 Rune 12 of the Calivala. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Calivala, compiled by Elias Longrock, translated by John Martin Crawford. Rune 12. Kiliki's Broken Vow. Lemminkainen, artful husband, reckless hero, Kaukumieli, constantly beside his young wife, passed his life in sweet contentment, and the years rolled swiftly onward. Artie thought not of the battles, nor Kiliki, of the dances. Once upon a time it happened that the hero Lemminkainen went upon the lake of fishing, was not home at early evening, as the cruel night descended. To the village went Kiliki, to the dance of merry maidens, who will tell the evil story, who will bear the information to the husband Lemminkainen. Artie's sister tells the story, and the sister's name, Iniki. Soon she spreads the cruel tidings, straightway gives the information of Kiliki's purged honour. These the words, Iniki, are to us. Artie, my beloved brother, to the village went Kiliki to the hall of many strangers, to the plays and village dances with the young men and the maidens, with the maids' abraded tresses, to the halls of joy and pleasure. Lemminkainen, much dejected, broken-hearted, flushed with anger, spake these words in measured accents. Mother dear, my grey-haired mother, wilt thou straightway wash my linen in the blood of poisoned serpents, in the black blood of the adder. I must hasten to the combat, to the campfires of the Northland, to the battlefields of Lapland, to the village went Kiliki, to the play of merry maidens, to the games and village dances with the maids' abraded tresses. Straightway speaks the wife Kiliki, my beloved husband Artie. Do not go to war, I pray thee. In the evening I lay sleeping, slumbering I soar in dreamland, fire-up-shooting from the chimney, flames arising, mounting styward from the windows of this dwelling, from the summits of these rafters, piercing through our upper chambers, roaring like the fall of waters, leaping from the floor and ceiling, darting from the halls and doorways. But the doubting Lemminkainen makes this answer to Kiliki. I discredit dreams or women, have no faith in vows of maidens. Faithful mother of my being, hither bring my mail of copper, strong desire is stirring in me for the cup of deadly combat, for the mead of martial conquest. This the pleading mother's answer. Lemminkainen, son beloved, do not go to war, I pray thee. We have foaming beer abundant in our vessels, beer of barley, held in casts by oaken spigots. Drink this beer of peace and pleasure. Let us drink of it together. Spake the hero Lemminkainen. I shall taste no more the vines in the home of false Kiliki. Rather would I drink the water from the painted tips of birch oars, sweeter far to me the water than the beverage of dishonour at my mother's home and fireside. Hither bring my martial doublet, bring me now the sword of battle. Bring my father's sword of honour, I must go to Upper Northland to the battlefields of Lapland, there to win me gold and silver. This the anxious mother's answer. My beloved Kaukumieli, we have gold in great abundance. Gold and silver in the storeroom, recently upon the uplands, in the early hours of morning, toil the workmen in the corn fields plowed the meadows filled with serpents. When the plowshare raised the cover from a chest of gold and silver, countless was the gold and covered head beneath the grassy meadow. This the treasure I have brought thee, take the countless gold in welcome. Spake the hero Lemminkainen. Do not wish thy household silver, from the wars I'll earn my silver. Gold and silver from the combat are to me of greater value than the wealth thou hast discovered. Bring me now my heavy Rama, bring me to my spear and broad sword. To the Northland I must hasten to the bloody wars of Lapland. Thither does my pride impel me, thither word my heart is turning. I've heard a tale of Lapland. Some believe the wondrous story that a maid in Pimentola lives that does not care for suitors, does not care for bearded heroes. This the aged mother's answer. War like Artee, son beloved, in thy home thou hast Killikey, fairest wife of all the islands, strange to see two wives abiding in the home of but one husband. Spake the hero Lemminkainen. To the village runs Killikey, let her run to village dances. Let her sleep in other dwellings with the village youth, find pleasure with the maids of braided tresses. Seeks the mother to detain him, thus the anxious mother answers. Do not go, my son beloved, ignorant of poyre witchcraft, to the distant homes of Northland till thou hast the art of magic. Till thou hast some little wisdom, do not go to fields of battle to the fires of Northland's children, to the slaughter fields of Lapland till of magic thou art master. There the Lapland maids will charm thee, terrylanders will bewitch thee, sing thy visage into charcoal, head and shoulders to the furnace, into ashes sing thy forearm into fire direct thy footsteps. Spake the war like Lemminkainen. The wizards often have bewitched me and the fascinating serpents. Lapland wizards three in number on an eve in time of summer, sitting on a rock at twilight, not a garment to protect them once, bewitched me with their magic. This much they have taken from me, this the sum of all my losses. What the hatchet gains from Flintstone, what the auger bores from granite, what the heel chips from the iceberg, what death perloins from tombstones. Horribly the wizards threatened, tried to sink me with their magic in the water of the marshes in the mud and treacherous quicksand to my chin in mire and water, but I too was born a hero, born a hero and magician, was not troubled by their magic. Straightway I began my singing, sang the archers with their arrows, sang the spearmen with their weapons, sang the swordsmen with their ponies, sang the singers with their singing, the enchanters with their magic to the rapids of the rivers, to the highest fall of waters, to the all-devouring whirlpool, to the deepest depths of ocean, where the wizards still are sleeping, sleeping till the grass shoots upward through the beards and wrinkled faces, through the locks of the enchanters as they sleep beneath the billows. Still entreats the anxious mother, still besieges Lemminkainen, trying to restrain the hero, while Kiliky begs forgiveness. This, the language of the mother, do not go, my son, beloved, to the villages of Northland, nor to Lapland's frigid borders, dire misfortune will befall thee, star of evil settle over thee, Lemminkainen's end destruction. Couldest thou speak in tongues, a hundred, I could not believe the able, through the magic of thy singing, to enchan the sons of Lapland, to the bottom of the ocean does not know the teary language, cance but speak the tongue of Suomi, cance not win by witless magic. Lemminkainen, reckless hero, also known as Kaukumielli, stood beside his mother, combing out his sable locks and musing, brushing down his beard debating, steadfast still in his decision, quickly hurls his brush in anger, hurls it to the wall opposing, gives his mother final answer. These the words that Artie uses, dire misfortune will befall thee, some sad fate will overtake me, evil come to Lemminkainen when the blood flows from that hairbrush when the blood oozes from those bristles. Thus the warlike Lemminkainen goes to never pleasant Lapland, heeding not his mother's warning, heeding not her prohibition. Thus the hero Kaukumielli quick equips himself for warfare on his head a copper helmet, on his shoulders caps of copper, on his body iron armour, steel the belt around his body, as he guards himself for battle, Artie thus Sallela quizzing. Strong the hero in his armour, strong indeed copper helmet, powerful in mail of iron, stronger far than any hero on the dismal shores of Lapland, need not fear their wise enchanters, need not fear their strongest foemen, need not fear a war with wizards, grasp teeth and the sword of battle, firmly grasp the heavy broad sword that Tuolmi had been grinding, that the gods had brightly burnished, thrust it in the leavened scabbard, tied the scabbard to his armour. How do heroes guard from danger? Where protect themselves from evil? Heroes guard their homes and firesides, guard their doors and roofs and windows, guard the posts that build the torchlights, guard the highways to the courtyard, guard the ends of all the gateways. Heroes guard themselves from women, carefully from merry maidens, if in this their strength we wanting easy fall the heroes victims to the snares of the enchanters. Furthermore our heroes watchful of the tribes of war-like giants, where the highway doubly branches, on the borders of the blue rock, on the marshes filled with evil, near the mighty fall of waters, near the circling of the whirlpool, near the fiery springs and rapids. Spake the stout-heart lemon-kinan, rise your heroes of the broad sword, near the earth's eternal heroes, from the deeps your sickle-bearers, from the brooks your crossbow shooters, come thou forest with thine arches, come your thickets with your armies, mountain spirits with your powers, come fell hissy with thy horrors, water-mother with thy dangers, come of wellamo with thy mermaids, come your maidens from the valleys, come your mimps from winding rivers. Be protection to this hero, be his day and night companions, bodyguard to lemon-kinan, thus to blunt the spears of wizards, thus to dull their pointed arrows that the spears of the enchanters, that the arrows of the archers, that the weapons of the foemen not harm this bearded hero. Should this force be insufficient, I can call on other powers, I can call the gods above me, call the great God of the heavens, him who gives the clouds their courses, him who rules through boundless ether, who directs the mart of storm winds, who call thou, O God above me, thou the father of creation, thou that speakest through the thunder, thou whose weapon is the lightning, thou whose voice is borne by ether, grant