 Rune 26 of the Kalawalla. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Kalawalla, compiled by Elias Lonrutt, translated by John Martin Crawford. Rune 26. Origin of the Serpent. Akhti living on the island. Near the Kako Point and Harbour, ploughed his field for rye and barley, furrowed his extensive pastures, heard with quickened ears and uproar, heard the village in commotion, heard a noise along the seashore, heard the footsteps on the ice-plane, heard the rattle of the sledges, quick his mind divined the reason. Nuit was Pojola's wedding, wedding of the rainbow virgin. Quick he stopped in disappointment, shook his sable lox in envy, turned his hero head in anger, while the scarlet blood ceased flowing, threw his pallid face and temples, ceased his ploughing and his sowing. On the field he left the furrows, on his steed he lightly mounted, straight away galloped fleetily homeward. To his well-beloved mother, to his mother old and golden, gave his mother these directions, these the words of lemon-kinan. My beloved faithful mother, quickly bring me beer and vines, bring me food for I am hungry, food and drink for me abundant. Have my bathroom quickly heated, quickly set the room in order, that I may refresh my body, dress myself in hero-raignment. Lemon-kinan's aged mother brings her hero, food in plenty, beer and vines for the hungry, for her thirsting son and hero. Quick she heats the ancient bathroom, quickly sets his bath in order, then the reckless lemon-kinan ate his meat with beer inspiring, hastened to his bath awaiting, only was the bullfinch bathing, with the many-coloured bunting. Quick the hero laved his temples, laved himself to flaxen whiteness, quickly returning to his mother, spake in haste the words that follow. My beloved helpful mother, go at once to yonder mountain. To the storehouse on the hilltop, bring my vest of finest texture, bring my hero coat of purple, bring my suit of magic colours, thus to make me look attractive, thus to robe myself in beauty. First the ancient mother asked him, asked her son this simple question, with a dost thou go, my hero, dost thou go to hunt the robuck, chase the lynx upon the mountain, shoot the squirrel in the woodlands, spake the reckless lemon-kinan, also known as kakomeli. Worthy mother of my being, go I not to hunt the robuck, chase the lynx upon the mountain, shoot the squirrel on the treetops. I am going to pojola, to the feasting of her people, bring at once my purple vestments, straight away bring my nuptial outfit, let me don it for the marriage of the maiden of the Northland. But the ancient dame dissented, and the wife forbade the husband. Two of all the best of heroes, three of nature's fairest daughters, strongly urged wild lemon-kinan not to go to Sarriola. To pojola's great carousel, to the marriage feast of the Northland, since thou hast not been invited, since they do not wish thy presence, spake the reckless lemon-kinan, these the words, of kakomeli. Where the wicked are invited, there the good are always welcome. Herein lies my invitation. I am constantly reminded by this sword of sharpened edges, by this magic blade and scabbard, that pojola needs my presence. Lemon-kinan's aged mother sought again to stay her hero. Do not go, my son, beloved, to the feasting in pojola. Full of horrors are the highways. On the road are many wonders. Three times death appears to frighten, thrice destruction hovers over, spake the reckless lemon-kinan, these the words of kakomeli. Death is seen by aged people. Everywhere they see perdition. Death can never frighten heroes. Heroes do not fear the spectre. Be that as it may, dear mother. Tell that I may understand thee, name the first of all destructions, name the first and last destroyers. Lemon-kinan's mother answered, I will tell thee, son and hero, not because I wish to speak it, but because the truth is worthy. I will name the chief destruction, name the first of the destroyers. When thou hast a distance journeyed, only one day hast thou travelled. Comes a stream along the highway, stream of fire, of wondrous beauty. In the stream a mighty fire-spout, in the spout a rock uprising, on the rock a fiery hillock, on the top a flaming eagle, and his crooked beak he sharpens, sharpens to his bloody talons, for the coming of the stranger, for the people that approach him. Spake the reckless lemon-kinan, handsome hero, kakomeli. Women die beneath the eagle. Such is not the death of heroes. Know I well a magic lotion, that will heal the wounds of eagles. Make myself a steed of elders, that will walk as my companion, that will stride ahead majestic. As a duck I'll drive beneath him, drive him o' the fatal waters, underneath the flaming eagle, with his bloody beak and talons, worthy mother of my being, name the second of destroyers. Lemon-kinan's mother answered, This the second of destroyers, when thou hast a distance wandered, only two days hast thou travelled, Comes a pit of fire to meet thee, in the centre of the highway. Eastward far the pit extending, stretches endless to the westward, filled with burning coals and pebbles, glowing with the heat of ages. Hundreds, as this monster swallowed, in his jaws have thousands perished, Hundreds with their trusty broadswords, thousands on their fiery charges. Spake the reckless lemon-kinan, handsome hero, kakomeli. Never will the hero perish in the jaws of such a monster. Know I well the means of safety, know a remedy efficient, I will make of snow a master. On the snow-clad fields a hero, drive the snowman on before me, drive him through the flaming vortex, drive him through the fiery furnace, with my magic broom of copper, I will follow in his shadow, follow close the magic image, thus escape the frightful monster. With my golden locks uninjured, with my flowing beard untangled, ancient mother of my being, name the last of the destructions, name the third of the destroyers. Lemon-kinan's mother answered, this the third of fatal dangers, has thou gone a greater distance, has thou travelled one day longer, to the portals of Pejola, to the narrowest of gateways, there a wolf will rise to meet thee, there the black bear sneak upon thee. In Pejola's docks and portals, hundreds in their jaws have perished, have devoured a thousand heroes, wherefore will they not destroy thee? Since thy form is unprotected. Spake the reckless lemon-kinan, handsome hero, kakomeli. Let them eat the gentle lamkins, feed upon their tender tissues. They cannot devour this hero. I am girded with my buckler, girded with my belt of copper, armlets where I, of the master, from the wolf and bear protected, will not hasten to untamo. I can meet the wolf of Lempo, for the bear I have a balsam, for his mouth I conjure bridles, for the wolf forge chains of iron, I will smite them as the willow, chop them into little fragments. Thus I'll gain the open courtyard, thus triumphant, end my journey. Lemon-kinan's mother answered, then thy journey is not ended. Greater dangers still await thee, greater the wonders yet before thee. Horrors three within thy pathway, three great dangers to the hero, still await thy reckless footsteps. These the worst of all thy dangers, when thou hast still farther wandered, thou wilt reach the court of Poja. Where the walls are forged from iron, and from steel the outer bulwark rises, from the earth to heaven, back again to earth returning, double spears are used for railings. On each spear are serpents winding, on each rail are stinging adders, lizards too adorn the bulwarks. Play their long tails in the sunlight, hissing lizards, venomed serpents, jump and writhe upon the rampart, turn their horrid heads to meet thee. On the greensward lie the monsters, on the ground the things of evil, with their pliant tongues of venom, hissing, striking, crawling, writhing. One more horrid than the others lies before the fatal gateway, longer than the longest rafters, larger than the largest portals. Hisses with the tongue of anger, lifts his head in awful menace, raises it to strike none other than the hero of the islands. Spake the warlike lemon-kinen, handsome hero, Kakumeli, by such things the children perish. Such is not the death of heroes, no I well the fire to manage. I can quench the flames of passion, I can meet the prowling wild beasts, can appease the wrath of serpents, I can heal the sting of adders, I have ploughed the serpent pastures. Ploughed the adder fields of Northland, while my hands were unprotected, held the serpents in my fingers, drove the adders to Manala, on my hands the blood of serpents, on my feet the fat of adders, never will thy heroes stumble on the serpents of the Northland. With my heel I'll crush the monsters, stamp the horrid things to atoms, I will banish them from Poja, drive them to Manala's kingdom, step within Pejola's mansion, walk the halls of Sariola. Lemon-kinen's mother answered, Do not go, my son beloved, to the firesides of Pejola. Through the Northland fields and fallows there are warriors with broadswords. Heroes clad in mail of copper are on beer intoxicated, by the beer are much embittered. They will charm the hapless creature, on the tips of swords of magic. Greater heroes have been conjured, stronger ones have been outwitted, spake the reckless lemon-kinen. Formally thy son resided in the hamlets of Pejola. Laplanders cannot enchant me, nor the Turialanders harm me. I, the Laplander, will conjure, charm him with my magic powers, sing his shoulders wide sunder, in his chin I'll sing a fissure, sing his collarbone to pieces, sing his breast to thousand fragments. Lemon-kinen's mother answered, Foolish son, ungrateful wizard, boasting of thy former visit, boasting of thy fatal journey, once in Northland thou wert living in the homesteads of Pejola. There thou tried to swim the whirlpool, tasted there the dog-tongue waters, floated down the fatal current, sank beneath its angry billows, thou hast seen to on his river, thou hast measured Manor's waters, there to-day thou wouldst be sleeping had it not been for thy mother. What I tell thee, well remember, shouldst thou gain Pejola's chambers, filled with stakes, thou'lt find the courtyard, these to hold the heads of heroes, there thy head will rest forever, shouldst thou go to Sarriola. Spake the warlike Lemon-kinen, fools indeed may heed thy counsel, Cowards too may give attention, those of seven conquest summers