.'

"Then he pondered and reflected, 'What would be the upshot of it, If I cast it in the fire, And I laid it on the anvil?'

"Sore alarmed was hapless Iron, Sore alarmed, and greatly startled, 140 When of Fire it heard him speaking, Speaking of the furious Fire.

"Said the smith, said Ilmarinen, 'But indeed it cannot happen; Fire his friends will never injure, Nor will harm his dear relations. If you seek the Fire's red chamber, All illumined with its brightness, You will greatly gain in beauty, And your splendour greatly increase. 150 Fitted thus for men's keen sword-blades Or as clasps for women's girdles.'

"Therefore when the day was ended, Was the Iron from out the marshes, Delved from all the swampy places, Carried homeward to the smithy.

"Then he cast it in the furnace, And he laid it on the anvil, Blew a blast, and then a second, And he blew again a third time, 160 Till the Iron was fully softened, And the ore completely melted, Like to wheaten dough in softness, Soft as dough for ryebread kneaded, In the furnace of the smithy, By the bright flame's softening power.

"Then exclaimed the Iron unhappy, 'O thou smith, O Ilmarinen, Take me quickly from this furnace, From the red flames that torment me.' 170

"Said the smith, said Ilmarinen, 'If I take you from the furnace, Perhaps you might become outrageous, And commit some furious action. Perhaps you might attack your brother, And your mother's child might injure.'

"Therefore swore the Iron unhappy, By the oaths of all most solemn, By the forge and by the anvil, By the hammer and the mallet, 180 And it said the words which follow, And expressed itself in this wise: 'Give me trees that I can bite them, Give me stones that I may break them, I will not assault my brother, Nor my mother's child will injure. Better will be my existence, And my life will be more happy, If I dwell among companions, As the tools of handicraftsmen, 190 Than to wound my own relations, And disgrace my own connections.'

"Then the smith, e'en Ilmarinen, He, the great primeval craftsman, From the fire removed the Iron; Laid it down upon the anvil, Welded it till it was wearied, Shaped it into pointed weapons, Into spears, and into axes, Into tools of all descriptions. 200 Still there was a trifle wanting, And the soft Iron still defective, For the tongue of Iron had hissed not, And its mouth of steel was formed not, For the Iron was not yet hardened, Nor with water had been tempered.

"Then the smith, e'en Ilmarinen, Pondered over what was needed, Mixed a small supply of ashes, And some lye he added to it, 210 To the blue steel's smelting mixture, For the tempering of the Iron.

"With his tongue he tried the liquid, Tasted it if it would please him, And he spoke the words which follow: 'Even yet it does not please me For the blue steel's smelting mixture, And perfecting of the Iron.' From without a bee came flying, Blue-winged from the grassy hillocks, 220 Hovering forwards, hovering backwards, Hovering all around the smithy.

"Then the smith spoke up as follows: 'O thou bee, my nimble comrade, Honey on thy wings convey me, On thy tongue from out the forest, From the summits of six flowerets, And from seven tall grass-stems bring it, For the blue steel's smelting mixture, And the tempering of the Iron.' 230

"But the hornet, Bird of Hiisi, Looked around him, and he listened, Gazing from beside the roof-tree, Looking from below the birchbark, At the tempering of the Iron, And the blue steel's smelting mixture.

"Thence he flew on whirring pinions, Scattering all of Hiisi's terrors, Brought the hissing of the serpents, And of snakes the dusky venom, 240 And of ants he brought the acid, And of toads the hidden poison, That the steel might thus be poisoned, In the tempering of the Iron.

"Then the smith, e'en Ilmarinen, He, the greatest of the craftsmen, Was deluded, and imagined That the bee returned already, And had brought the honey needed, Brought the honey that he wanted, 250 And he spoke the words which follow: 'Here at last is what will please me, For the blue steel's smelting mixture, And the tempering of the Iron,'

"Thereupon the steel he lifted, In he plunged the luckless Iron, As from out the fire he took it, And he took it from the anvil.

"Then indeed the steel was angry, And the Iron was seized with fury. 260 And its oath the wretch has broken, Like a dog has soiled its honour, Brutally its brother bitten, Striking at its own relations, Let the blood rush forth in torrents, From the wound in torrents gushing."

From the stove the old man mumbled, (Shook his beard, his head he nodded) "Now I know whence comes the Iron, And of steel the evil customs. 270

"O thou most unhappy Iron, Wretched Iron, slag most worthless, Steel thou art of evil witchcraft, Thou hast been for nought developed, But to turn to evil courses, In the greatness of thy power.