me now thy mighty fire-sword, give me here thy burning arrows, lightning arrows for my quiver, thus protect me from all danger, guard me from the wiles of witches, guide my feet from every evil, help me conquer the enchanters, help me drive them from the Northland, those that stand in front of battle, those that fill the ranks behind me, those around me, those above me, those beneath me, help me banish, with their knives and swords and crossbows, with their spears of keenest temper, with their tongues of evil magic, help me drive these lapland wizards to the deepest depths of ocean there to wrestle with the well-emo. Then the reckless Lemminkainen whistled loudly for his stallion, called the razor from the hurdles, called his brown steed from the pasture, threw the harness on the coarser, hitched the fleet-foot to the snow-sledge, leaped upon the highest crossbench, cracked his whip above the razor, and the steed flies onward swiftly, slayer upon its journey, and the golden plain re-echoes, travels one day, then a second, travels all the next day northward, till the third-day evening brings him to a sorry Northland village on the dismal shores of Lapland. Here the hero Lemminkainen drove along the lowest highway through the streets along the border to a courtyard in the hamlet, the last one standing in the doorway. Is there one within this dwelling that can lose my stallion's breastplate that can lift his heavy collar that these shafts can rightly lower? On the floor a babe was playing, and the young child gave this answer. There is no one in this dwelling that can lose thy stallion's breastplate that can lift his heavy collar that the shafts can rightly lower. Lemminkainen, not discouraged, whips his razor to a gallop, rushes forward through the village on the middle of the highways to the courtyard in the centre, asks one standing in the threshold leaning on the penthouse doorposts. Is there anyone here dwelling that can slip my stallion's bridle that can lose his leaven breaststraps that can tend my royal racer? From the fireplace spake a wizard from a bench the witch made answer. Thou canst find one in this dwelling that can slip thy horse's bridle that can lose his heavy breastplate that can tend thy royal racer. There are here a thousand heroes that can make thee hasten homeward that can give thee fleet foot stallions that can chase thee to thy country, reckless rascal and magician, to thy home and fellow minstrels, to the uplands of thy father, to the cabins of thy mother, to the workbench of thy brother, to the dairy of thy sister, ere the evening star has risen, ere the sun retires to slumber. Lemminkainen, little fearing, give this answer to the wizard. I should slay thee for thy pertness, that thy clatter might be silenced. Then he whipped his fiery charger, and the steed flew onward swiftly on the upper of the highways to the courtyard on the summit. When the reckless Lemminkainen had approached the upper courtyard, uttered he the words that follow. O thou hissy, stuff this watchdog lampeau, stuff his throat and nostrils, close the mouth of this wild barker, bridle well the vicious canine, that the water may be silent while the hero passes by him. Then he stepped within the courtroom with his whip he struck the flooring. From the floor arose a vapour, and the fog appeared a pygmy, who unhitched the royal racer. From his back removed the harness, gave the wary steed attention. Then the hero Lemminkainen carefully advanced and listened. No one saw the strange magician, no one heard his cautious footsteps. Heard he songs within the dwelling through the most tough chinks, heard voices, through the walls he heard them singing, through the doors the peals of laughter. Then he spied within the courtrooms, lurking slighly in the hallways, found the courtrooms filled with singers. By the walls were players seated, near the doors the wise men hovered, skillful ones upon the benches, near the fires the wicked wizards. All were singing songs of lapland, singing songs of evil hissy. Now the minstrel Lemminkainen changes both his form and stature, passes through the inner doorways, enters he the spacious court hall, and these words the hero utters. Find the singing quickly rending, good the song that quickly seizes. Better far to keep thy wisdom than to sing it on the housetops, comes the hostess a pojola, fleetily rushing through the doorway to the centre of the courtroom and addresses thus the stranger, a dog lay watering was a cur of iron colour, fond of flesh, a bone devourer, loved to lick the blood of strangers, who then art thou of the heroes, who of all the host of heroes, that thou art within my courtrooms, that thou comest to my dwelling, was not seen without my portals, was not centred by my watchdogs. Spake the reckless Lemminkainen, do not think that I come hither having neither wit nor wisdom, having neither art nor power, wanting in ancestral knowledge lacking prudence of the fathers, that thy watchdogs may devour me. My devoted mother washed me when a frail and tender baby, three times in the nights of summer, nine times in the nights of autumn, that upon my journeys northward, I might sing the ancient wisdom, thus protect myself from danger, when at home I sing as wisely ere as the minstrels of thy hamlet. Then the singer, Lemminkainen, ancient hero Kaukumieli, quick began his incantations. Straightway sang the songs of witchcraft from his fur-robed darts the lightning, flames out shooting from his eyeballs, the magic of his singing from his wonderful enchantment. Sang the very best of singers to the very worst of minstrels, filled their mouths with dust and ashes, piled the rocks upon their shoulders, still the best of lapland witches, still the sorcerers and wizards. Then he banished all their heroes, banished all their proudest minstrels. This one hither, that one thither, to the lowlands poor in verdia, to the unproductive uplands, to the oceans wanting, witting, to the waterfalls of ratia, to the whirlpool hot and flaming, to the waters decked with sea foam, into fires and boiling waters, into everlasting torment. Then the hero Lemminkainen sang the fomen with their broad souls, sang the heroes with their weapons, sang the eldest, sang the youngest, sang the middle-aged, enchanted. Only one he left his senses, he a poor, defenseless shepherd, old and sightless, halt and wretched, and the old man's name was Nasset. Spake the miserable shepherd, thou hast old and young enchanted, thou hast banished all our heroes, why hast spared this wretched shepherd? This is Lemminkainen's answer. Therefore have I not quitched thee, thou art old and blind and wretched, feeble-minded, thou and harmless, loathsome now without my magic. Thou didst in thy better lifetime when a shepherd filled with malice, ruin all thy mother's berries, make thy sister too unworthy, ruin all thy brother's cattle, drive to death thy father's talions, through the marshes over the meadows, through the lowlands over the mountains, heeding not thy mother's counsel. Thereupon the wretched Nasset angry grew and saw four vengeance, straightway limping through the doorway, hobbled on beyond the courtyard, over the meadowlands and pastures, to the river of the death-land, to the holy stream and whirlpool, to the kingdom of Tuoni, to the islands of Manala. Waited there for Kaukumieli listened long for Lemminkainen, thinking he must pass this river on his journey to his country, on the highway to the islands, from the upper shores of Poia, from the dreary Sariola. And a room twelve kilikies broken vow recording my summon Barua. Rune 13 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 Ilias Lönnrod, translated by John Martin Crawford. Rune 13. Lemminkainen's second ruin. Spake the ancient Lemminkainen to the hostess of Poiola. Give to me thy lovely daughter. Bring me now thy winsome maiden. Bring the best of Lepland Virgin's, fairest Virgin of the Northland. Loe, hostess of Poiola, answered thus the wild magician. I shall never give my daughter, never give my fairest maiden, not the best one nor the worst one, not the largest nor the smallest. Thou hast now one wife companion, thou hast taken hence one hostess, carried off the fair Kyliki. This is Lemminkainen's answer. To my home I took Kyliki, to my cottage on the island, to my entry gates and kindred. Now I wish a better hostess. Straightway bring thy fairest daughter, worthiest of all thy virgins. Fairest maid with sable tresses. Spake the hostess of Poiola. Never will I give my daughter, to a hero false and worthless, to a minstrel, vain and evil. Therefore pray thou for my maiden. Therefore woe the sweet-faced flower, when thou bringest me the wild moose, from the heezy fields and forests. Then the artful Lemminkainen, deftly whittled out his javelins, quickly made his leathern bowstring, and prepared his bow and arrows, and soliloquized as follows. Now my javelins are made ready, all my arrows too are ready, and my oak and crossbow bend it, but my snowshoes are not build it, who will make me worthy snowshoes? Lemminkainen, grave and thoughtful, long reflected, well considered, where the snowshoes could be fashioned, who the artist that could make them. Haste them to the cowpea smithy, to the smithy of Lilliki. Thus address the snowshoe artist. O thou skillful, voyal under, cowpea ablest smith of Lepland, make me quick too worthy snowshoes, smooth them well and make them hardy, that in Tapio the wild moose, roaming through the heezy forests, I may catch and bring to Lohi, as a dowry for her daughter. Then Lilliki thus made answer, cowpea gave his prompt decision. Lemminkainen, reckless minstrel, thou wilt hunt in vain the wild moose, thou wilt catch and bring to Lohi, as a dowry for her daughter. In the wild moose, thou wilt catch but pain and torture in the heezy fence and forests. Little heeding, Lemminkainen, spake these measures to Lilliki. Make for me the worthy snowshoes, quickly