cannot heed such weak advising. Bring to me my battle armour, bring my magic mail of copper, bring me to my father's broadsword, keep the old man's blade from rusting, long it has been cold and idle, long has lain in secret places, long and constantly been weeping, long been asking for a bearer. Then he took his mail of copper, took his ancient battle armour, took his father's sword of magic, tried its point against the oak wood, tried its edge upon the saw-tree. In his hand the blade was bended, like the limba-bows of Willow, like the juniper in summer, spake the hero Lemon-kinen. There is none in Poeja's Hamlets, in the court of Sarriola, that with me can measure broadswords, that can meet this blade ancestral. From the nail he took a crossbow, took the strongest from the rafters, spake these words in meditation, I shall recognise as worthy, recognise that one a hero that can bend this mighty crossbow, that can break its magic sinews in the Hamlets of Pejola. Lemon-kinen, filled with courage, girds himself in suit of battle, dons his mighty mail of copper, to his servant speaks as follows, trusty slave, and whom I purchased, whom I bought with gold and silver, quick prepare my fiery charger. Harness well my steed of battle, I am going to the feasting, to the banquet fields of Lempo. Quick obeys the faithful servant, hitches well the noble war-horse, quick prepares the fire-red stallion, speaks these words when all is ready. I have done what thou hast bidden, ready harnessed is the charger, waiting to obey his master. Comes the hour of the departing of the hero Lemon-kinen, right hand ready, left unwilling, all his anxious fingers pain him, till at last, in full obedience, all his members give permission, starts the hero on his journey, while the mother gives him counsel, at the threshold of the dwelling, at the highway of the courtyard, child of courage, my beloved son of strength, my wisdom hero, if thou goest to the feasting, shouldst thou reach the great carousel, drink thou only half a cupful, drink the goblet to the middle, always give the half remaining, give the worse half to another, to another more unworthy, in the lower half are serpents, worms and frogs and hissing lizards, feeding on the slimy bottom, furthermore, she tells her hero, gives her son these sage directions, on the border of the courtyard, at the portal's farthest distant, if thou goest to the banquet, shouldst thou reach the great carousel, occupy but half the settle, take but half a stride in walking, give the second half to others, to another less deserving, only thus thou be a hero, thus become a son immortal, in the guest room look courageous, bravely move about the chambers, in the gatherings of heroes, with the hosts of magic valour, thereupon wild lemon-kinan quickly leapt upon the crossbench of his battle-sledge of wonder, raised his pearl enameled birch-rod, snapped his whip above his charger, and the steed flew onward fleeting, galloped on his distant journey. He had travelled little distance, when a flight of hazel chickens, quick arose before his coming, flew before the foaming racer, there were left some feathers lying, feathers of the hazel chickens, lying in the hero's pathway, these the reckless lemon-kinan gathered for their magic virtues, put them in his pouch of leather, did not know what things might happen on his journey to Pajola. All things have some little value, in a straight all things are useful. Then he drove a little distance, galloped farther on the highway, when his courser nade in danger, and the fleet-foot ceased his running, then the stout-heart lemon-kinan handsome hero Kakumeli rose upon his seat in wonder, crained his neck and looked about him, found it as his mother told him, found a stream of fire posing, ran the fire-stream like a river, ran across the hero's pathway, in the river was a fire-fall, in the cataract a fire-rock, on the rock a fiery hillock, on its summit perched an eagle, from his throat the fire was streaming to the crater far below him, fire out-shooting from his feathers, glowing with the fiery splendour, long he looked upon the hero, long he gazed on lemon-kinan, then the eagle thus addressed him, with our art thou driving, Akti, with a going lemon-kinan, Kakumeli spake in answer to the feastings of Pejola, to the drinking-holes of Luhi, to the banquet of her people, move aside and let me journey, move a little from my pathway, let this wanderer pass by thee, I am more like lemon-kinan, this the answer of the eagle screaming from his throat of splendour, though thou art wild lemon-kinan, I shall let thee wander onward, through my fire-throat let thee journey, through these flames shall be thy passage, to the banquet-holes of Luhi, to Pejola's great carousel, little heed in Kakumeli, thinks himself in little trouble, thrusts his fingers in his pockets, searches in his pouch of leather, quickly takes the magic feathers, feathers from the hazel chickens, rubs them into finest powder, rubs them with his magic fingers, whence a flight of birds arises hazel chickens from the feathers. Large the bevy of the young birds, quick the wizard lemon-kinan, drives them to the eagle's fire-mouth, thus to satisfy his hunger, thus to quench the fire-out-streaming, thus escapes the reckless hero, thus escapes the first of dangers, passes thus the first destroyer, on his journey to Pejola. With his whip he strikes his coarser, with his birch-whip Pearl enameled, straight away speeds the fiery charger, noiselessly upon his journey, gallops fast and gallops faster, till the flying steed, in terror, nays again, and ceases running. Lemon-kinan, quickly rising, cranes his neck, and looks about him, sees his mother's words word-truthful, sees her augury well taken. Low, before him yawned a fire-gulf, stretching crosswise through his pathway, far to east the gulf extending, to the west an endless distance, filled with stones and burning pebbles. Running streams of burning matter, little-heeding lemon-kinan, cries aloud in prayer to Uko, Uko thou, O God, above me. Dear Creator, Omnipresent, from the northwest send a storm cloud. From the east dispatch a second, from the south send forth a third one, let them gather from the southwest, sow their edges well together, fill thou well the interspaces, send a snowfall higher as heaven, let it fall from upper aether, fall upon the flaming fire-pit, on the cataract and the whirlpool. Mighty Uko, the Creator, Uko, Father Omnipresent, dwelling in the courts of heaven, send a storm cloud from the northwest, from the east he sent a second, from the south dispatch a third one, let them gather from the southwest, sow their edges well together, fill their many interspaces, send a snowfall higher as heaven, from the giddy heights of aether, sent its seething to the fire-pit, on the streams of burning matter. From the snowfall in the fire-pond grows a lake with rolling billows. Quick the hero, lemon-kinan, conjures there of ice a passage, from one border to the other, thus escapes his second danger, thus his second trouble passes. Then the reckless lemon-kinan raised his pearl-enameled birch-rod, snapped his whip above his racer, and the steed flew onward swiftly, galloped on his distant journey, o'er the highway to Pejola, galloped fast and galloped faster, galloped on a greater distance, when the stallion loudly neighing, stopped and trembled on the highway, then the lively lemon-kinan raised himself upon the crossbench, looked to see what else had happened. Low a wolf stands at the portals, in the passageway a black bear, at the high gate of Pejola, at the ending of the journey. There upon young lemon-kinan, handsome hero Kaku Mele, thrusts his fingers in his pockets, seeks his magic pouch of leather, pulls therefrom a lock of eewool, rubs it firmly in his fingers, in his hands it falls to powder, breathes the breath of life upon it, when a flock of sheep arises. Goats and sheep of sable colour, on the flock the black wolf pounces, and the wild bear aids the slaughter, while the reckless lemon-kinan rushes by them on his journey. Gallops on a little distance, to the court of Sariola finds the fence of molten iron, and of steel the rods and pickets, in the earth a hundred fathoms, to the azure sky a thousand double-pointed spears projecting, on each spear were serpents twisted, adders coiled in countless numbers, lizards mingled with the serpents, tails entangled pointing earthward, while their heads were skyward whirling, writhing hissing mass of evil. Then the stout heart Kaku Mele, deeply thought and long considered, it is as my mother told me, this the wall that she predicted, stretching from the earth to heaven. Downward deep are serpents creeping, deeper still the rails extending, high as highest flight of eagles, higher still the wall shoots upward. But the hero, lemon-kinan, little cares, nor feels disheartened, draws his broadsword from its scabbard, draws his mighty blade ancestral, hues the wall with might of magic, breaks the palisade in pieces, hues to atom seven pickets, chops the serpent wall to fragments. Through the breach he quickly passes, to the portals of Pajola. In the way a serpent lying, lying crosswise in the entry, longer than the longest rafters, larger than the posts of oakwood, hundred-eyed the heinous serpent, and a thousand tongues the monster, eyes as large as sifting vessels, tongues as long as shafts of javelins, teeth as large as hatchet handles, back as broad as skiffs of ocean, lemon-kinan does not venture straightway through this host opposing, through the hundred heads of adders, through the thousand tongues of serpents, spake the magic lemon-kinan, venomed by the thing of evil, ancient adder of Tuoni, thou that cruelest in the stubble, through the flower roots of Lempo, who has sent thee from thy kingdom, sent thee from thine evil coverts, sent thee hither, crawling, writhing, in the pathway I would travel, who bestowed thy mouth of venom, who insisted, who commanded, thou shouldst raise thy head toward heaven, who thy tale has given action, was this given by the father, did the mother give this power, or the eldest of the brothers, or the youngest of the sisters, or some other of the kindred, close thy mouth, thou thing of evil, hide thy pliant tongue of venom, in a circle wrap thy body, coil thou like a shield in silence, give to me one half the pathway, let this