Part 30

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.

Wainamoinen, old and truthful, With the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, With the reckless son of Lempo, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, On the sea’s smooth plain departed, On the far-extending waters, To the village, cold and dreary, To the never-pleasant Northland, Where the heroes fall and perish. Ilmarinen led the rowers On one side the magic war-ship, And the reckless Lemminkainen Led the rowers on the other. Wainamoinen, old and trusty, Laid his hand upon the rudder, Steered his vessel o’er the waters, Through the foam and angry billows To Pohyola’s place of landing, To the cylinders of copper, Where the war-ships lie at anchor.

When they had arrived at Pohya, When their journey they had ended, On the land they rolled their vessel, On the copper-banded rollers, Straightway journeyed to the village, Hastened to the halls and hamlets Of the dismal Sariola.

Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Thus addressed the stranger-heroes: “Magic heroes of Wainola, What the tidings ye are bringing To the people of my village?”

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Gave this answer to the hostess: “All the hosts of Kalevala Are inquiring for the Sampo, Asking for the lid in colors; Hither have these heroes journeyed To divide the priceless treasure.” Thus the hostess spake in answer: “No one would divide a partridge, Nor a squirrel, with three heroes; Wonderful the magic Sampo, Plenty does it bring to Northland; And the colored lid re-echoes From the copper-bearing mountains, From the stone-berg of Pohyola, To the joy of its possessors.”

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Thus addressed the ancient Louhi: “If thou wilt not share the Sampo, Give to us an equal portion, We will take it to Wainola, With its lid of many colors, Take by force the hope of Pohya.”

Thereupon the Northland hostess Angry grew and sighed for vengeance; Called her people into council, Called the hosts of Sariola, Heroes with their trusted broadswords, To destroy old Wainamoinen With his people of the Northland.

Wainamoinen, wise and ancient, Hastened to his harp of fish-bone, And began his magic playing; All of Pohya stopped and listened, Every warrior was silenced By the notes of the magician; Peaceful-minded grew the soldiers, All the maidens danced with pleasure, While the heroes fell to weeping, And the young men looked in wonder.

Wainamoinen plays unceasing, Plays the maidens into slumber, Plays to sleep the young and aged, All of Northland sleeps and listens. Wise and wondrous Wainamoinen, The eternal bard and singer, Searches in his pouch of leather, Draws therefrom his slumber-arrows, Locks the eyelids of the sleepers, Of the heroes of Pohyola, Sings and charms to deeper slumber All the warriors of the Northland. Then the heroes of Wainola Hasten to obtain the Sampo, To procure the lid in colors From the copper-bearing mountains. From behind nine locks of copper, In the stone-berg of Pohyola.

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Then began his wondrous singing, Sang in gentle tones of magic, At the entrance to the mountain, At the border of the stronghold; Trembled all the rocky portals, And the iron-banded pillars Fell and crumbled at his singing.

Ilmarinen, magic blacksmith, Well anointed all the hinges, All the bars and locks anointed, And the bolts flew back by magic, All the gates unlocked in silence, Opened for the great magician. Spake the minstrel Wainamoinen: “O thou daring Lemminkainen, Friend of mine in times of trouble, Enter thou within the mountain, Bring away the wondrous Sampo, Bring away the lid in colors!”

Quick the reckless Lemminkainen, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Ever ready for a venture, Hastens to the mountain-caverns, There to find the famous Sampo, There to get the lid in colors; Strides along with conscious footsteps, Thus himself he vainly praises: “Great am I and full of glory, Wonder-hero, son of Ukko, I will bring away the Sampo, Turn about the lid in colors, Turn it on its magic hinges!”

Lemminkainen finds the wonder, Finds the Sampo in the mountain, Labors long with strength heroic, Tugs with might and main to turn it; Motionless remains the treasure, Deeper sinks the lid in colors, For the roots have grown about it, Grown nine fathoms deep in sand-earth.

Lived a mighty ox in Northland, Powerful in bone and sinew, Beautiful in form and color, Horns the length of seven fathoms, Mouth and eyes of wondrous beauty.