work and make them ready, go I will and catch the blue moose, where in Tapio it browses, in the heezy woods and snow fields. Then Lilliki, snowshoe maker, ancient cowpea, master artist, whittled in the fall his snowshoes, smoothed them in the winter evenings, one day working on the runners, all the next day making stick-rings. Till at last the shoes were finished and the workmanship was perfect. Then he fastened well the shoestraps, smoothed as other's skin the woodwork, soft as fox fur were the stick-rings, oiled he well his wondrous snowshoes, with the tello of the reindeer. When he does soliloquieses, these the accents of Lilliki. Is there any youth in life in the wild moose, is there any youth in Lepland, any in this generation that can travel in these snowshoes that can move the lower sections? Spake the reckless lemminkinen, full of hope and life and vigor, surely there is one in Lepland, in this rising generation that can travel in these snowshoes that the right and left can manage. To his back he tied the quiver, placed the bow upon his shoulder, with both hands he grasped his snowcane, speaking meanwhile words as follow. There is nothing in the woodlands, nothing in the world of Ukko, nothing underneath the heavens, in the uplands, in the lowlands, nothing in the snow-fields running, not a fleet dear of the forest that could not be overtaken with the snowshoes of Lilliki, with the strides of Lemminkinen. Wicked heezy heard these measures, youthers listened to their echoes, straightway heezy called the wild moose, youthers listened to their echoes, heezy called the wild moose, youthers fashioned sooner reindeer and the head was made of punkwood, horns of naked willow branches, feet were furnished by the rushes and the legs by reeds aquatic, veins were made of withered grasses, eyes from daisies of the meadows, ears were formed of water-flowers, and the skin of tawny fur-bark, out of seppy wood the mussels, fair and fleet the magic reindeer. Youthers does instructs the wild moose, these the words of wicked heezy. Flea-way-down moose of youthers, flea-way-down heezy reindeer, like the wind-style rapid coarser to the snow-homes of the ranger, to the ridges of the mountains, to the snow-capped hills of Lepland, that thy hunter may be worn out, thy pursuer be tormented, Lemminkinen be exhausted. Thereupon the heezy reindeer, youthers moved with breath to the land of Lemminkinen, to the land of Lemminkinen, the pirania reindeer, youthers moved with branching antlers, fleetily ran through fen and forest, over Leplands hills and valleys, through the open fields and courtyards, through the penthouse doors and gateways, turning over tubs of water through the kettles from the fire-pool, and upset the dishes cooking. Then arose a fearful uproar in the courtyards of thấyla. Lepland dogs began their barking, Lepland children cried in Gog, Lepland women aw dancers and women wrought with laughter, and the lapland heroes shouted. Fleetly followed Lemminkainen, followed fast and followed faster, hastened on behind the wild moose, over swamps and through the woodlands, over snow-fields fast and pathless, over higher uprising mountains, fire-out shooting from his runners, smoker rising from his snow-cane, could not hear the wild moose bounding, could not sight the flying fleet-foot, glided on through field and forest, glided over lakes and rivers, over lands beyond the smooth sea, through the desert plains of Hesse, glided over the plains of Kalmar, through the kingdom of Tuoni, to the end of Kalmar's empire, where the jaws of death stand open, where the head of Kalmar lowers, ready to devour the stranger, to devour wild Lemminkainen. But Tuoni cannot reach him, Kalmar cannot overtake him. Distant woods are yet untraveled, far away a woodland corner stands unsearched by Kaukwomjeli, in the north extensive borders, in the realm of dreary lapland. Now the hero on his snowshoes hastens to the distant woodlands, there to hunt the moose of Piru. As he nears the woodland corner, there he hears a frightful uproar, from the northlands distant borders, from the dreary fields of lapland, he is the dogs as they are barking, he is the children loudly screaming, he is the laughter of the women, he is the shouting of the heroes. Thereupon wild Lemminkainen hastens forward on his snowshoes, to the place where dogs are barking, to the distant woods of Lapland. When the reckless Kaukwomjeli had approached this easy corner, straight way he began to question. Why this laughter of the women, why the screaming of the children, why the shouting of the heroes, why the sparking of the watchdogs? This reply was promptly given. This the reason for this uproar, women laughing, children screaming, heroes shouting, watchdogs barking. Easy smooth came running hither, hither came the Piru reindeer, hither came with hoofs of silver, through the open fields and courtyards, through the penthouse doors and gateways, turning over tubs of water, through the kettles from the fire-pole, and upset the dishes cooking. Then the hero Lemminkainen, straight way summoned all his courage, pushed ahead his mighty snowshoes, swift as eddas in the stubble, levelled bushes in the marshes, like the swift and fiery serpents, spake these words of magic import, keeping balance with his snow-staff. Come down, might of Lapland heroes, bring to me the moose of Eutas, come down strength of Lapland women, and prepare the boiling cauldron. Come down, might of Lapland children, bring together fire and fuel. Come down, strength of Lapland kettles, help to boil the heezy wild moose. Then with mighty force and courage Lemminkainen hastened onward, striking backward, shooting forward, with the long sweep of his snowshoe disappeared from view the hero. With the second shooting further was the hunter out of hearing. With the third the hero glided on the shoulders of the wild moose, took a pole of stoutest oak wood, took some bark-strings from the willow, wherewith all to bind the moose dear, bind him to his oak and hurdle. To the moose he spake as follows, here remained our moose of Eutas, skip about my bounding coarser, in my hurdle jump and frolic, captive from the fields of Piru, from the heezy glens and mountains. When he stroked the captured wild moose, petted him upon his forehead, spake again in measured accents. I would like a while to linger, I would love to rest a moment, in the cottage of my maiden, with my virgin, young and lovely. Then the heezy moose grew angry, stamped his feet and shook his antlers, spake these words to Lemminkainen. Surely Lemposun will get thee, shouldst thou sit beside the maiden, shouldst thou linger by the virgin. How the wild moose stems and rushes, tears in two the bands of willow, breaks the oak wood pole in pieces, and upturns the hunter's hurdle, quickly leaping from his captor, bounds away with strength of freedom, over hills and over lowlands, over swamps and over snow-fields, over mountains clothed in heather, that the eye may not behold him, nor the heroes ear-detect him. Thereupon the mighty hunter, angry grows and much disheartened, thus again the moose to capture, gliding off behind the coarser. With his mighty plunge as forward, at the instep breaks his snowshoe, breaks the runners into fragments, on the mountains breaks his javelins, in the centre breaks his snow-staff, and the moose bounds on before him, through the heezy woods and snow-fields, out of reach of Lemminkainen. Then the reckless Kaukomjely looked with bandied head ill-humoured, one by one upon the fragments, speaking words of ancient wisdom. Northland hunters, never and never, go defiant to thy forests, in the heezy veils and mountains, there to hunt the moose of Utahes, like this senseless reckless hero. I have wrecked my magic snowshoes, ruined too my useful snow-staff, and my javelins I have broken, while the wild moose runs in safety, through the heezy fields and forests. End of Rune 13, Recording by Sonja. Rune 14 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 Lundrott, translated by John Martin Crawford, Rune 14. Death of Lemminkainen Lemminkainen, much disheartened, deeply thought and long considered, what to do, what course to follow, whether best to leave the wild moose in the fastness of heezy, and return to Kalevala, or a third time hunt the ranger, hoping thus to bring him captive, thus return at last a victor to the forest home of Luchy. To the joy of all her daughters, to the wood nymph's happy fireside. Take courage, Lemminkainen, spake these words in supplication. Uko thou, O God, above me, thou creator of the heavens, put my snowshoes well in order, and endow them both with swiftness, that I rapidly may journey over marshes, or snowfields, or lowlands, over highlands, through the realms of wicked heezy, through the distant plains of lapland, through the paths of Lempos wild moose, to the forest hills of Yutas. To the snowfields shall I journey, leave the heroes to the woodlands, on the way to Tapiola, into Tapio's wild dwellings. Greetings bring thy to the mountains. Greetings to the veils and uplands. Greet ye heights with forests covered. Greet ye ever-burdened fir trees. Greet ye groves of whitened aspen. Greetings bring to those that greet you. Fields and streams and woods of lapland. Bring me favor, mountain woodlands. Lapland deserts show me kindness. Mighty Tapio, be gracious. Let me wander through thy forests. Let me glide along thy rivers. Let this hunter search thy snowfields. Where the wild moose herds in numbers. Where the bounding reindeer lingers. O Nuriki, mountain hero, son of Tapio of forests. Hero with the scarlet headgear, notches make along the pathway, landmarks upward to the mountains. Let this hunter may not wander, may not fall and falling perish in the snowfields of thy kingdom. Hunting for the moose of Hissi, dowry for the pride of Northland, mistress of the woods, Mieliki, forest mother formed in beauty. Let thy gold flow