wanderer pass thee by, or remove thyself entirely, get the hints to yonder hither, quick retreat to bog and stubble, hide thyself in reeds and rushes, in the brambles of the lowlands, like a ball of flax in folding, like a sphere of aspen branches, with thy head and tail together, rolling thyself to yonder mountain, in the heather is thy dwelling, underneath the side thy caverns, shouldst thou raise thy head in anger, mighty Ukko will destroy it, pierce it with his steel-tipped arrows, with his death-balls made of iron. Hardly had the hero ended when the monster, little heeding, hissing with his tongue in anger, plying like the forked lightning, pounces with his mouth of venom at the head of lemon kynan. But the hero, quick recalling, speaks the master words of knowledge, words that came from distant ages, words his ancestors had taught him, words his mother learned in childhood, these the words of lemon kynan, since thou wilt not heed mine order, since thou wilt not leave the highway, puffed with pride of thine own greatness, thou shalt burst in triple pieces, leave thy station for the borders, I will hunt thine ancient mother, sing thine origin of evil, how arose thy head of horror, Syogeta thine ancient mother, thing of evil thy creator, Syogeta once let her spittle fall upon the waves of ocean, this was rocked by winds and waters, shaken by the ocean currents, six years rocked upon the billows rocked in water seven summers, on the blue black of the ocean, on the billows high as heaven, lengthwise did the billows draw it, and the sunshine gave it softness, to the shores the billows washed it, on the coast the waters left it, then appeared creation's daughters, three the daughters thus appearing, on the roaring shore of ocean, there beheld the spittle lying, and the daughter's spakers follows, what would happen from this spittle, should the breath of the Creator fall upon the writhing matter, breathe the breath of life upon it, give the thing the sense of vision? The Creator heard these measures, spake himself the words that follows, evil only comes from evil, this is the expectoration of fel Syogeta its mother, therefore would the thing be evil, should I breathe the soul within it, should I give it sense of vision? He see heard this conversation, ever ready with his mischief, made himself to be Creator, breathed a soul into the spittle, two fel Syogeta's fierce anger, thus arose the poison monster, thus was born the evil serpent, this the origin of evil, whence the life that gave her action, from the carbon pile of heecy, whence then was her heart created, from the heartthrobs of her mother, whence arose her brain of evil, from the foam of rolling waters, whence was consciousness awakened from the waterfalls commotion, whence arose her head of venom, from the seed germs of the ivy, whence then came her eyes of fury, from the flaxen seeds of limpo, whence the evil ears for hearing, from the foliage of heecy, whence then was her mouth created, this from Syogeta's foam currents, whence arose thy tongue of anger, from the spear of Kaito Linen, whence arose thy fangs of poison, from the teeth of Manna's daughter, whence then was thy back created, from the carbon posts of Piru, how then was thy tail created, from the brain of the hobgoblin, whence arose thy writhing entrails, from the deathbelt of Tuoni, this thy origin, O serpent, this thy charm of evil import, vilest thing of God's creation, writhing hissing thing of evil, with the colour of Tuoni, with the shade of earth and heaven, with the darkness of the storm cloud, get the hence thou loathsome monster, clear the pathway of this hero, I am mighty Lemenkainen, on my journey, to Pejola, to the feastings and carousels, in the halls of Darksum Northland, there upon the snake-uncoiling, hundred-eyed and heinous monster, crawled away to other portals, that the hero, Kaku Melli, might proceed upon his errand, to the dismal Sarriola, to the feastings and carousels, in the banquet halls of Pogia. End of Room 26, recording by Timothy Ferguson, Gold Coast, Australia. Room 27 of the Kalavala. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Kalavala, compiled by Alias Lawnroot, translated by John Martin Crawford, Room 27. The Unwelcome Guest. I have brought young Kaku Melli, brought the islander and hero, also known as Lemenkainen, through the jaws of death and ruin, through the darkling deeps of Kalma, to the homesteads of Pogiaula, to the dismal courts of Luhi. Now must I relate his doings, must relate to all my heroes, how the merry Lemenkainen, handsome hero Kaku Melli, wandered through Pogiaula's chambers, through the halls of Sarriola, how the hero went unbidden, to the feasting and carousel, uninvited to the banquet, Lemenkainen full of courage, full of life and strength and magic, stepped across the ancient threshold, to the centre of the courtroom, and the floors of Linwood-trembled, walls and ceilings creaked and murmured, spake the reckless Lemenkainen, these the words that Akhti uttered, Be ye greeted on my coming, ye that greet be likewise greeted, listen all ye hosts of Pogia, is there food about this homestead, barley for my hungry coarser, beer to give a thirsty stranger, set the host of Sarriola at the east end of the table, gave this answer to the questions. Surely is there in this homestead, for thy steed and open stable, never will this host refuse thee, shouldst thou act apart becoming, worthy coming to these portals, waiting near the birch and rafters, in the spaces by the kettles, by the triple hooks of iron. Then the reckless Lemenkainen shook his sable locks and answered, Lempow may perchance come hither, let him fill this lolly station, let him stand between the kettles, that with soot he may be blackened, never has my ancient father, never has the dear old hero stood upon a spot unworthy at the portals, near the rafters, for his steed the best of stables, food and shelter gladly furnished, and a room for his attendants, corners furnished for his mittens, hooks provided for his snowshoes, halls in awaiting for his helmet, wherefore then should I not find here what my father found before me. To the centre walked the hero, walked around the dining table, sat upon a bench and waited, on a bench of polished faux wood, and the kettle creaked beneath him. Spake the reckless Lemenkainen, as a guest am I unwelcome, since the waiters bring no vions, bring no dishes to the stranger, Ilpata the Northland Hostess, then addressed the words that follow, Lemenkainen thou art evil, thou art here but not invited, thou hast not the look of kindness, thou wilt give me throbbing temples, thou art bringing pain and sorrow, all our beer is in the barley, all our malt is in the kernel, all our grain is still un garnered, and our dinner has been eaten. Yesterday, thou shouldst have been here, come again some future season, whereupon Wild Lemenkainen pulled his mouth awry in anger, shook his coal-black locks and answered, all the tables here are empty, and the feasting time is over, all the beer has left the goblets, empty too are all the pitchers, empty are the larger vessels, O thou hostess of Pejola, toothless dame of Dismal Northland, badly managed is thy wedding, and thy feast is ill conducted, like the dogs hast thou invited. Thou hast baked the honey-biscuit, wheaten loaves of greatest virtue, brewed thy beer from hops and barley, sent abroad thine invitations, six the hamlets thou hast honoured, nine the villagers invited. By thy merry wedding-callers, thou hast asked the poor and lowly, asked the hosts of common people, asked the blind and deaf and crippled, asked a multitude of beggars, toilers by the day and hirelings, asked the men of evil habits, asked the maids with braided tresses, I alone was not invited. How could such a slight be given? Since I sent thee kegs of barley, others sent thee grain in cupfuls, brought it sparingly in dippers, while I sent thee fullest measure, sent the half of all my garners, of the richest of my harvest, of the grain that I had gathered, even now young lemon-kinan, though a guest of name and station, has no beer, no food, no welcome. Nought for him, art thou preparing, nothing cooking in thy kettles, nothing brewing in thy cellots, for the hero of the islands, at the closing of his journey. Ilputar, the ancient hostess, gave this order to her servants. Come, my pretty maiden-waiter, servant girl, to me belonging, lay some salmon to the broiling, bring some beer to give the stranger. Small of stature was the maiden, washer of the banquet-platters, rinser of the dinner-ladles, polisher of spoons of silver, and she laid some food in kettles, only bones and beads of whiting, turnip stalks and withered cabbage, crusts of bread and bits of biscuit. Then she brought some beer in pitches, brought the common drink, the vilest, that the stranger, lemon-kinan, might have drink and meet in welcome, thus to still his thirst and hunger. Then the maiden's bake as follows, thou art sure a mighty hero, here to drink the beer of poja, here to empty all our vessels. Then the minstrel, lemon-kinan, closely handled all the pitches, looking to the very bottoms, there beheld he writhing serpents, in the centre, adders swimming, on the borders, worms and lizards. Then the hero, lemon-kinan, filled with anger, spake as follows. Get ye hence ye things of evil, get ye hence to Tuanela, with the bearer of these pitches, with the maid that brought ye hither. Air the evening moon has risen, air the daystar seeks the ocean, o thou wretched beer of barley, thou hast met with great dishonour, interdisrepute hast fallen, but I'll drink thee, notwithstanding, and the rubbish cast far from me. Then the hero to his pockets thrust his first and unnamed finger, searching in his pouch of leather, quick withdraws a hook for fishing, drops it to the pitcher's bottom, through the worthless beer of barley, on his fish hook hang the serpents, catches many hissing adders, catches frogs in magic-numbers, catches blackened worms in thousands, casts them to the floor before him, quickly draws his heavy broadsword, and decapitates the serpents. Now he drinks the beer remaining, when the wizard speaks as follows. As a guest am I unwelcome, since no beer to me is given, that is worthy of a hero. Neither has a ram been butchered, nor a fatted calf been slaughtered. Worthy food for lemon-kinan. Then the