"Once thou wast devoid of greatness; Neither wast thou great nor little, Neither noted for thy beauty, Nor remarkable for evil, 280 When as milk thou wast created, When the sweet milk trickled over From the breasts of youthful maidens, From the maidens' swelling bosoms, On the borders of the cloudland, 'Neath the broad expanse of heaven.

"Thou wast then devoid of greatness, Thou wast neither great nor little, When thou in the mud wast resting, Sunk below the sparkling water, 290 Overspreading all the marshland, At the base of rocky mountains, And in loose earth thou wast altered, And to iron-ore converted.

"Thou wast still devoid of greatness, Thou wast neither great nor little, When the elks were trampling o'er thee, And the reindeer, in the marshes, When the wolves' claws trod upon thee, And the bears' paws passed above thee. 300

"Thou wast still devoid of greatness, Thou wast neither great nor little, When thou from the marsh wast gathered, From the ground with care uplifted, Carried thence into the smithy, To the forge of Ilmarinen.

"Thou wast still devoid of greatness, Thou wast neither great nor little, When as ore thou there wast hissing, Plunged amid the boiling water, 310 Or amid the fiery furnace, When the mighty oath thou sworest, By the forge and by the anvil, By the hammer and the mallet, Where the smith himself was standing, On the flooring of the smithy.

"Now that thou hast grown to greatness, Thou hast wrought thyself to frenzy, And thy mighty oath hast broken, Like a dog hast soiled thy honour, 320 For thy kinsman thou hast wounded, Raised thy mouth against thy kinsman.

"Who hast led thee to this outrage, To this wickedness incited? Perhaps thy father or thy mother, Or the eldest of thy brothers, Or the youngest of thy sisters, Or some other near relation?

"Not thy father, not thy mother, Nor the eldest of thy brothers, 330 Nor the youngest of thy sisters Nor some other near relation. Thou thyself hast wrought the evil, And hast done a deadly outrage. Come thyself to see the mischief, And to remedy the evil. Come, before I tell thy mother, And complain unto thy parents, More will be thy mother's trouble, Great the anguish of thy parents, 340 That their son had wrought this evil, And their son had wrought this folly.

"Hear me, Blood, and cease thy flowing, O thou Bloodstream, rush no longer, Nor upon my head spirt further, Nor upon my breast down-trickle. Like a wall, O Blood, arrest thee, Like a fence, O Bloodstream, stand thou, As a flag in lakelet standing, Like a reed in moss-grown country, 350 Like the bank that bounds the cornfield, Like a rock in raging torrent.

"But thy own sense ought to teach thee How that thou should'st run more smoothly. In the flesh should'st thou be moving, With thy current smoothly flowing. In the body is it better, Underneath the skin more lovely Through the veins to trace thy pathway, With thy current smoothly flowing, 360 Than upon the earth rash downward, And among the dust to trickle.

"Flow not, milk, upon the flooring, Soil thou not, O Blood, the meadows, Nor the grass, O crown of manhood, Nor the hillocks, gold of heroes. In the heart should be thy dwelling, And among the lungs' dark cellars. Thither then withdraw thou quickly, There withdraw upon the instant. 370 Do not issue like a river, Nor as pond extend thy billows, Trickling forth from out the marshes, Nor to leak like boats when damaged.

"Therefore, dear one, cease thy flowing, Crimson Blood, drip down no longer, Not impeded, but contented. Dry were once the Falls of Tyrja, Likewise Tuonela's dread river, Dry the lake and dry the heaven, 380 In the mighty droughts of summer, In the evil times of bush-fires.

"If thou wilt not yet obey me, Still I know another method, And resort to fresh enchantments: And I call for Hiisi's caldron, And will boil the blood within it All the blood that forth has issued, So that not a drop escapes me, That the red blood flows no longer, 390 Nor the blood to earth drops downward, And the blood no more may issue.

"But if manly strength has failed me, Nor is Ukko's son a hero, Who can stop this inundation, Stem the swift arterial torrent, Thou our Father in the heavens, Jumala, the clouds who rulest, Thou hast manly strength sufficient, Thou thyself the mighty hero, 400 Who shall close the blood's wide gateway, And shall stem the blood escaping.

"Ukko, O thou great Creator, Jumala, aloft in heaven, Hither come where thou art needed, Hither come where we implore thee, Press thy mighty hands upon it, Press thy mighty thumbs upon it, And the painful wound close firmly, And the door whence comes the evil, 410 Spread the tender leaves upon it, Leaves of golden water-lily, Thus to close the path of bleeding, And to stem the rushing torrent, That upon my beard it spirts not, Nor upon my rags may trickle."