out abundant. Let thy silver onward wander for the hero that is seeking for the wild moose of thy kingdom. Bring me here thy keys of silver. From the golden girdle round thee, open Tapio's rich chambers and unlock the forest fortress while I here await the booty, while I hunt the moose of Lempos. Should this service be too menial, give the order to thy servants, send it once thy servant maidens, and command it to thy people. Thou wilt never seem a hostess, if thou hast not in thy service, maidens ready by the hundreds, thousands that await thy bidding. Who thy herds may watch and nurture, tend the game of thy dominions. Tall and slender forest virgin, Tapio's beloved daughter, blow thou now thy honey-flute notes, play upon thy forest whistle, for the hearing of thy mistress, for thy charming woodland mistress. Bring her here thy sweet-toned playing, that she may arise from slumber. Should thy mistress not awaken, at the calling of thy flute notes, play again and play unceasing. Make the golden tongue re-echo. Wild and daring Lemminkainen, steadfast praise upon his journey, calling on the gods for succor, hastens off through fields and moorlands, passes on through cruel brushwood, to the colliery of hissy, to the burning fields of Lempel. Glided one day, then a second, glided all the next day onward, till he came to Big Stone Mountain, climbed upon its rocky summit, turned his glances to the northwest, toward the Northland moors and marshes. There appeared the Tapio mansion. All the doors were golden-colored, shining in a gleam of sunlight, through the thickets on the mountains, through the distant fields of Northland. Lemminkainen, much encouraged, hastens onward from his station, through the lowlands or the uplands, over snow-fields, vast and vacant. Under snow-robed furs and aspens, hastens forward, happy-hearted, quickly reaches Tapio's courtyards, halts without at Tapio's windows, wily looks into her mansion, spies within some kindly women. Forest aims outstretched before him. All are clad in scanty raiment, dressed in soiled and ragged linens. Spake the stranger Lemminkainen, wherefore sit ye forest mothers, in your old and simple garments, in your soiled and ragged linen. Three forsooth are too untidy, too unsightly your appearance, in your tattered gowns apparelled. When I lived within the forest, there were then three mountain castles, one of horn and one of ivory, and the third of wood constructed. In their walls were golden windows, six the windows in each castle. Through these windows I discovered all the host of Tapio's mansion. Though its fair and stately hostess, saw great Tapio's lovely daughter, saw Tellervo in her beauty, with her train of charming maidens, all were dressed in golden raiment, rustled all in golden silver. Then the forest's queenly hostess, still the hostess of these woodlands, on her arms were golden bracelets, golden rings upon her fingers, in her hair were sparkling jewels, on her head were golden fillets, on her ears were golden earrings, on her neck a pearly necklace, and her bradelets silver-tinsled, lovely hostess of the forest, Metzola's enchanting mistress, fling aside thine ugly straw shoes, cast away the shoes of birch bark, doff thy soiled and ragged linen, doff thy gown of shabby fabric, dawn the bright and festive raiment, dawn the gown of merry-making, while I stay within thy borders, while I seek my forest booty. Hunt the moose of evil hissy, here my visit will be orksome, here thy guest will be ill-humored, wading in thy fields and woodlands, hunting here the moose of Lempel, finding not the hissy ranger, shouldst thou give me no enjoyment, should I find no joy nor respite, finding the eve that gives no pleasure, long the day that brings no gerdan, sable-bearded god of forests, in thy hat and coat of ermine, robe thy trees in finest fibers, deck thy groves in richest fabrics, give the fir trees shining silver, deck with gold the slender balsams, give the spruces copper-belting, and the pine trees silver girdles, give the birches golden flowers, deck their stems with silver fretwork, this their garb in former ages, when the days and nights were brighter, when the fir trees shone like sunlight, and the birches like the moonbeams, honey-breathe throughout the forest, settled in the glens and highlands, spices in the meadow-borders, oil outpouring from the lowlands, next-daughter, lovely virgin, golden maiden, fair tulikki, second of the tapio daughters, drive the game within these borders, to these far-extending snow-fields, should the reindeer be too sluggish, should the moose-deer move too slowly, cut a birch-rod from the thicket, whip them hither in their beauty, drive the wild-mose to my hurdle, hither drive the long-sought booty to the hunter who is watching, wading in the hissy forests, when the game has started hither, keep them in the proper highway, hold thy magic hands before them, guard them well on either roadside, that the elk may not escape thee, may not dart a down-some by-path, should perchance the moose-deer wander through some by-way of the forest, take him by the ears and antlers, hither lead the pride of Lempel. If the path be filled with brushwood, cast the brushwood to the roadside, if the branches cross his pathway, break the branches into fragments, should a fence of fur or alder cross the way that leads him hither, make an opening within it, open nine obstructing fences, if the way be crossed by streamlets, if the path be stopped by rivers, make a bridge of silken fabric, weeding webs of scarlet color, drive the deer herd gently over, need them gently o'er the waters, o'er the rivers of thy forests, o'er the streams of thy dominions. Thou, the host of Tapio's mansion, this host of Tapiola, sable-bearded god of woodlands, golden lord of Northland forests, thou, O Tapio's worthy hostess, queen of snowy woods, mimerci, ancient dame in sky-blue vesture, Fenland queen in scarlet ribbons, come I to exchange my silver, to exchange my golden silver, old I have, as old as moonlight, silver of the age of sunshine, in the first of years was gathered, in the heat and pain of battle. It will rust within my pouches, soon will wear away and perish, if it be not used in trading, long the hunter, them in kynan, glided through the fenn and forest, sang his songs throughout the woodlands, through three mountain-glends he sang them, sang the forest hostess friendly, sang he also Tapio friendly, friendly, all the forest virgins, all of Metzola's fair daughters. Now they start the herds of Lempos, start the wild moose from his shelter, in the realms of evil Hissi, Tapio's highest mountain region. Now they drive the ranger homeward, to the open courts of Piru, to the hero that is waiting, hunting for the moose of Yutas. When the herd had reached the castle, Lemenkynan through his lasso, or the antlers of the blue moose, settled on the neck and shoulders of the mighty moose of Hissi, then the hunter, Kaokomieli, stroked his captive's neck in safety, where the moose was well imprisoned. Thereupon, gay Lemenkynan, filled with joyants, spake as follows, pride of forests, queen of woodlands, Metzola's enchanted hostess, lovely forest dame, Mieliki, mother-donor of the mountains, take the gold that I have promised, come and take away the silver, spread thy kerchief well before me, spread out here thy silken neck-wrap, underneath the golden treasure, underneath the shining silver, that to earth it may not settle, scattered on the snows of winter. Then the hero went to Victor, to the dwellings of Bohiala, and addressed these words to Lohi, I have caught the moose of Hissi, in the Metzola dominions, Give, O hostess, give thy daughter, give to me thy fairest virgin, bride of mine to be hereafter. Lohi, hostess of the Northland, gave this answer to the sweeter. I will give to thee, my daughter, for thy wife my fairest maiden, when for me they'll put a bridle on the flaming horse of Hissi, rapid messenger of Lempel, on the Hissi plains and pastures. Nothing daunted Lemenkynan hastened forward to accomplish Lohi's second test of heroes, on the cultivated lowlands, on the sacred fields and forests. Everywhere he sought the racer, sought the fire-expiring stallion, fire out-shooting from his nostrils, Lemenkynan, fearless hunter, bearing in his belt his bridle, on his shoulders reins and halter, sought one day and then a second. Finally upon the third day went he to the Hissi mountain, climbed and struggled to the summit. To the east he turned his glances, cast his eyes upon the sunrise. There beheld the flaming coarser, on the heath among the far trees, Lempel's fire-expiring stallion, fire in mingled smoke out-shooting from his mouth and eyes and nostrils. Spake the daring Lemenkynan, this the hero's supplication, Uko, thou, O God, above me, thou that rulest all the storm clouds, open now the vault of heaven, open windows through the ether, let the icy rain come falling, let the heavy hailstones shower on the flaming horse of Hissi, on the fire-expiring stallion. Uko, the benign creator, heard the prayer of Lemenkynan, broke apart the dome of heaven, rent the heights of heaven asunder, sent the iron-hail in showers, smaller than the heads of horses, larger than the heads of heroes, on the flaming steed of Lempel, on the fire-expiring stallion, on the terror of the Northland. Lemenkynan, drawing nearer, looked with care upon the coarser, then he spake the words that follow, Wonders-steed of mighty Hissi, flaming horse of Lempel's mountain, bring thy mouth of gold assenting, gently place thy head of silver in this bright and golden halter, in this silver-mounted bridle. I shall never harshly treat thee, never make thee fly too fleetly, on the way to Sariola, on the tracks of long duration, to the hostess of Bohjala, to her magic quartz and stables, will not lash thee on thy journey, I shall lead thee gently forward, drive thee with the reins of kindness, cover thee with silken