landlord of Pejola answered thus the island minstrel, wherefore hast thou journeyed hither, who has asked thee for thy presence? Spake in answer, lemon-kinan, happy is the guest invited, happier when not expected. Listen, son of Pojlanda, host of Sarriola, listen, give me beer for ready payment, give me worthy drink for money. Then the landlord of Pejola, in mad humour full of anger, conjured in the earth a lakelet at the feet of Kakumeli. Thus addressed the island hero, quench thy thirst from yonder lakelet, there the beer that thou deservedest. Little heeding lemon-kinan, to this insolence made answer I am neither bear nor robuck, that should drink this filthy water, drink the water from this lakelet. Akhti then began to conjure, conjured he a bull before him, bull with horns of gold and silver, and the bull drank from the lakelet, drank he from the pool in pleasure. Then the landlord of Pejola, there a savage wolf created, set him on the floor before him, to destroy the bull of magic, lemon-kinan full of courage, conjured up a snow-white rabbit, set him on the floor before him, to attract the wolf's attention. Then the landlord of Pejola, conjured there a dog of Lempo, set him on the floor before him, to destroy the magic rabbit, lemon-kinan full of mischief, conjured on the roof a squirrel, that by jumping on the rafters he might catch the dog's attention. But the master of the Northland, conjured there a golden martin, and he drove the magic squirrel from his seat upon the rafters, lemon-kinan full of mischief, made a fox of scarlet colour. And it ate the golden martin. Then the master of Pejola, conjured there a hen to flutter near the fox of scarlet colour, lemon-kinan full of mischief, there upon a hawk created, that with beak and crooked talons he might tear the hen to pieces, spake the landlord of Pejola, these the words the tall man uttered, Never will this feast be bettered till the guests are less in number. I must do my work as landlord, get thee hence, thou evil stranger. Cease thy conjurings of evil, leave this banquet to my people. Haste away, thou wicked wizard, to thine island home and people. Spake the reckless lemon-kinan, thus no hero will be driven, not a son of any courage will be frightened by thy presence, will be driven from thy banquet. Then the landlord of Pejola snatched his broadsword from the rafters, drew it rashly from the scabbard, thus addressing lemon-kinan. Ucti, islander of evil, thou the handsome kakumeli, let us measure then our broadswords, let our skill be fully tested. Surely is my broadsword better than the blade within thy scabbard. Spake the hero-lament-kinan, that my blade is good and trusty, has been proved on heads of heroes, has on many bones been tested. Be that has it may, my fellow, since thine order is commanding, let our swords be fully tested. Let us see whose blade is better. Long ago my hero-father tested well this sword in battle, never failing in a conflict. Should his son be foundless worthy? Then he grasped his mighty broadsword, drew the fire-blade from the scabbard, hanging from his belt of copper, standing on their hilts, their broadswords, carefully their blades were measured, found the sword of Northland's master, longer than the sword of Ucti, by the half-link of a finger. Spake the reckless lemon-kinan, since thou hast the longer broadsword, thou shalt make the first advances. I am ready for thy weapon. Thereupon, Pejola's landlord, with the wondrous strength of anger, tried in vain to slay the hero. Strike the crown of lemon-kinan. Chipped the splinters from the rafters, cut the ceiling into fragments, could not touch the island hero. Thereupon, brave Khakumeli, thus addressed Pejola's master. Have the rafters thee offended? What the crimes they have committed, since thou hewest them in pieces. Listen now, thou host of Northland. Reckless landlord of Pejola, little room there is for swordsmen, in these chambers filled with women. We shall stain these painted rafters, stain with blood these floors and ceilings. Let us go without the mansion. In the field is room for combat. On the plain is space sufficient. Blood looks fairer in the courtyard, better in the open spaces. Let it die the snowfield, Scarlet. To the yard, the heroes hasten. There they find a monstrous oxskin. Spread it on the field of battle. On the oxskin stand the swordsmen. Spake the hero, lemon-kinan. Listen well, thou host of Northland. Though thy broadsword is the longer, though thy blade is full of horror, thou shalt have the first advantage. Use with skill thy boasted broadsword. Air the final bout is given. Air thy head be chopped in pieces. Strike with skill, or thou will perish. Strike and do thy best for Northland. Thereupon Pejola's landlord, raised on high his blade of battle, struck a heavy blow in anger, struck a second, then a third time. But he could not touch his rival, could not draw a single blood drop from the veins of lemon-kinan, skillful islander and hero. Spake the handsome, Kakumeli. Let me try my skillet, fencing. Let me swing my father's broadsword. Let my honoured blade be tested. But the landlord of Pejola does not heed the words of Akhti. Strikes in fury, strikes unceasing, ever aiming, ever missing. When the skillful lemon-kinan swings his mighty blade of magic, fire desports along his weapon, flashes from his sword of honour, glistens from the hero's broadsword, balls of fire, desporting, dancing, on the blade of mighty Akhti, overflows upon the shoulders of the landlord of Pejola. Spake the hero, lemon-kinan. O thou son of Sariola, see indeed thy neck is glowing, like the dawning of the morning, like the rising sun in ocean. Quickly turned Pejola's landlord, thoughtless host of darks of Northland, to behold the fiery splendour, playing on his neck and shoulders, quick as lightning lemon-kinan, with his father's blade of battle, with a single blow of broadsword, with the united skill and power, locked the head of Poges' master, as one cleaves the stalks of turnips, as the ear falls from the cornstork, as one strikes the fins from salmon, thus the head rolled from the shoulders of the landlord of Pejola. Like a ball it rolled and circled, in the yard were pickets standing, hundreds were the sharpened pillars, and a head on every picket. Only one was left unheaded. Quick the victor-lemon-kinan took the head of Poges' landlord, spiked it on the empty picket. Then the islander rejoicing, handsome hero, Kakumali, quick returning to the chambers, gave this order to the hostess. Evil maiden, bring me water, wear with all to cleanse my fingers, from the blood of Northland's master, wicked host of Sariola. Ilpita, the Northland hostess, fired with anger, threatened vengeance, conjured men with heavy broadswords, heroes clad in copper armour, hundred warriors with their javelins, and a thousand bearing crossbows, to destroy the island hero for the death of lemon-kinan. Kakumali soon discovered that the time had come for leaving, that his presence was unwelcome at the feasting of Pejola, at the banquet of her people. End of Rune 27, recording by Timothy Ferguson, Gold Coast, Australia. Rune 28 of the Kalevala. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Kalevala, compiled by Elias Lönnrod, translated by John Martin Crawford. Rune 28. The Mother's Council. Arty, hero of the islands, wild magician Lemon-Kainen, also known as Kauko Mjeli, hastened from the great carousel from the banquet halls of Lohi, from the ever-dark some Northland, from the dismaled Sariola. Storm-full stroati from the mansion, hastened like the smoke of battle, from the courtyard of Pejola, left his crimes and misdemeanours in the halls of ancient Lohi. Then he looked in all directions, seeking for his tethered coarser, anxious looked in field and stable, but he did not find his razor. Found a black thing in the fellow, proved to be a clump of willows. Who will well advise the hero, who will give him wise directions, guide the wizard out of trouble, give his hero-lox protection, keep his magic head from danger, from the warriors of Northland. Noises heard within the village and the din from other homesteads, from the battle-hosts of Lohi, streaming from the doors and window of the homesteads of Pejola. Thereupon young Lemminkainen, handsome islander and hero, changing both his form and features, clad himself in other raiment, changing to another body. Quick became a mighty eagle, saw the loft on wings of magic, tried to fly to highest heaven, but the moonlight burned his temples, and the sunshine singed his feathers. Then in treating Lemminkainen, island hero, turned to Uko, this the prayer that Ati uttered. Uko, God of love and mercy, thou the wisdom of the heavens, wise director of the lightning, thou the author of the thunder, thou the guide of all the cloudlets, give to me thy cloak of vapor, throw a silver cloud around me, that I may in its protection, hasten to my native country, to my mother's island dwelling, fly to her that waits my coming, with her mother's grave for boardings. Father, father, Lemminkainen, flew and soared on eagle pinions, looked about him backwards, forwards, spied a greyhawk soaring near him. In his eyes the fire of splendor, like the eyes of Poyerlanders, like the eyes of Poyer's sparemen, and the greyhawk thus addressed him. Ho, there, hero, Lemminkainen, art thou thinking of our combat with the hero heads of Northland? Thus the islander made answer, these the words of Kaokomyele. O thou greyhawk, bird of beauty, fly direct to Saraiola, fly as fast as wings can bear thee, when thou hast arrived in safety, on the plains of Darksem Northland, tell the archers and the sparemen, they will never catch the eagle, in his journey from Poyola, to his island-born and fortress. Then the arty eagle hastened, straightway to his mother's cottage. In his face the look of trouble, in his heart the pangs of sorrow. Arty's mother ran to meet him, when she spied him in the pathway, walking toward her island dwelling. These the words the mother uttered, Of my sons thou art the bravest, art the strongest of my children, wherefore, then, comes thine annoyance on returning from Poyola, word thou worsted at the banquet, at the feast and great carousel, at thy cups if thou word injured, thou shalt have here better treatment, thou shalt have the cup thy father brought me from the hero-castle. Spake the reckless