Thus he closed the bleeding opening, Stemming thus the bloody torrent, Sent his son into the smithy, To prepare a healing ointment 420 From the blades of magic grasses, From the thousand-headed yarrow, And from dripping mountain-honey, Falling down in drops of sweetness. Then the boy went to the smithy, To prepare the healing ointment, On the way he passed an oak-tree, And he stopped and asked the oak-tree, "Have you honey on your branches? And beneath your bark sweet honey?" 430

And the oak-tree gave him answer, "Yesterday, throughout the evening, Dripped the honey on my branches, On my summit splashed the honey, From the clouds dropped down the honey, From the scattered clouds distilling."

Then he took the slender oak-twigs, From the tree the broken fragments, Took the best among the grasses, Gathered many kinds of herbage, 440 Herbs one sees not in this country; Such were mostly what he gathered.

Then he placed them o'er the furnace, And the mixture brought to boiling; Both the bark from off the oak-tree, And the finest of the grasses. Thus the pot was boiling fiercely, Three long nights he kept it boiling, And for three days of the springtime, While he watched the ointment closely, 450 If the salve was fit for using, And the magic ointment ready.

But the salve was still unfinished, Nor the magic ointment ready; Grasses to the mass he added, Added herbs of many species, Which were brought from other places, Gathered on a hundred pathways, These were culled by nine magicians, And by eight wise seers discovered. 460

Then for three nights more he boiled it, And for nine nights in succession; Took the pot from off the furnace, And the salve with care examined, If the salve was fit for using, And the magic ointment ready

Here there grew a branching aspen, On the borders of the cornfield, And in twain he broke the aspen, And the tree completely severed, 470 With the magic salve he smeared it, Carefully the ointment tested, And he spoke the words which follow: "As I with this magic ointment Smear the injured crown all over, Let no harm be left upon it, Let the aspen stand uninjured, Even as it stood aforetime."

Then at once was healed the aspen, Even as it stood aforetime, 480 And its crown was far more lovely, And the trunk below was healthy.

Then again he took the ointment, And the salve again he tested, And on broken stones he tried it, And on shattered rocks he rubbed it, And the stone with stone knit firmly, And the cracks were fixed together.

From the forge the boy came homeward, When the salve was fit for using, 490 With the ointment quite perfected, In the old man's hands he placed it. "Here I bring a perfect ointment, And the magic salve is ready. It could fuse the hills together, In a single rock unite them."

With his tongue the old man tried it, With his mouth the liquid tasted, And the ointment tasted perfect, And the salve was most efficient. 500

This he smeared on Väinämöinen, And with this he healed the sufferer; Stroked him downward, stroked him upward, Rubbed him also on the middle, And he spoke the words which follow, And expressed himself in this wise: "'Tis not I who use my muscles, But 'tis the Creator moves them; With my own strength do not labour, But with strength from the Almighty. 510 With my mouth I speak not to you; Jumala's own mouth speaks with you, If my speech is sweet unto you, Jumala's own speech is sweeter. Even if my hands are lovely, The Creator's hands are fairer."

When the salve was rubbed upon him, And the healing ointment touched him, Almost fainting with the anguish, Väinämöinen writhed and struggled. 520 Turning this way, turning that way, Seeking ease, but never finding.

Then the old man banned the suffering, Far away he drove the anguish, To the central Hill of Tortures, To the topmost Mount of Suffering, There to fill the stones with anguish, And the slabs of rock to torture.

Then he took a silken fabric, And in strips he quickly cut it; 530 From the edge he tore the fragments, And at once he formed a bandage; Then he took the silken bandage, And with utmost care he wound it, Round the knees he wound it deftly, Round the toes of Väinämöinen.

Then he spoke the words which follow, And expressed himself in this wise: "Thus I use God's silken bandage, The Creator's mantle wind I 540 Round the great knees of the patient, Round the toes of one most noble. Watch thou, Jumala most gracious, Give thy aid, O great Creator, That we fall not in misfortune, That no evil may o'ertake us."

Then the aged Väinämöinen Felt he had regained his vigour, And that he was healed completely, And his flesh again was solid, 550 And beneath it all was healthy. In his body he was painless, And his sides were quite uninjured, From above the wounds had vanished, Stronger felt he than aforetime, Better than in former seasons. On his feet he now was walking And could bend his knees in stamping; Not the least of pain he suffered, Not a trace remained of aching. 560

Then the aged Väinämöinen, Lifted up his eyes to heaven, Gazing up to God most gracious, Lifting up his head to heaven, And he spoke the words which follow, And expressed himself in this wise: "Thence all mercy flows for ever, Thence comes aid the most effective, From the heaven that arches o'er us, From the omnipotent Creator. 570

"Praise to Jumala most gracious, Praise to thee, O great Creator, That thy aid thou hast vouchsafed me, Granted me thy strong protection, When my suffering was the greatest, From the edge of sharpest Iron."