blankets, then the fire-haired steed of Yurtas, flaming horse of mighty Hissi, put his head of shining silver in the bright and golden head stall, in the silver-mounted bridle. Thus the hero, Lemenkynan, easy bridle's Lempel stallion, flaming horse of Evil Piru, lays the bits within his fire-mouth, on his silver head the halter, mounts the fire-expiring coarser, brandishes his whip of Willow, hastens forward on his journey, bounding o'er the hills and mountains, dashing through the valley's northward, o'er the snow-capped hills of Lapland, to the courts of Sariola. Then the hero, quick dismounting, stepped within the court of Lohi, thus addressed the northland hostess, I have bridled Lempel's fire-horse, I have caught the Hissi-racer, caught the fire-expiring stallion, between the Piru plains and pastures, ridden him within thy borders, I have caught the mousse of Lempel, I have done what thou demandest. Give I pray thee, now thy daughter, give to me thy fairest maiden, bride of mine to be for ever. Lohi, hostess of Bochiala, made this answer to the suitor. I will only give my daughter, give to thee my fairest virgin, bride of thine to be for ever. When for me the swan thou killest in the river of Tuwoni, swimming in the Black Death River, in the sacred stream and whirlpool, thou canst try one crossbow only, but one arrow from thy quiver. Then the reckless lemon-kinden, handsome hero, Kaoko Mieli, braided the third test of the hero, started out to hunt the wild swan, hunt the long-necked, graceful swimmer, in Tuwoni's Cold Black River, in Manala's lower regions. Quick the daring hunter journeyed, hastened off with fearless footsteps, to the river of Tuwoni, to the sacred stream and whirlpool, with his bow upon his shoulder, with his quiver and one arrow. Nasut, blind in crippled shepherd, wretched shepherd of Bochiala, stood beside the Deathland River, near the sacred stream and whirlpool, guarding Tuwoni's waters, wading there for lemon-kinden, listening there for Kaoko Mieli, wading long the hero's coming. Finally, he hears the footsteps of the hero on his journey, hears the tread of lemon-kinden, as he journeys nearer, nearer, to the river of Tuwoni, to the cataract of Deathland, to the sacred stream and whirlpool. Quick the wretched shepherd, Nasut, from the Deathstream sends a serpent, like an arrow from a crossbow, to the heart of lemon-kinden, through the vitals of the hero. Lemon-kinden, little conscious, hardly knew that he was injured, spake these measures as he perished. Ah, unworthy is my conduct, ah, unwisely have I acted, that I did not heed my mother, did not take her goodly counsel, did not learn her words of magic. O I, for three words with my mother, how to live and how to suffer in this time of dire misfortune, how to bear the stings of serpents, tortures of the reed of waters, from the stream of Tuwonella, ancient mother who has borne me, who has trained me from my childhood, learn I pray thee where I linger, where alas, thy son is lying, where thy reckless hero suffers, come my pray thee, faithful mother, come thou quickly, thou art needed, come deliver me from torture, from the death jaws of Tuwoni, from the sacred stream of the northern whirlpool, Northland's old and wretched shepherd, Noshut, the despised protector of the flocks of Sariola, throws the dying Lemon-kinden, throws the hero of the islands into Tuwonella's river, to the blackest stream of death land, to the worst of fatal whirlpools, Lemon-kinden, wild and daring, helpless falls upon the waters, pouring down the cold black current, through the cataract and rapids, to the tombs of Tuwonella, there the bloodstained son of death land, there Tuwoni's son and hero, cuts in pieces Lemon-kinden, chops him with his mighty hatchet, till the sharpened axe strikes Flintsparks, from the rocks within his chamber, chops the hero into fragments, into five unequal portions, throws each portion to Tuwoni, in Manala's lowest kingdom, speaks these words when he has ended, swim thou there while Lemon-kinden, flow thou onward in this river, hunt for ever in these waters, with thy crossbow and thy narrow, shoot the swan within this empire, shoot our water birds and welcome, thus the hero Lemon-kinden, thus the handsome Kaoko Mieli, the untiring suitor, dyeth in the river of Tuwoni, in the death realm of Manala. End of section 14, recording by Richard O'Rokesar. Rune 15 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 Lennroth, translated by John Martin Crawford. Rune 15, Lemon-kinden's restoration. Lemon-kinden's aged mother, anxious roams about the islands, anxious wonders in her chambers, what the fate of Lemon-kinden, why her son so long has tarried, thinks that something ill has happened to her hero in Bukhyalah. Sad indeed the mother's anguish, as in vain she waits his coming, as in vain she asks the question where her daring son is roaming, whether to the fir tree mountain, whether to the distant heathland, or upon the broad seas ridges, on the floods and rolling waters, to the wars contending armies, to the heat and din of battle, steeped in blood of valiant heroes. Evidence of fatal warfare. Daily does the wife, Gulliki, look about her vacant chamber in the home of Lemon-kinden at the court of Kauko Mieli, looks at evening, looks at morning, looks per chance upon his hairbrush, sees alas the blood drops oozing, oozing from the golden bristles, and the blood drops scarlet colored, then the beauteous wife, Gulliki, spake these words in deeps of anguish. Dead or wounded is my husband, or at best is filled with trouble, lost perhaps in Northland forests, in some glen unknown to heroes. Since alas the blood is flowing from the brush of Lemon-kinden, red drops oozing from the bristles. There upon the anxious mother looks upon the bleeding hairbrush and begins this wail of anguish, woe is me my life-heart fated, woe is me all joy departed, for alas my son and hero, valiant hero of the islands, son of trouble and misfortune, some sad fate has overtaken my ill-fated Lemon-kinden. Blood is flowing from his hairbrush, oozing from its golden bristles, and the drops are scarlet colored. Quicker garments him, she clutches. On her arm she throws her long robes. Fleetly flies upon her journey, with her might she hastens northward. Mountains tremble from her footsteps. Valleys rise and heights are lowered. Highlands soon become as lowlands. All the hills and valleys leveled. Soon she gains the Northland village. Quickly asks about her hero. These the words the mother utters. O thou hostess of Bohiala, where hast thou my Lemon-kinden? Tell me of my son and hero. Luhi, hostess of the Northland, gives this answer to the mother. Nothing, no, I, of thy hero, of the hero of the islands. Where thy son may be, I know not. Cannot lend the information. Once I gave thy son a coarser, hitched the racer to his snow sledge. This, the last of Lemon-kinden, may perchance be drowned in wune, frozen in the icy ocean, fall and pray to wolves in hunger. In a bear's den may have perished. Lemon-kinden's mother answers. Thou art only speaking falsehoods. Northland wolves cannot devour us, nor the bears kill Kalko Mieli. He can slay the wolves of Bohia. With the fingers of his left hand, bears of Northland he would silence with the magic of his singing. Hostess of Bohiala, tell me, whither thou hast sent my hero? I shall burst thy many garners, shall destroy the magic sample. If thou dost not tell me truly, where to find my Lemon-kinden? Spake the hostess of Bohiala, I have well thy hero treated, well my court has entertained him. Gave him of my rarest veyons, fed him at my well-filled tables, placed him in a boat of copper, thus to float down the current. This, the last of Lemon-kinden, cannot tell where he has wandered, whether in the foam of waters, whether in the boiling torrent, whether in the drowning whirlpool. Lemon-kinden's mother answers. Thou again art speaking falsely. Tell me now the truth, I pray thee. Make an end of thy deception. Where is now my Lemon-kinden? Whither hast thou sent my hero? Young and daring son of Kalev. If a third time thou deceivest, I will send thee plagues unnumbered. I will send thee fell destruction. Certain death will overtake thee. Spake the hostess of Bohiala. This the third time that I answer, this the truth that I shall tell thee. I have sent the Kalev hero to the hissy field and forests, there to hunt the moose of Lempo, sent him then to catch the firehorse, catch the fire-expiring stallion on the distant plains of Yutas in the realm of cruel hissy. Then I sent him to the death stream in the kingdom of Tuuni, with his bow and butt-won arrow, there to shoot the swan as dowry for my best and fairest daughter. Have not heard about thy hero, since he left for Tuuni-la, may in misery have fallen, may have perished in Manala. Has not come to ask my daughter, has not come to woo the maiden, since he left to hunt the death-swan. Now the mother seeks her lost one, for her son she weeps and trembles. Like the wolf she bounds through fenlands, like the bear through forest thickets, like the wild boar through the marshes. Like the hare along the sea coast, to the sea-point like the hedgehog, like the wild duck swims the wooders, casts the rubbish from her pathway, tramples down opposing brushwood, stops at nothing in her journey, seeks a long time for her hero, seeks and seeks and does not find him. Now she asks the trees the question, and the forest gives this answer. We have care enough already, cannot think about thy matters. Cruel fates have we to battle, pitiful our own misfortunes. We are felled and chopped in pieces, cut in blocks for hero fancy. We are burned to death as fuel. No one cares how much we suffer. Now again the mother wanders, seeks again her long lost hero, seeks and seeks and does not find him. Paths arise and come to meet her, and she questions thus the pathways. Paths of hope that God has fashioned. Have ye seen my lemon-kinen? Has