Lemminkainen, worthy mother, thou that nursed me, if I had been maimed at drinking, I the landlord would have worsted, would have slain a thousand heroes, would have taught them useful lessons. Lemminkainen's mother answered, Wherefore, then, art thou indignant, didst thou meet disgrace and insult, did they rob thee of thy coarser, buy thou then a better coarser, with the riches of thy mother, with thy father's hoarded treasures. Spake the hero Lemminkainen, faithful mother of my being, if my steed had been insulted, if for him my heart was injured, I the landlord would have punished, would have punished all the horsemen, all of Poya's strongest riders. Lemminkainen's mother answered, Tell me, then, thy dire misfortune, what has happened to my hero, on his journey to Poyola? Have the Northland maiden scorned thee? Have the women ridiculed thee? If the maiden scorned thy presence, if the women gave derision, there are others thou canst laugh at, thou canst scorn a thousand women. Set the reckless Lemminkainen, or not mother, fond and faithful, if the Northland dames had scorned me, or the maidens laughed derision, I the maidens would have punished, would have scorned a thousand women. Lemminkainen's mother answered, Wherefore, then, art thou indignant, thus annoyed and heavy-hearted, on returning from Poyola? Was thy feasting out of season, was the banquet beer unworthy, were thy dreams of evil import, when asleep in dark some Northland? This is Lemminkainen's answer. Aged women may remember what they dream on beds of trouble. I have seen some wondrous visions, since I left my island cottage. My beloved, helpful mother, fill my bag with good provisions. Flour and salt in great abundance. Father must thy hero wonder. He must leave his home behind him, leave his pleasant island dwelling. Journey from this home of ages. Men are sharpening their broadswords, sharpening their spears and lances, for the death of Lemminkainen. Then again the mother questioned. Hurriedly she asked the reason. Why the men their swords were wetting? Why their spears are being sharpened? Spake the reckless Lemminkainen. Handsome hero, Calcomieri. Therefore do they wet their broadswords, therefore sharpen they their lances. It is for thy son's destruction, at his heart are aimed their lances. In the courtyard of Pojola, there arose a great contention, fierce the battle waged against me, but I slew the Northland hero, killed the host of Sarjola. Quick to arms rose Lowy's people. All the spears and swords of Northland were directed at thy hero. All of Poja turned against me, turned against a single foeman. This is the answer of the mother. I had told thee this beforehand, I had warned thee of this danger, and forbidden thee to journey to the hostile fields of Northland. Here my hero could have lingered past his life in full contentment, lived forever with his mother, with his mother for protection, in the courtyard with his kindred. Here no war would have arisen, no contention would have followed. Wither will dargo my hero, wither will my loved one hasten, to escape thy fierce pursuers, to escape from thy misdoings, from thy sins to bide in safety, from thy crimes and misdemeanours, that thy head be not endangered, that thy body be not mangled, that thy locks be not outrooted. Spake the reckless lemon-kinen. No, I not a spot befitting, do not know a place of safety, where to hide from my pursuers, that will give me sure protection, from the crimes by me committed. Helpful mother of my being, where to flee wilt thou advise me? This the answer of the mother. I do not know where I can send thee, be a pine-tree on the mountain, or a juniper in lowlands. Then misfortune may be faulty, often is the mountain pine-tree cut in splints for candle-lighters, and the juniper is often peeled for fence-posts for the pastures. Go a birch-tree to the valleys, or an m-tree to the Glenwood. Even then may trouble find thee, misery may overtake thee, often is the lowland birch-tree cut to pieces in the warehouse, often is the elmwood forest cleared away for other plantings. Be a berry on the highlands, cranberry upon the heather, strawberry upon the mountains, blackberry along the fences. Even there will trouble find thee, there misfortune overtake thee, for the berry-mates would pluck thee, silver-tinsled girls would get thee, be a pike then in the ocean, or a troutlet in the rivers. Then would trouble overtake thee, would become thy life-companion, then the fisherman would catch thee, catch thee in his net of flex-thread, catch thee with his cruel fish-hook. Be a wolf then in the forest, or a black-bear in the thickets. Even then would trouble find thee, and disaster cross thy pathway, sable-hunters of the northland, have their spares and cross-posts ready, to destroy the wolf and black-bear. Spake directly Slamminkainen. Know I well the worst of places, know where death will surely follow, where misfortunes I would find me, since thou gavest me existence, gavest nourishment in childhood, wither shall I flee for safety, wither hide from death and danger. In my view is fell destruction, dire misfortune hovers over me. On the morrow come the spare-men, countless warriors from Poja, at his head their satisfaction. This the answer of the mother. I can name a goodly refuge, name a land of small dimensions, name a distant ocean-island, where my son may live in safety. Thither archers never wonder, there thy head cannot be severed, but an oath as strong as heaven, thou must swear before thy mother. Thou wilt not for sixty summers, join in war or deadly combat, even though thou wishest silver, wishest gold and silver treasures. Spake the grateful Lemminkinen, I will swear in oath of honour, that I'll not in sixty summers draw my sword in the arena, test the warrior in battle. I have wounds upon my shoulders, on my breast two scars of broadsword, of my former battles relies, relies of my last encounters, on the battlefields of Northland, in the wars with men and heroes. Lemminkinen's mother answered, go thou, take thy father's vessel, go and bite thyself in safety, travel far across nine oceans, in the tenth sail to the center, to the island forest-covered, to the cliffs above the waters, where thy father went before thee, where he hid from his pursuers, in the times of summer conquests, in the darksome days of battle, good thee island for thee to dwell in, goodly place to live in linger, hide one year and then a second, in the third return in safety, to thy mother's island dwelling, to thy father's ancient mansion, to my hero's place of resting. End of Rune 28. 29. The Isle of Refuge Lemminkinen, full of joyants, handsome hero Kakumeli, took provisions in abundance, fish and butter, bread and bacon, hastened to the Isle of Refuge, sailed away across the oceans, spake these measures on departing. Fare thee well, mine island dwelling, I must sail to other borders, to an island more protective, till the second summer passes, let the serpents keep the island, links's rest within the Glenwood, let the blue moose roam the mountains, let the wild geese cat the barley. Fare thee well, my helpful mother, when the warriors of the Northland, from the dismal Sariola, come with swords and spears and crossbows, asking for my head in vengeance, say that I have long departed, left my mother's island dwelling, when the barley has been garnered. Then he launched his boat of copper, through the vessel to the waters, from the iron-banded rollers, from the cylinders of oakwood, on the masts the sails he hoisted, spread the magic sails of linen, in the stern the heroes settled, and prepared to sail his vessel. One hand resting on the rudder, then the sailor spake as follows, these the words of lemon-kinan, blow ye winds and drive me onward, blow ye steady winds of heaven, toward the island in the ocean, that my bark may fly in safety, to my father's place of refuge, to the far and nameless island. Soon the winds arose as bidden, rocked the vessel or the billows, or the blue-black of the waters, or the vast expanse of ocean, blew two months and blew unceasing, blew a third month toward the island, toward his father's isle of refuge. Such some maidens on the seaside, on the sandy beach of ocean, turned about in all directions, looking out upon the billows. One was waiting for her brother, and a second for her father, and a third one anxious waited, for the coming of her suitor. Then they spied young linen-kinan. There perceived the hero's vessel, sailing all the bounding billows. It was like a hanging cloudlet, hanging twix the earth and heaven. Thus the island maidens wondered, thus they spake to one another. What this stranger on the ocean, what is this upon the waters? Aren't thou one of our sea vessels? Weren't thou billed on this island? Sail thou straightway to the harbour, to the island point of landing, that thy tribe may be discovered. Onward did the waves propel it, rocked the vessel o'er the billows, drove it to the magic island, safely landed lemon-kinan, on the sandy shore and harbour, spake he thus, when he had landed, these the words that Ucti uttered. Is there room upon this island? Is there space within this harbour, where my bark may lie at anchor, where the sun may dry my vessel? This the answer of the virgins, dwellers on the isle of refuge? There is room within this harbour, on this island, space abundant, where thy bark may lie at anchor, where the sun may dry thy vessel? Lying ready are the rollers, cylinders adorn with copper. If thou hattest a hundred vessels, shouldst thou come with boats a thousand? We would give them room in welcome. Whereupon wild lemon-kinan rolled his vessel in the harbour, on the cylinders of copper, spake these words when he had ended. Is there room upon this island, or a spot within these forests, where a hero may be hidden, from the coming din of battle, from the play of spears and arrows? Thus replied the island maidens, there are places on this island, on these plains a spot befitting, where to hide thyself in safety, hero son of little valour. Here are many, many castles, many courts upon this island. Though there come a thousand heroes, though a thousand spearmen follow, thou canst hide thyself in safety. Spake the hero lemon-kinan. Is there room upon this island, where the birch-tree grows abundant, where this sun may fell the forest, and may cultivate the fallow? Answered