Lemminkainen, reckless hero, Harnesses the ox in pasture, Takes the master-plow of Pohya, Plows the roots about the Sampo, Plows around the lid in colors, And the sacred Sampo loosens, Falls the colored lid in silence. Straightway ancient Wainamoinen Brings the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Brings the daring Lemminkainen, Lastly brings the magic Sampo, From the stone-berg of Pohyola, From the copper-bearing mountain, Hides it in his waiting vessel, In the war-ship of Wainola.

Wainamoinen called his people, Called his crew of men and maidens, Called together all his heroes, Rolled his vessel to the water, Into billowy deeps and dangers. Spake the blacksmith, Ilmarinen: “Whither shall we take the Sampo, Whither take the lid in colors, From the stone-berg of Pohyola, From this evil spot of Northland?”

Wainamoinen, wise and faithful, Gave this answer to the question: “Thither shall we take the Sampo, Thither take the lid in colors, To the fog-point on the waters, To the island forest-covered; There the treasure may be hidden, May remain in peace for ages, Free from trouble, free from danger, Where the sword will not molest it.”

Then the minstrel, Wainamoinen, Joyful, left the Pohya borders, Homeward sailed, and happy-hearted, Spake these measures on departing: “Turn, O man-of-war, from Pohya, Turn thy back upon the strangers, Turn thou to my distant country! Rock, O winds, my magic vessel, Homeward drive my ship, O billows, Lend the rowers your assistance, Give the oarsmen easy labor, On this vast expanse of waters! Give me of thine oars, O Ahto, Lend thine aid, O King of sea-waves, Guide as with thy helm in safety, Lay thy hand upon the rudder, And direct our war-ship homeward; Let the hooks of metal rattle O’er the surging of the billows, On the white-capped waves’ commotion.”

Then the master, Wainamoinen, Guided home his willing vessel; And the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, With the lively Lemminkainen, Led the mighty host of rowers, And the war-ship glided homeward O’er the sea’s unruffled surface, O’er the mighty waste of waters. Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: “Once before I rode these billows, There were viands for the heroes, There was singing for the maidens; But to-day I hear no singing, Hear no songs upon the vessel, Hear no music on the waters.”

Wainamoinen, wise and ancient, Answered thus wild Lemminkainen: “Let none sing upon the blue-sea, On the waters, no rejoicing; Singing would prolong our journey, Songs disturb the host of rowers; Soon will die the silver sunlight, Darkness soon will overtake us, On this evil waste of waters, On this blue-sea, smooth and level.” These the words of Lemminkainen: “Time will fly on equal pinions Whether we have songs or silence; Soon will disappear the daylight, And the night as quickly follow, Whether we be sad or joyous.”

Wainamoinen, the magician, O’er the blue backs of the billows, Steered one day, and then a second, Steered the third from morn till even, When the wizard, Lemminkainen, Once again addressed the master: “Why wilt thou, O famous minstrel, Sing no longer for thy people, Since the Sampo thou hast captured, Captured too the lid in colors?” These the words of Wainamoinen: “’Tis not well to sing too early! Time enough for songs of joyance When we see our home-land mansions, When our journeyings have ended!” Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: “At the helm, if I were sitting, I would sing at morn and evening, Though my voice has little sweetness; Since thy songs are not forthcoming Listen to my wondrous singing!”

Thereupon wild Lemminkainen, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Raised his voice above the waters, O’er the sea his song resounded; But his measures were discordant, And his notes were harsh and frightful. Sang the wizard, Lemminkainen, Screeched the reckless Kaukomieli, Till the mighty war-ship trembled; Far and wide was heard his singing, Heard his songs upon the waters, Heard within the seventh village, Heard beyond the seven oceans.

Sat a crane within the rushes, On a hillock clothed in verdure, And the crane his toes was counting; Suddenly he heard the singing Of the wizard, Lemminkainen; And the bird was justly frightened At the songs of the magician. Then with horrid voice, and screeching, Flew the crane across the broad-sea To the lakes of Sariola, O’er Pohyola’s hills and hamlets, Screeching, screaming, over Northland, Till the people of the darkness Were awakened from their slumbers.

Louhi hastens to her hurdles, Hastens to her droves of cattle, Hastens also to her garners, Counts her herds, inspects her store-house; Undisturbed she finds her treasures.