my son and golden hero traveled through thy many kingdoms? Sad the many pathways answer, we ourselves have cared sufficient. Cannot watch thy son and hero. Wretched are the lives of pathways. Deep indeed our own misfortunes. We are trodden by the red deer, by the wolves and bears and robux, driven over by heavy cartwheels, by the feet of dogs are trodden, trodden under foot of heroes. Footpaths for contending armies. Seeks again the frantic mother, seeks her long lost son and hero, seeks and seeks and does not find him, finds the moon within her orbit, asks the moon in pleading measures. Golden moon whom God has stationed in the heavens, the son's companion, has thou seen my calcumiele, has thou seen my silver apple? Anywhere in thy dominions. Thus the golden moon makes answer. I have trouble all sufficient. Cannot watch thy daring hero. Long the journey I must travel. Sad the fate to me befall him. Pitiful mine own misfortunes. All alone the nights to wander, shine alone without respite, in the winter ever watching, in the summer sink and perish. Still the mother seeks and wanders, seeks and does not find her hero, sees the sun in the horizon, and the mother thus entreats him. Silver son whom God has fashioned, thou that giveth warmth and comfort, has thou lately seen my hero, has thou seen my lemon-kinan, wandering in thy dominions? Thus the sun in kindness answers. Surely has thy hero perished, to in gratitude a victim. Lemon-kinan died and vanished into Oni's fatal river. In the waters of Manala, in the sacred stream and whirlpool, in the cataract and rapids, sank within the drowning current, to the realm of Tuunela, to Manala's lower regions. Lemon-kinan's mother, weeping, wailing in the deeps of anguish, mourns the fate of Kaoko Mieli, hastens to the Northland smithy, to the forge of Ilmarinen, these the words the mother utters. Ilmarinen, metal artist, thou that long ago worked forging, forging earth a concave cover. Yesterday were forging wonders. Forge thou now a mortal black smith, forge a rake with shaft of copper, forge the teeth of strongest metal, teeth in length a hundred fathoms, and five hundred long the handle. Ilmarinen does as Bidden, makes the rake in full perfection. Lemon-kinan's anxious mother, takes the magic rake and hastens, to the river of Tuuni, praying to the sun as follows. Thou, O sun, by God created, thou that shinest on thy maker, shine for me in heat of magic. Give me warmth and strength and courage. Shine a third time full of power, lull to sleep the wicked people, still the people of Manala, quiet all Tuuni's empire. There upon the sun of Ukko, dearest child of their creator, flying through the groves of Northland, sitting on a curving birch tree, shines a little while in ardour, shines again in greater fervour, shines a third time full of power, lulls to sleep the wicked people, in the Manala home and kingdom. Still the heroes with their broadswords, makes the lancers halt and totter, stills the stoutest of the spearmen, quiet Tuuni's ghastly empire. Now the sun retires in magic, hovers here in near a moment, over Tuuni's hapless sleepers, hastens upward to his station, to his Yumala home and kingdom. Lemminkainen's faithful mother, takes the rake of magic metals, rakes the Tuuni river bottoms, rakes the cataract and whirlpool, rakes the swift and boiling current, of the sacred stream of death land, in the Manala home and kingdom, searching for her long lost hero, rakes a long time finding nothing, now she weighs the river deeper, to her belt in mud and water. Deeper deeper rakes the death stream, rakes the river's deepest caverns, raking up and down the current, till at last she finds his tunic, heavy-hearted finds his jacket, rakes again and rakes unceasing, finds the hero's shoes and stockings, thoroughly troubled finds these relics. Now she weighs the river deeper, rakes the Manala shoals and shallows, rakes the deeps at every angle, as she draws the rake the third time, from the Tuuni shores and waters. In the rake she finds the body, of her long lost Lemminkainen. In the metal teeth entangled, in the rake with copper handle, thus the reckless Lemminkainen, thus the son of Kalevala, was recovered from the bottom, of the Manala lake and river. There were wanting many fragments, half the head, a hand, a forearm, many other smaller portions. Life above all else was missing. Then the mother, while reflecting, spake these words in bitter weeping, from these fragments with my magic, I will bring to life my hero. Hearing this, the raven answered, spake these measures to the mother. There is not in these a hero, thou canst not revive these fragments. Eels have fed upon his body, on his eyes have fed the whiting, cast the dead upon the waters, on the streams of Tuuniila. Let him there become a walrus, or a seal or whale or porpoise. Lemminkainen's mother does not cast the dead upon the waters, on the streams of Tuuniila. She again with hope and courage, rakes the river lengthwise, crosswise, through the Manala pools and caverns. Rakes up half the head, a forearm, finds a hand and half the backbone. Many other smaller portions, shapes her son from all the fragments, shapes anew her Lemminkainen. Flesh to flesh with skill she places, gives the bones their proper stations, binds one member to the other, joins the ends of severed vessels, counts the threads of all the venules, knits the parts in opposition. Then this prayer the mother offers. Swunatar, thou slender virgin, goddess of the veins of heroes, skillful spinner of the vessels, with thy slender silver spindle, with thy spinning wheel of copper, set in frame of molten silver. Come thou hither, thou art needed, bring the instruments from ending, firmly knit the veins together, at the end join well the venules, in the wounds that still are open, in the members that are injured. Should this aid be inefficient? There is living in the ether, in a boat enriched with silver, in a copper boat, a maiden, that can bring to thee assistance. Come, O maiden, from the ether, virgin from the belt of heaven, row throughout these veins, O maiden. Row through all these lifeless members, through the channels of the long bones, row through every form of tissue, set the vessels in their places, lay the heart in right position, make the pulses beat together, join the smallest of the veinlets, and unite with skill the sinews. Take thou now a slender needle, silk and thread within its eyelet, ply the silver needle gently, sew with care the wounds together. Should this aid be inefficient? Thou, O God, that knowest all things, come and give us thine assistance. Harness thou thy fleetest racer, call to aid thy strongest coarser. In thy scarlet sledge come swiftly, drive through all the bones and channels, drive throughout these lifeless tissues, drive thy coarser through each vessel, bind the flesh and bones securely, in the joints put finest silver, purest gold in all the fissures, where the skin is broken open, where the veins are torn asunder, mend these injuries with magic, where the blood has left the body, there make new blood flow abundant, where the bones are rudely broken, set the parts in full perfection, where the flesh is bruised and loosened, touch the wounds with magic balsam, do not leave a part imperfect, bone and vein and nerve and sinew, heart and brain and gland and vessel, heal as thou alone canst heal them. These the means the mother uses, thus she joins the lifeless members, thus she heals the death-like tissues, thus restores her son and hero to his former life and likeness. All his veins are knit together, all their ends are firmly fastened, all the parts in apposition, life returns but speech is wanting, deep and dumb and blind and senseless. Now the mother speaks as follows, where may I procure the balsam, where the drops of magic honey, who anoint my son and hero, thus to heal my lemon-kinden, that again his mouth may open, may again begin his singing, speak again in words of wonder, sing again his incantations, tiny bee, thou honey-birdling, lord of all the forest flowers, fly away and gather honey, bring to me the forest sweetness, found in mezzol as rich gardens, and in Tapio's fragrant meadows, from the petals of the flowers, from the blooming herbs and grasses, thus to heal my hero's anguish, thus to heal his wounds of evil. Thereupon the honey-birdling flies away on wings of swiftness, into mezzol as rich gardens, to Tapio's flowery meadows, gather sweetness from the meadows, with the tongue distills the honey, from the cups of seven flowers, from the bloom of countless grasses, quick from mezzolah returning, flying, humming, darting onward, with his winglets honey-laden, with the store of sweetest odors, to the mother brings the bosom, lemon-kinden's anxious mother takes the balm of magic virtues and anoints the injured hero, heals his wounds and stills his anguish, but the balm is inefficient, for her son is deaf and speechless, then again out-speaks the mother, lemon-kinden's restoration. Little bee, my honey-birdling, fly away in one direction, fly across the seven oceans, in the eighth a magic island, where the honey is enchanted, to the distant Turi castles, to the chambers of Palvoinen, there the honey is effective, there the wonder-working bosom, this may heal the wounded hero, bring me of this magic ointment, that I may anoint his eyelids, may restore his injured senses, there upon the honey-birdling flew away, or the seven oceans, to the old enchanted island, flies one day and then a second, on the verdure does not settle, does not rest upon the flowers, flies a third day, fleetly onward, till a third day evening brings him to the island in the ocean, to the meadows rich in honey, to the cataract and fire-flow, to the sacred stream and whirlpool, there the honey was preparing, there the magic balm distilling, in the tiny earthen vessels, in the burnished copper kettles, smaller than a maiden's thimble, smaller