thus the island maidens, there is not a spot befitting, not a place upon the island, where to rest thy wearied members, not the smallest patch of birch wood, thou canst bring to cultivation, all our fields have been divided, all these woods have been apportioned, fields and forests have their owners. Lemon-kinan asked this question, these the words of Karkamelli, is there room upon this island, worthy spot in field or forest, where to sing my songs of magic, chant my gathered store of wisdom, sing mine ancient songs and legends? Answered thus the island maidens, there is room upon this island, worthy place in these dominions, thou canst sing thy gathered wisdom, thou canst chant thine ancient legends, legends of the times primeval, in the forest, in the castle, on the island plains and pastures. Then began the reckless minstrel, to entone his wizard sayings, sang he alders to the way-sides, sang the oaks upon the mountains, on the oak trees sang he branches, on each branch he sang an acorn, on the acorns golden rollers, on each roller sang a cuckoo. Then began the cuckoos calling, gold from every throat came streaming, copper fell from every feather, and each wing emitted silver, filled the aisle with precious metals, sang again young lemon-kinan, conjured on and sang enchanted, sang to precious stones the sea sands, sang the stones to pearls resplendent, robed the groves in iridescence, sang the island full of flowers, many coloured as the rainbow, sang again the magic minstrel, in the court a well he conjured, on the well a golden cover, on the lid a silver dipper, that the boys might drink the water, that the maids might lave their eyelids, on the plains he conjured lakelets, sang the duck upon the waters, golden-cheeked and silver-headed, sang the feet from shining copper, and the island maidens wondered, stood entranced at Akhti's wisdom, at the songs of lemon-kinan, at the hero's magic power. Spake the singer-lemon-kinan, handsome hero Kaku-meli, I would sing a wondrous legend, sing in miracles of sweetness, if within some hall or chamber, I was seated at the table, if I sing not in the castle, in some spot of walls surrounded, then I sing my songs to Zephyrs, fling them to the fields and forests. Entered thus the island maidens, on this isle are castle chambers, halls for use of magic singers, courts complete for chanting legends, where thy singing will be welcome, where thy songs will not be scattered, to the forests of the island, nor thy wisdom lost in ether. Straightway, lemon-kinan journeyed, with the maidens to the castle, there he sang and conjured pictures, on the borders of the tables, sang and conjured golden goblets, foaming with the beer of barley, sang him many well-filled vessels, bowls of honey-drink abundant, sweetest butter, toothsome biscuit, bacon, fish, and veal, and venison. All the dainties of the Northland, wherewith all to still his hunger, but the proud-heart lemon-kinan, was not ready for the banquet, did not yet begin his feasting, waited for a knife of silver, for a knife of golden handle. Quick he sang the precious metals, sang a blade from purist silver, to the blade a golden handle. Straightway then began his feasting, quenched his thirst and stilled his hunger, charmed the maidens on the island, then the minstrel, lemon-kinan, roamed throughout the island hamlets, to the joy of all the virgins, all the maids of braided tresses, where so where he turned his footsteps, there appeared a maid to greet him. When his hand was kindly offered, there his hand was kindly taken. When he wandered out at evening, even in the dark some places, there the maidens bade him welcome. There was not an island village, where there were not seven castles. In each castle seven daughters, and the daughters stood in waiting, gave the hero joyful greetings. Only one of all the maidens, whom he did not greet with pleasure, thus the merry lemon-kinan, spent three summers in the ocean, spent a merry time in refuge, in the hamlets on the island. To the pleasure of the maidens, to the joy of all the daughters, only one was left neglected, she a poor and graceless spinster, on the isle's remotest border, in the smallest of the hamlets. Then he thought about his journey, o'er the ocean to his mother, to the cottage of his father. There appeared the slighted spinster, to the Northland sun departing, spake these words to lemon-kinan, O thou handsome Kalkumali, wisdom-barred and magic-singer, since this maiden thou hast slighted, may the winds destroy thy vessel, dash thy bark to countless fragments, on the ocean rocks and ledges. Lemon-kinan's thoughts were homeward, did not heed the maidens' murmurs, did not rise before the dawning, of the morning on the island, to the pleasure of the maiden, of the much neglected hamlet, finally, at close of evening, he resolved to leave the island, he resolved to waken early, long before the dawn of morning, long before the time appointed, he arose that he might wander, through the hamlets of the island, bid adieu to all the maidens, on the mourn of his departure, as he wandered hither, thither, walking through the village pathways, to the last of all the hamlets. Saw he none of all the castles, where three dwellings were not standing. Saw he none of all the dwellings, where three heroes were not watching. Saw he none of all the heroes, who was not engaged in grinding, swords and spears and battle-axes, for the death of Lemon-kinan, and these words the hero uttered, now, alas, the sun arises, from his couch within the ocean, on the frailest of the heroes, on the saddest child of Northland, on my neck the cloak of Lempo might protect me from all evil. Though a hundred foes assail me, though a thousand archers follow, then he left the maids ungrateful, left his longing for the daughters, of the nameless isle of refuge, with his farewell words unspoken, hastened toward the island harbour, toward his magic bark at anchor, but he found it burned to ashes. Sweet revenge had fired his vessel, lighted by the slighted spinster, then he saw the dawn of evil. Saw misfortune hanging over, saw destruction round about him, straight way he began rebuilding. Him a magic sailing vessel, new and wondrous, full of beauty, but the hero needed timber, boards and planks and beams and braces, found the smallest bit of lumber, found of boards but seven fragments, of a spool he found three pieces, found six pieces of the disstaff. With these fragments builds his vessel, builds a ship of magic virtue, builds the bark with secret knowledge, through the will of the magician, strikes one blow, and builds the first part, strikes a second, builds the centre, strikes a third with wondrous power, and the vessel is completed. Thereupon the ship he launches, sings the vessel to the ocean, and these words the hero utters, like a bubble swim these waters, like a flower ride the billows, loan me of thy magic feathers. Three o' eagle, four o' raven, four protection to my vessel, lest it flounder in the ocean. Now the sailor, Lemon Kynan, seats himself upon the bottom of the vessel he has builded. Hastens on his journey homeward, head depressed and evil-humoured, cap-a-ri upon his forehead, mine dejected heavy-hearted, that he could not dwell for ever, in the castles of the daughters, of the nameless Isle of Refuge. Spake the minstrel Lemon Kynan, handsome hero Kakumeli, leave I must this merry island, leave her many joys and pleasures, leave her maids with braided tresses, leave her dancers and her daughters, to the joys of other heroes, but I take this comfort with me, all the maidens of the island, save the spinster who was slighted, will bemoan my loss for ages, will regret my quick departure. They will miss me at the dancers, in the halls of mirth and joyance, in the homes of merry maidens, on my father's Isle of Refuge. Wept the maidens on the island, long lamenting, loudly calling, to the heroes sailing homeward, with a goest Lemon Kynan, wide apart their best of heroes, dost thou leave, from inattention, is there here a dearth of maidens, have our greetings been unworthy? Sang the magic Lemon Kynan, to the maids as he was sailing, this in answer to their calling, leaving not for want of pleasure, do not go from dearth of women, beautiful the island maidens, countless as the sands their virtues, this the reason of my going, I am longing for my homeland, longing for my mother's cabins, for the strawberries of the Northland, for the raspberries of Kalev, for the maidens of my childhood, for the children of my mother. Then the merry Lemon Kynan, bade for well to all the island, winds arose and drove his vessel, on the blue-black of the ocean, or the far extending waters, toward the island of his mother, on the shore were grouped the daughters, of the magic Isle of Refuge, on the rocks sat the forsaken, weeping stood the island maidens, golden daughters loud lamenting, weep the maidens of the island, while the sailyards greep their vision, while the copper-beltings listen, do not weep to lose the sailyards, nor to lose the copper-beltings, weep they for the loss of Akhti, for the fleeing Kakumeli, guiding the departing vessel, also weeps young Lemon Kynan, sorely weeps and loud lamenting, weeps while he can see the island, while the island hilltops glisten, does not mourn the island mountains, weeps he only for the maidens, left upon the Isle of Refuge, there upon sailed Kakumeli, on the blue-black of the ocean, sailed one day and then a second, but alas upon the third day, there arose a mighty storm wind, and the sky was black with fury, blew the black winds from the North West, from the South West came the whirlwind, tore away the ships for castle, tore away the vessel's rudder, dash the wooden hull to pieces, there upon Wild Lemon Kynan, headlong fell upon the waters, with his head he did the steering, with his hands and feet the rowing, swam whole days and nights unceasing, swam with hope and strength united, till at last appeared a cloudlet, growing cloudlet to the westward, changing to a promontary, into land within the ocean, swiftly to the shore swam Akti, hastened to a magic castle, found therein a hostess baking, and her daughters kneading barley, and these words the hero uttered, O thou hostess filled with kindness, quits thou know my pangs of hunger, quits thou guess my name and station, thou wouldst hasten to the