Quick she journeys to the entrance To the copper-bearing mountain, Speaks these words as she approaches: “Woe is me, my life hard-fated, Woe to Louhi, broken-hearted! Here the tracks of the destroyers, All my locks and bolts are broken By the hands of cruel strangers! Broken are my iron hinges, Open stand the mountain-portals Leading to the Northland-treasure. Has Pohyola lost her Sampo?”

Then she hastened to the chambers Where the Sampo had been grinding; But she found the chambers empty, Lid and Sampo gone to others, From the stone-berg of Pohyola, From behind nine locks of copper, In the copper-bearing mountain.

Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Angry grew and cried for vengeance; As she found her fame departing, Found her strength fast disappearing, Thus addressed the sea-fog virgin: “Daughter of the morning-vapors, Sift thy fogs from distant cloud-land, Sift the thick air from the heavens, Sift thy vapors from the ether, On the blue-back of the broad-sea, On the far extending waters, That the ancient Wainamoinen, Friend of ocean-wave and billow, May not baffle his pursuers!

“Should this prayer prove unavailing, Iku-Turso, son of Old-age, Raise thy head above the billows, And destroy Wainola’s heroes, Sink them to thy deep sea-castles, There devour them at thy pleasure; Bring thou back the golden Sampo To the people of Pohyola!

“Should these words be ineffective, Ukko, mightiest of rulers, Golden king beyond the welkin, Sitting on a throne of silver, Fill thy skies with heavy storm-clouds, Call thy fleetest winds about thee, Send them o’er the seven broad-seas, There to find the fleeing vessel, That the ancient Wainamoinen May not baffle his pursuers!”

Quick the virgin of the vapors Breathed a fog upon the waters, Made it settle on the war-ship Of the heroes of the Northland, Held the minstrel, Wainamoinen, Anchored in the fog and darkness; Bound him one day, then a second, Then a third till dawn of morning, In the middle of the blue-sea, Whence he could not flee in safety From the wrath of his pursuers.

When the third night had departed, Resting in the sea, and helpless, Wainamoinen spake as follows: “Not a man of strength and courage, Not the weakest of the heroes, Who upon the sea will suffer, Sink and perish in the vapors, Perish in the fog and darkness!”

With his sword he smote the billows, From his magic blade flowed honey; Quick the vapor breaks, and rises, Leaves the waters clear for rowing; Far extend the sky and waters, Large the ring of the horizon, And the troubled sea enlarges.

Time had journeyed little distance, Scarce a moment had passed over, When they heard a mighty roaring, Heard a roaring and a rushing Near the border of the vessel, Where the foam was shooting skyward O’er the boat of Wainamoinen. Straightway youthful Ilmarinen Sank in gravest apprehension, From his cheeks the blood departed; Pulled his cap down o’er his forehead, Shook and trembled with emotion.

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Casts his eyes upon the waters Near the broad rim of his war-ship; There perceives an ocean-wonder With his head above the sea-foam.

Wainamoinen, brave and mighty, Seizes quick the water-monster, Lifts him by his ears and questions: “Iku-Turso, son of Old-age, Why art rising from the blue-sea? Wherefore dost thou leave thy castle, Show thyself to mighty heroes, To the heroes of Wainola?”

Iku-Turso, son of Old-age, Ocean monster, manifested Neither pleasure, nor displeasure, Was not in the least affrighted, Did not give the hero answer.

Whereupon the ancient minstrel, Asked the second time the monster, Urgently inquired a third time: “Iku-Turso, son of Old-age, Why art rising from the waters, Wherefore dost thou leave the blue-sea?” Iku-Turso gave this answer: “For this cause I left my castle Underneath the rolling billows: Came I here with the intention To destroy the Kalew-heroes, And return the magic Sampo To the people of Pohyola. If thou wilt restore my freedom, Spare my life from pain and sorrow, I will quick retrace my journey, Nevermore to show my visage To the people of Wainola, Never while the moonlight glimmers On the hills of Kalevala!”

Then the singer, Wainamoinen, Freed the monster, Iku-Turso, Sent him to his deep sea-castles, Spake these words to him departing: “Iku-Turso, son of Old-age, Nevermore arise from ocean, Nevermore let Northland-heroes See thy face above the waters!”