than the tips of fingers, faithfully the busy insect gathers the enchanted honey, from the magic toory couplets, in the chambers of Palvoinen, time had gone but little distance, ere the bee came loudly humming, flying fleetly, honey laden, in his arms were seven vessels, seven, the vessels on each shoulder, all were filled with honey bosom, with the balm of magic virtues, Lemminkainen's tireless mother quick anoints her speechless hero, with the magic toory bosom, with the balm of seven virtues, nine the times that she anoints him, with the honey of Palvoinen, with the wonder-working bosom, but the balm is inefficient, for the hero still is speechless, then again out-speaks the mother, honey bee, thou aether birdling, fly a third time on thy journey, fly away to high Yumala, fly thou to the seventh heaven, honey there thou find abundant, bosom of the highest virtue, only used by the Creator, only made from the breath of Ukko, God anoints his faithful children, with the honey of his wisdom, when they feel the pangs of sorrow, when they meet the powers of evil, dip thy winglets in this honey, steep thy plumage in his sweetness, hither bring the all-sufficient bosom of the great Creator, this will still my hero's anguish, this will heal his wounded tissues, this restore his long-lost vision, make the Northland hills re-echo with the magic of his singing, with his wonderful enchantment. Thus the honey bee made answer, I can never fly to heaven, to the seventh of the heavens, to the distant home of Ukko, with these wings of little virtue. Lemminkainen's mother answered, thou can surely fly to heaven, to the seventh of the heavens, or the moon beneath the sunshine, through the dim and distant starlight, on the first day flying upward, thou wilt near the moon in heaven, fan the brow of Kota Moynen, on the second thou canst rest thee, on the shoulders of Otava, on the third day flying higher, rest upon the seven starlets, on the heads of Hetewane, short the journey that is left thee, inconsiderable the distance to the home of mighty Ukko, to the dwellings of the blessed, there upon the bee arising, from the earth fly swiftly upward, hastens on with graceful motion, by his tiny wings born heavenward, in the paths of golden moonbeams, touches on the moon's bright borders, fans the brow of Kota Moynen, rests upon Otava's shoulders, hastens to the seven starlets, to the heads of Hetewane, flies to the creator's castle, to the home of generous Ukko, finds the remedy preparing, finds the balm of life distilling, in the silver-tinted cauldrons, in the purest golden kettles, on one side heart-easing honey, on a second balm of joyants, on the third life-giving balzam, here the magic bee selecting, calls the sweet life-giving balzam, gathers two heart-easing honey, heavy laden hastens homeward, time had traveled little distance, here the busy bee came humming, to the anxious mother waiting, in his arms a hundred couplets, and a thousand other vessels, filled with honey, filled with balzam, filled with the balm of the creator. Lemminkainen's mother quickly takes them on her tongue and tests them, finds the balzam all sufficient, then the mother spake as follows, I have found the long-sought balzam, found the remedy of Ukko, where with God anoints his people, gives them life and faith and wisdom, heals their wounds and stills their anguish, makes them strong against temptation, guards them from the evil doers. Now the mother, well anointing, heals her son, the magic singer, eyes and ears and tongue and temples, breaks and cuts and seams anointing, touching well the lifeblood centers, speaks these words of magic import to the sleeping Lemminkainen. Wake, arise from out thy slumber, from the worst of low conditions, from thy state of dire misfortune, slowly wakes the sun and hero, rises from the depths of slumber, speaks again in magic accents, these the words of the singer. Long indeed have I been sleeping, long unconscious of existence, but my sleep was full of sweetness, sweet the sleep of Tuunela, knowing neither joy nor sorrow. This the answer of his mother, long or still thou wouldst have slumbered, were it not for me thy mother. Tell me now my son beloved, tell me that I well may hear thee, who enticed thee to Manola, to the river of Tuuni, to the fatal stream and whirlpool. Then the hero, Lemminkainen, gave this answer to his mother, Nasut, the decrepit shepherd of the flocks of Sariola, blind and halt and poor and wretched, and to whom I did a favor, from the slumber land of Envi, Nasut sent me to Manola, to the river of Tuuni, sent a serpent from the waters, sent an adder from the death stream, through the heart of Lemminkainen. Did not recognize the serpent, could not speak the serpent language, did not know the sting of adders, spake again the ancient mother. O thou son of little insight, sense this hero, full magician, thou didst boast betimes thy magic to enchant the wise enchanters on the dismal shores of Lapland, thou didst think to banish heroes from the borders of Pohiala, didst not know the sting of serpents, didst not know the reed of waters, nor the magic word protector. Learn the origin of serpents, whence the poison of the adder in the floods was borne the serpent, from the marrow of the grey duck, from the brain of ocean swallows. Suyotar had made saliva, cast it on the waves of ocean. Currents drove it outward, onward, softly shone the sun upon it. By the winds, it was gently cradled, gently nursed by winds and waters, by the waves was driven shoreward, landed by the surging billows. Thus the serpent, thing of evil, filling all the world with trouble, was created in the waters, born from Suyotar its maker. Then the mother of the hero rocked her son to rest in comfort, rocked him to his former being, to his former life and spirit, into greater magic powers, wiser, handsomer than ever, through the hero of the islands. But his heart was full of trouble, and his mother, ever watchful, asked the cause of his dejection. This is Lemminkainen's answer. This is the cause of all my sorrow. Far away my heart is roaming, all my thoughts forever wander to the Northland's blooming virgins, to the maids of braided tresses. Northland's ugly hostess, Lohi, will not give to me her daughter, fairest maiden of Bohyalla, till I kill the swan of Manah, with my bow and but one arrow, in the river of Tuuni. Lemminkainen's mother answers, in the sacred stream and whirlpool, let the swan swim on in safety, give the water bird his freedom, in the river of Manala, in the whirlpool of Tuuni. Leave the maiden in the Northland, with her charms in fading beauty. With thy fond and faithful mother, go at once to Kalevala, do thy native fields and thallows. Praise thy fortune, all sufficient, praise above all else thy maker, who co-gave thee aid when needed, thou word saved by thy Creator, from thy long and hopeless slumber. In the waters of Tuuni, in the chambers of Manala, I, unaided, could not save thee, could not give the least assistance. God alone, omniscient Uko, first and last of their creators, can revive the dead and dying, can protect his worthy people from the waters of Manala, from the fatal stream and whirlpool, in the kingdom of Tuuni. Lemminkainen filled with wisdom, with his fond and faithful mother, hastened straightway on his journey to his distant home in Kindred, to the winola fields and meadows, to the plains of Kalevala. Here I leave my Kalko Mieli, leave my hero Lemminkainen, long I leave him from my singing, turn my song to other heroes, send it forth on other pathways, sing some other golden legend. End of Chapter 15, recording by Richard Oroksar, Seattle, Washington. Rune 16 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 Lönngroth, translated by John Martin Crawford. Rune 16. Weynemoyinen's boat building. Weynemoyinen, ancient minstrel, the eternal wisdom singer for his boat was working lumber, working long upon his vessel on a fog-point jutting seaward, on an island, forest covered. But the lumber failed the master, beams were wanting for his vessel, beams and scantling, ribs and flooring. Who will find for him the lumber, who procure the timber needed for the boat of Weynemoyinen, for the bottom of his vessel? Pellawayinen of the prairies, samsa, slender-grown and ancient, he will seek the needful timber, he procure the beams of oak wood for the boat of Weynemoyinen, for the bottom of his vessel. Soon he starts upon his journey to the eastern fields and forests, hunts throughout the Northland mountain to a second mountain wonders, to a third he hastens, searching golden axe upon his shoulder. In his hand a copper hatchet comes an aspen tree to meet him, of the height of seven fathoms. Samsa takes his axe of copper, starts to fell the stately aspen, but the aspen quickly halting, speaks these words to Pellawayinen. Tell me, hero, what thou wishest, what to service thou art needing? Samsa Pellawayinen answers, this indeed, the needed service that I ask of thee, O aspen, need thy lumber for a vessel for the boat of Weynemoyinen, wisest of the wisdom singers. Quick and wisely speaks the aspen, thus its hundred branches answer. All the boats that have been fashioned from my wood have proved but failures. Such a vessel floats a distance, then it sinks upon the bottom of the waters it should travel. All my trunk is filled with hollows, three times in the summer seasons, worms devour my stem and branches, feed upon my heart and tissues. Pellawayinen leaves the aspen, hunts again through all the forest, wanders through the woods of Northland, where a pine tree comes to meet him, of the height of fourteen fathoms. With his axe he chops the pine tree, strikes it with his axe of copper, as he asks the pine this question, will thy trunk give worthy timber for the boat of Weynemoyinen, wisest of the wisdom singers? Loudly does the pine tree answer, all the ships that have been fashioned from my body are unworthy. I am