Then the aged Väinämöinen Further spoke these words of warning: "People, henceforth in the future On your present welfare build not, 580 Make no boat in mood of boasting, Nor confide too much in boat-ribs. God foresees the course of by-ways, The Creator orders all things; Not the foresight of the heroes, Nor the might of all the great ones."

RUNO X.--THE FORGING OF THE SAMPO

_Argument_

Väinämöinen reaches home and urges Ilmarinen to depart to woo the Maiden of Pohja, because he would be able to forge a Sampo (1-100). Ilmarinen refuses to go to Pohjola, but Väinämöinen conveys him thither without his consent by a stratagem (101-200). Ilmarinen arrives in Pohjola, where he is very well received, and promises to forge a Sampo (201-280). He forges the Sampo, and the Mistress of Pohjola conceals it in the Rocky Mountain of Pohjola (281-432). Ilmarinen asks for the maiden as his reward, but she makes excuses, saying that she is not yet ready to leave home (433-462). Ilmarinen receives a boat, returns home, and informs Väinämöinen that he has forged the Sampo in Pohjola (463-510).

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast, Took his horse of chestnut colour, And between the shafts he yoked him, Yoked before the sledge the chestnut, On the sledge himself he mounted, And upon the seat he sat him.

Quickly then his whip he flourished, Cracked his whip, all bead-embroidered, Quick he sped upon his journey, Lurched the sledge, the way was shortened, 10 Loudly rang the birchwood runners, And the rowan cumber rattled.

On he rushed with speed tremendous, Through the swamps and open country, O'er the heaths, so wide extending. Thus he drove a day, a second, And at length, upon the third day, Reached the long bridge-end before him Kalevala's extended heathlands, Bordering on the field of Osmo. 20

Then he spoke the words which follow, And expressed himself in this wise: "Wolf, do thou devour the dreamer, Seize the Laplander, O sickness, He who said that I should never In my lifetime reach my homestead, Nor again throughout my lifetime, Nor as long as shines the moonlight, Neither tread Väinölä's meadows; Kalevala's extended heathlands." 30

Then the aged Väinämöinen, Spoke aloud his songs of magic, And a flower-crowned birch grew upward, Crowned with flowers, and leaves all golden, And its summit reached to heaven, To the very clouds uprising. In the air the boughs extended, And they spread themselves to heaven.

Then he sang his songs of magic, And he sang a moon all shining, 40 On the pine-tree's golden summit; And the Great Bear in the branches.

On he drove with speed tremendous, Straight to his beloved homestead, Head bowed down, and thoughts all gloomy, And his cap was tilted sideways, For the great smith Ilmarinen, He the great primeval craftsman, He had promised as his surety, That his own head he might rescue 50 Out of Pohjola's dark regions, Sariola for ever misty.

Presently his horse he halted At the new-cleared field of Osmo, And the aged Väinämöinen, In the sledge his head uplifted, Heard the noise within the smithy, And the clatter in the coal-shed.

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast, Then himself the smithy entered, 60 And he found smith Ilmarinen, Wielding mightily his hammer.

Said the smith, said Ilmarinen, "O thou aged Väinämöinen, Where have you so long been staying. Where have you so long been living?"

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast, Answered in the words which follow: "There have I so long been staying, There have I so long been living, 70 In the gloomy land of Pohja, Sariola for ever misty. Long I coursed on Lapland snowshoes, With the world-renowned magicians."

Then the smith, e'en Ilmarinen, Answered in the words which follow: "O thou aged Väinämöinen, Thou the great primeval sorcerer. Tell me of your journey thither; Tell me of your homeward journey." 80

Said the aged Väinämöinen, "Much indeed have I to tell you: Lives in Pohjola a maiden, In that village cold a virgin, Who will not accept a suitor, Mocks the very best among them. Half of all the land of Pohja Praises her surpassing beauty. From her temples shines the moonlight, From her breasts the sun is shining, 90 And the Great Bear from her shoulders, From her back the starry Seven.

"Thou thyself, smith Ilmarinen, Thou, the great primeval craftsman, Go thyself to woo the maiden, And behold her shining tresses. If you can but forge a Sampo, With its many-coloured cover, You will then receive the maiden, And the fair maid be your guerdon." 100