storehouse, bring me beer and foaming liquor, bring the best of thy provisions, bring me fish and veal and bacon, butterbread and honeyed biscuits, set for me a wholesome dinner, wherewithal to still my hunger, quenched the thirst of Lemon Kynan, days and nights have I been swimming, buffeting the waves of ocean, seemed as if the wind protected, and the billows gave me shelter. Then the hostess filled with kindness, hastened to the mountain storehouse, cut some butter, veal and bacon, bread and fish and honeyed biscuit, brought the best of her provisions, brought the mead and beer of barley, set for him a toothsome dinner, wherewithal to still his hunger, quenched the thirst of Lemon Kynan. When the hero's feast had ended, straightway was a magic vessel, given by the kindly hostess to the weary Kakumeli, bark of beauty new and hardy, wherewithal to aid the stranger, in his journey to his homeland, to the cottage of his mother. Quickly sailed, while Lemon Kynan, on the blue black of the ocean, sailed he days and nights and ceasing, till at last he reached the borders, of his own loved home and country, there beheld he seen's familiar, saw the islands, capes and rivers, saw his former shipping stations, saw he many ancient landmarks, saw the mountains with their fir trees, saw the pine trees on the hilltops, saw the willows in the lowlands, did not see his father's cottage, nor the dwellings of his mother, where the mansion once had risen, there the older trees were growing, shrubs were growing on the homestead. Junipers within the courtyard, spake the reckless Lemon Kynan, in this glen I played and wandered, on these stones I rocked for ages, on this lawn I rolled and tumbled, froliced on these woodland borders, when a child of little stature, where then is my mother's dwelling, where the castles of my father, fire I fear has found the hamlet, and the winds disperse the ashes, then he fell to bitter weeping, wept one day and then a second, wept the third day without ceasing, did not mourn the ancient homestead, nor the dwellings of his father, wept he for his darling mother, wept he for the deer departed, for the loved ones of the island. Then he saw the bird of heaven, saw an eagle flying near him, and he asked the bird this question, mighty eagle bird majestic, grant to me the information, where my mother may have wandered, whither I may go and find her? But the eagle knew but little, only knew that Akhti's people, long ago together perished, and the raven also answered, that his people had been scattered, by the swords and spears and arrows, of his enemies from Poja, spake the hero lemon-kinan, faithful mother deer departed, thou who nursed me in my childhood, art thou dead and turned to ashes, didst thou perish for my follies, or thy head are willows weeping, junipers above thy body, olders watching all thy slumbers? This my punishment for evil, this the recompense of folly, fool was I, a son unworthy, that I measured swords in Northland, with the landlord of Pejola. To my tribe came fell destruction, and the death of my dear mother, through my crimes and misdemeanours. Then the minstrel looked about him, anxious looked in all directions, and beheld some gentle footprints, saw a pathway lightly trodden, where the heather had been beaten. Quickest thought the path he followed, through the meadows, through the brambles, o'er the hills and through the valleys, to a forest vast and cheerless, travelled far and travelled farther, still a greater distance travelled, to a dense and hidden Glenwood, in the middle of the island, found therein a sheltered cabin, found a small and darksome dwelling, built between the rocky ledges, in the midst of triple pine trees, and within he spied his mother, found his grey-haired mother weeping, lemon-kind and loud rejoices, cries in tones of joyful greetings, these the words that Ucti utters, faithful mother well-beloved, thou that gavest me existence, happy I that thou art living, that thou hast not yet departed, to the kingdom of Tuoni, to the islands of the blessed. I had thought that thou hadst perished, hadst been murdered by my foam, and hadst been slain with bows and arrows, heavy are my knives from weeping, and my cheeks are white with sorrow, since I thought my mother slaughtered, for the sins I had committed. Lemon-kind and's mother answered, long indeed has thou been absent, long my son has thou been living, in my father's isle of refuge, roaming on the secret island, living at the doors of strangers, living in a nameless country, refuge from the Northland foment, spake the hero lemon-kind and, charming is that spot for living, beautiful the magic island, rainbow-coloured was the forest, blue the glimmer of the meadows, silvered were the pine-tree branches, golden were the heather blossoms, all the woodlands dripped with honey, eggs in every rock and crevice, honey flowed from birch and sob-tree, milk in streams from fur and aspen, beer-foam dripping from the willows, charming there to live and linger, all their edibles delicious, this their only source of trouble, great the fear for all the maidens, all the heroes filled with envy, feared the coming of the stranger, thought that all the island maidens, thought that all the wives and daughters, all the good and all the evil, gave thy son too much attention, thought the stranger lemon-kinden, saw the island maid too often, yet the virgins I avoided, shunned the good and shunned the evil, shunned the host of charming daughters, as the black wolf shuns the sheepfold, as the hawk neglects the chickens. End of Rune 29, recording by Timothy Ferguson, Gold Coast, Australia. Rune 30 of the Kalevala This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Kalevala, compiled by Elias Lunrut, translated by John Martin Crawford. Rune 30, The Frost Fiend Lemon-kinden, reckless minstrel, handsome hero Calco Mielly hastens as the dawn is breaking, at the dawning of the morning, to the resting place of vessels, to the harbour of the island, finds the vessels sorely weeping, hears the wailing of the rigging, and the ships in tone this chorus. Must we wretched lie forever in the harbour of this island, here to dry and fall in pieces? Ati wars no more in Northland, wars no more for sixty summers, even should he thirst for silver, should he wish the gold of battle. Lemon-kinden struck his vessels with his gloves adorned with copper, and addressed the ships as follows. More no more my ships of firwood, strong and hardy is your rigging, to the wars ye soon may hasten, hasten to the seas of battle. Warriors may swarm your cabins, ere tomorrow's mourn has risen. Then the reckless Lemon-kinden, hasten to his aged mother, spake to her the words that follow. Weep no longer, faithful mother, do not sorrow for thy hero, should he leave for scenes of battle, for the hostile fields of Poya. Sweet revenge has fired my spirit, and my soul is well determined, to avenge the shameful insult that the warriors of Northland gave to thee defenseless woman. To restrain him seeks his mother, warrants her son again of danger. Do not go, my son, beloved, to the wars of Sariola, there the jaws of death await thee, fell destruction lies before thee. Lemon-kinden, little heeding, still determined speaks as follows. Where may I secure a swordsman, worthy of my race of heroes, to assist me in the combat? Often I have heard of Tiara, heard of Kura of the islands, this one I will take to help me, magic hero of the broadsword. He will aid me in the combat, will protect me from destruction. Then he wandered to the islands, on the way to Tiara's hamlet, these the words that Ati utters, as he nears the ancient dwellings. Dearest friend, my noble Tiara, my beloved hero brother, dost thou other times remember, when we fought and bled together, on the battlefields of Northland? There was not an island village, where there were not seven mansions, in each mansion seven heroes, and not one of all these foemen, whom we did not slay with broadswords, victims of our skill and valor. Near the window sat the father, whittling out a javelin handle, near the threshold sat the mother, skimming cream and making butter. Near the portal stood the brother, working on a sleigh of birchwood, near the bridge pass were the sisters, washing out their varied garments. Spake the father from the window, from the threshold spake the mother, from the portal spake the brother, and the sisters from the bridge pass. Tiara has no time for combat, and his broadsword cannot battle. Tiara is but late a bridegroom, still unveiled his bride awaits him. Near the hearth was Tiara lying, lying by the fire was Kura. Hastily one foot was shoeing, while the other lay in waiting. From the hook he takes his girdle, buckles it around his body, takes a javelin from its resting, not the largest nor the smallest, buckles on his mighty scabbard, dons his heavy mail of copper. On each javelin pranced the charger, wolves were howling from his helmet. On the rings the bears were growling, Tiara poised his mighty javelin, launched the spear upon its air, and hurled the shaft across the pasture, to the border of the forest, or the clay fields of Poyola, or the green and fragrant meadows, through the distant hills of Northland. Then great Tiara touched his javelin, to the mighty spear of Ati, pledged his aid to Lemekinen, and his combatant and comrade. Thereupon Wild Calcomielli pushed his boat upon the waters, like the serpent through the heather, like the creeping of the adder, sails the boat away to Poya, or the seas of Sariola. Quick the wicked hostess lo, he sends the black frost of the heavens, to the waters of Poyola, or the far extending sea plains, gave the black frost these directions. Much love frost my son and hero, whom thy mother has instructed, hasten wither I may send thee, go wherever I command thee, freeze the vessel of this hero, Lemekinen's bark of magic, on the broad back of the ocean, on the far extending waters, freeze the wizard in his vessel, freeze to ice the wicked Ati, that he never more may wander, never waken while thou livest, or at least till I shall free him, wake him from his icy slumber. Frost the son of wicked parents, hero's son of evil manners, hastens off to freeze the ocean, goes to fasten down the floodgates, goes to still the ocean currents. As he hastens on his journey, takes the leaves from all the forests, strips the meadows of their verger, robs the flowers of their color. When his journey he had ended, gained the border of the ocean, gained the seashore curved and endless. On the first night of his visit, freezes he the lakes and rivers, freezes to the shore of ocean, freezes not the ocean billows, does not check the ocean currents. On the sea a finches resting, bird of song upon the waters, but his feet are not yet frozen, neither is his head endangered. When the second night frost lingered, he began to grow importance. He became a fierce intruder, fearless grew in his invasions, freezes everything before him. Sends the fiercest cold of Northland, turns to ice the boundless waters. Ever thicker, thicker, thicker, grew the ice on sea and ocean. Ever deeper, deeper, deeper, fell the snow on field and forest, froze the hero's ship of beauty, cold and lifeless bark of Ati. Sought to freeze wild lemon-kind, and freeze him lifeless as his vessel, asked the minstrel for his lifeblood, for his ears and feet and fingers. Then the hero lemon-kind and angry grew, and filled with magic, hurled the black frost to the fire god, threw him to the fiery furnace, held him in his forge of iron, then addressed the frost as follows. Frost, thou evil son of Northland, dire and only son of winter, let my members not be stiffened, neither ears nor feet nor fingers, neither let my head be frozen. Thou hast other things to feed on, many other heads to stiffen, leave in peace the flesh of heroes, let this minstrel pass in safety, freeze the swamps, the lakes and rivers, fends and forest, hills and valleys, let the cold stones grow still colder, freeze the willows in the waters, let the aspen's freeze and suffer, let the bark peel from the birch trees, let the pines burst on the mountains, let this hero pass in safety, do not let his locks be stiffened. If all these prove insufficient, feed on other worthy matters, let the hot stones freeze asunder, let the flaming rocks be frozen, freeze the fiery blocks of iron, freeze to ice the iron mountains, stiffen well the mighty Woksi, let Imatra freeze to silence, freeze the sacred stream in Whirlpool, let their boiling billows stiffen, or thine origin I'll sing thee, tell thy lineage of evil. Well I know thine evil nature, know thine origin and power, whence thou camest where thou goest, know thine ancestry of evil. Thou wert born upon the aspen, wert conceived upon the billows, near the borders of Poyola, in the courts of Dismal, Northland. Sin begotten was thy father, and thy mother was dishonor, while in infancy who fed thee, while thy mother could not nurse thee. Surely thou wert fed by adders, nursed by foul and slimy serpents, Northwinds rock thee into slumber, cradle thee in roughest weather, in the worst of willow marshes, in the springs for ever flowing, evil born and evil nurtured, grew to be an evil genius, evil was thy mind and spirit, and the infant still was nameless, till the name of frost was given to the progeny of evil. Then the young lad lived in hedges, dwelt among the weeds and willows, lived in springs and days of summer, on the borders of the marshes, tore the lindens in the winter, stormed among the glens and forests, raged among the sacred birch trees, rattled in the alder branches, froze the trees, the shoots, the grasses, evened all the plains and prairies, ate the leaves within the Northlands, made the stalks drop down their blossoms, peeled the bark on weeds and willows. Thou hast grown to large proportions, hast become too tall and mighty, dost thou labor to benumb me, dost thou wish mine ears and fingers, or my feet wouldst thou deprive me. Do not strive to freeze this hero in his anguish and misfortune. In my stockings I shall kindle fire, to drive thee from my presence, in my shoes lay flaming faggots, coals of fire in every garment. Heated sandstones in my rigging, thus will hold thee at a distance. Then thine evil form I'll banish, to the farthest Northland borders, when thy journey is completed, when thy home is reached in safety, freeze the cauldrons in the castle, freeze the coal upon the hearthstone, in the dough the hands of women, on its mother's lap the infant, freeze the colt beside its mother. If thou shouldst not heed this order, I shall banish thee still farther, to the carbon piles of Hesse, to the chimney hearth of Lempel. Hurl thee to his fiery furnace, lay thee on the iron anvil, that thy body may be hammered, with the sledges of the blacksmith, may be pounded into atoms, twist the anvil and the hammer. If thou shouldst not heed this order, shouldst not leave me to my freedom, know I still another kingdom, know another spot of resting. I shall drive thee to the summer, lead thy tongue to warmer climates, there a prisoner to suffer, never to obtain thy freedom, till thy spirit I deliver, till I go myself and free thee. Wicked frost to the sun of winter, saw the magic bird of evil, hovering above his spirit. Straightway prayed for Ati's mercy, these the words the frost fiend uttered. Let us now agree together, neither one to harm the other, never in the course of ages, never while the moon like glimmers, on the snow-capped hills of Northland. If thou hearest that I bring thee, cold to freeze thy feet and fingers, hurl me to the fiery furnace, hammer me upon the anvil, of the blacksmith Ilmarinen, lead my tongue to warmer climates, banish me to lands of summer, there a prisoner to suffer, never more to gain my freedom. Thereupon, while Lemenkainen left his vessel in the ocean, frozen in the ice of Northland, left his warlike boat forever, started on his cheerless journey to the borders of Poyola, and the mighty Tierra followed, in the tracks of his companion. On the ice they journeyed northward, briskly walked upon the ice-plane, walked one day and then a second, till the closing of the third day, when the hunger-land approached them, when appeared Starvation Island. Here the hardy Lemenkainen hastened forward to the castle, this the hero's prayer in question. Is there food within the castle, fish or fowl within its larders, to refresh us on our journey, mighty heroes cold and weary? When the hero Lemenkainen found no food within the castle, neither fish nor fowl nor bacon, thus he cursed it and departed. May the fire destroy these chambers, may the waters flood this dwelling, wash it to the seas of Mana. Then they hastened onward, onward, hastened on through field and forest, over byways long untrodden, over unknown paths and snowfields. Here the hardy Lemenkainen, reckless hero Calcomielli, pulled the soft wool from the ledges, gathered lichens from the tree trunks, wove them into magic stockings, wove them into shoes and mittens, on the settles of the Horfrost, in the stinging cold of Northland. Then he sought to find some pathway that would guide their wayward footsteps, and the hero Spakus follows. O Thaltierra friend beloved, shall we reach our destination, wandering for days together through these Northland fields and forests? Kura thus replies to Ati, We alas have come for vengeance, come for blood and retribution, to the battlefields of Northland, to the Dismosariola, here to leave our souls and bodies, here to starve and freeze and perish, in the dreariest of places, in this sun forsaken country, never shall we gain the knowledge, never learn it, never tell it, which the pathway that can guide us, to the forest beds to suffer, to the poya plains to perish, in the homeland of the ravens, fitting food for crows and eagles. Often do the Northland vultures, hither come to feed their fledglings, hither bring the birds of heaven, bits of flesh and blood of heroes. Often do the beaks of ravens, tear the flesh of kindred corpses, often do the eagles talons, carry bones and trembling vitals, such as ours to feed their nestlings, in their rocky homes and ledges. Oh, my mother can but wonder, never can divine the answer, where her reckless son is roaming, where her hero's blood is flowing, whether in the swamps and lowlands, whether in the heat of battle, or upon the waves of the ocean, or upon the Hopfeld Mountains, or along some forest byway. Nothing can her mind discover of the frailest of her heroes, only think that he has perished. Thus the hoary-headed mother, weeps and murmurs in her chambers, where is now my son beloved, in the kingdom of Manala, so thy crops thou dread to only, harrow well the fields of Kalma. Now the bow receives its respite from the fingers of my tiara, bow and arrow now are useless, now the merry birds can fatten, in the fields and fends and forests, bears may live in dens of freedom, on the fields may sport the elk herds. Spake the reckless lemon-kinen. Thus it is, mine aged mother, thou that gavest me existence. Thou hast reared thy broods of chickens, hatched in rear thy flights of white swans. All of them the winds have scattered, or the evil lempo frightened, one flew hither and one thither, and a third one lost forever. Think thou of our former pleasures, of our better days together, when I wandered like the flowers, like the berry in the meadows. Many saw my form majestic, many thought me well proportioned. Now is not as then with ati, into evil days have fallen, since I see but storms and darkness. Then my eyes beheld but sunshine, then we did not weep and murmur, did not fill our hearts with sorrow, when the maids in joy were singing, when the virgins twined their tresses. Then the women joined in joyance, whether brides were happy wedded, whether bridegrooms chose discreetly, whether they were wise or unwise. 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 spellbound in their cabins, let the wizards charm each other, and bewitch their magic offspring, bring their tribes to fell destruction. Never did my grey-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 for ever, be our guardian and father, that our children may not wander from the ways of their Creator, from the path that God has given. Then the hero Lemon Kynan, made from cares the fleetest racers, sable racers from his sorrows, reigns 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 Tiara, galloped to his island dwelling, now departs while Lemon Kynan, brave and reckless Calcomielli, from these ancient songs and legends, only guides his faithful cura to his waiting bride and kindred, while these lays and incantations shall be turned to other heroes. End of Rune 30 Recording by Kyle Robb