full of imperfections, cannot give thee needed timber wherewith all to build thy vessel. Ravens live within my branches, build their nests and hatch their younglings, three times in my trunk in summer. Sampser leaves the lofty pine tree, wanders onward, onward, onward, to the woods of Gladsom's summer, where an oak tree comes to meet him, in circumference, three fathoms, and the oak he thus addresses, ancient oak tree, will thy body furnish wood to build a vessel, build a boat for Weynemoyinen, master boat for the magician, wisest of the wisdom singers? Thus the oak replies to Sampser, I for thee will gladly furnish wood to build the hero's vessel. I am tall and sound and hardy, have no flaws within my body, three times in the months of summer, in the warmest of the seasons, does the sun dwell in my treetop, on my trunk the moonlight glimmers, in my branches sings the cuckoo, in my top her nestlings slumber. Now the ancient Pellowaynen takes the hatchet from his shoulder, takes his axe with copper handle, chops the body of the oak tree. Well, he knows the art of chopping. Soon he fells the tree majestic, fells the mighty forest monarch with his magic axe and power. From the stems he lops the branches, splits the trunk in many pieces, fashions lumber for the bottom, countless boards and ribs and braces for the singer's magic vessel for the boat of the magician. Wainemoynen, old and skillful, the eternal wonder worker, builds his vessel with enchantment, builds his boat by art of magic. From the timber of the oak tree, from its posts and planks and flooring, sings a song and joins the framework, sings a second, sets the siding, sings a third time, sets the rollocks. Fashions oars and ribs and rudder joins the sides and ribs together. When the ribs were firmly fastened, when the sides were tightly jointed, then alas, three words were wanting, lost the words of master magic, how to fasten in the ledges, how the stern should be completed, how complete the boat's forcassol. Then the ancient Wainemoynen, wise and wonderful enchanter, heavy-hearted, spake as follows. Woe is me, my life hard-fated. Never will this magic vessel pass in safety or the water, never ride the rough sea billows. Then he thought and long considered where to find these words of magic, find the lost words of the master. From the brains of countless swallows, from the heads of swans in dying, from the plumage of the gray duck. For these words the hero searches, kills of swans a goodly number, kills a flock of fattened gray duck, kills of swallows countless numbers, cannot find the words of magic, not the lost words of the master. Wainemoynen, wisdom singer, still reflected and debated, I perchance may find the lost words on the tongue of summer reindeer in the mouth of the white squirrel. Now again he hunts the lost words, hastes to find the magic sayings, kills a countless host of reindeer, kills a rafter full of squirrels, finds of words a goodly number, but they are of little value, cannot find the magic lost word. Long he thought and well considered, I can find of words a hundred in the dwellings of Twarney, in the manala fields and castles. Wainemoynen quickly journeys to the kingdom of Twarney, there to find the ancient wisdom, there to learn the secret doctrine. Hastens on through fen and forest, over meads and over marshes, through the ever rising woodlands, journeys one week through the brambles, and a second through the hazels, through the junipers the third week, when appear Twarney's islands and the manala fields and castles. Wainemoynen, brave and ancient, calls aloud in tones of thunder, to the Twanella deeps and dungeons, and to manala's magic castle. Bring a boat to Twarney's daughter, bring a ferry boat, O maiden, that may bear me o'er this channel, o'er this black and fatal river. Quick the daughter of Twarney, magic made of little stature, tiny virgin of manala, tiny washer of the linen, tiny cleaner of the dresses, at the river of Twarney, in manala's ancient castles, speaks these words to Wainemoynen, gives this answer to his calling. Straightway will I bring the rowboat, when the reasons thou hast given, why thou comest to manala in a hail and active body. Wainemoynen, old and artful, gives this answer to the maiden. I was brought here by Twarney, mana raised me from the coffin, speaks the maiden of manala, this a tale of wretched liars. Had Twarney brought thee hither, mana raised thee from the coffin, then Twarney would be with thee, mana Lainen too would lead thee, with Twarney's hat upon thee, on thy hands the gloves of mana. Tell the truth now, Wainemoynen, what has brought thee to manala? Wainemoynen, artful hero, gives this answer, still finessing, iron brought me to manala, to the kingdom of Twarney, speaks the virgin of the death land, mana's wise and tiny daughter. Well I know that this is falsehood, had the iron brought thee hither, brought thee to Twarney's kingdom, blood would trickle from thy vesture, and the blood drops scarlet-colored. Speak the truth now, Wainemoynen, this is the third time that I ask thee. Wainemoynen, little heeding, still finesses to the daughter. Water brought me to manala, to the kingdom of Twarney. This the tiny maiden's answer. Well I know thou speakest falsely, if the waters of manala, if the cataract and whirlpool, or the waves had brought thee hither, from thy robes the drops would trickle. Water dripped from all thy raiment. Tell the truth, and I will serve thee. What has brought thee to manala? Then the willful Wainemoynen told this falsehood to the maiden. Fire has brought me to manala, to the kingdom of Twarney. Spake again Twarney's daughter. Well I know the voice of falsehood. If the fire had brought thee hither, brought thee to Twarney's empire, singed would be thy locks and eyebrows, and thy beard be crisped and tangled. Oh thou foolish Wainemoynen, if I row thee o'er the ferry, thou must speak the truth in answer. This is the last time I will ask thee. Make an end of thy deception. What has brought thee to manala? Still unharmed by pain or sickness? Still untouched by death's dark angel? Spake the ancient Wainemoynen. At the first I spake, not truly. Now I give thee rightful answer. I abote with ancient wisdom, fashioned with my powers of magic, sang one day, and then a second, sang the third day until evening, when I broke the magic mainspring, broke my magic sledge in pieces, of my song the fleet of strunners. Then I come to manala's kingdom, came to borrow here a hatchet. Thus to mend my sledge of magic, thus to join the parts together, send the boat now quickly over, send me quick, Tuoni's robot, help me cross this fatal river, cross the channel of manala. Spake the daughter of Tuoni, manas maiden thus replying. Thou art sure a stupid fellow, foresight-wanting, judgment lacking, having neither wit nor wisdom, coming here without a reason, coming to Tuoni's empire. Better far if thou should journey to thy distant home and kindred, man they that visit mana, few return from maria's kingdom. Spake the good old Wainamoinen, women old retreat from danger, not a man of any courage, not the weakest of the heroes. Bring thy boat, Tuoni's daughter, tiny maiden of manala, come and row me o'er the ferry. Manas daughter does as bidden, brings her boat to Wainamoinen, quickly rows him through the channel, o'er the blackened fatal river, to the kingdom of manala, speaks these words to the magician. Woe to thee, O Wainamoinen, wonderful indeed thy magic, since thou comest to manala, comest neither dead nor dying. Tuoneta, the death land hostess, ancient hostess of Tuoni, brings him pictures filled with strong beer, fills her massive golden goblets, speaks these measures to the stranger. Drink, thou ancient Wainamoinen, drink the beer of King Tuoni. Wainamoinen, wise and cautious, carefully inspects the liquor, looks a long time in the pictures, sees the spawning of the black frogs, sees the young of poisoned serpents, lizards, worms, and writhing adders, thus addresses Tuoneta, have not come with this intention, have not come to drink thy poisons, drink the beer of Tuonela, those that drink Tuoni's liquors, those that sip the cups of manala, caught the devil and destruction in their lives in want and ruin. Tuoneta makes this answer, ancient minstrel Wainamoinen, tell me what has brought thee hither, brought thee to the realm of manala, to the courts of Tuonela, ere Tuoni sent his angels to thy home in Kalevala, there to cut thy magic life threat. Spake the singer Wainamoinen, I was building me a vessel that my craft was working, singing, needed three words of the master, how to fasten in the ledgers, how the stern should be completed, how complete the boat's forecastle. This the reason of my coming to the empire of Tuoni, to the castles of Manala, came to learn these magic sayings, learn the lost words of the master. Spake the hostess Tuoneta, Mana never gives these sayings, canst not learn them from Tuoni, not the lost words of the master, thou shalt never leave this kingdom, never in thy magic lifetime, never go to Kalevala, to Wainala's peaceful meadows, to thy distant home and country. Quick the hostess Tuoneta, waves her magic wand of slumber, or the head of Wainamoinen, puts to rest the wisdom hero, lays him on the couch of Mana, in the robes of living heroes, deep the sleep that settles o'er him. In Manala lived a woman in the kingdom of Tuoni, evil witch and toothless wizard, spinner of the threads of iron, molder of the bands of copper, weaver of a hundred fish nets, of a thousand nets of copper, spinning in the days of summer, weaving in the winter evenings, seated on a rock in water. In the kingdom of Tuoni lived a man, a wicked wizard, three the fingers of the hero, spinner he of iron meshes, maker two of nets of copper, countless were his nets of metal, molded on a rock in water. Through the many days of summer, Mana's son with crooked fingers, iron pointed copper fingers, pulls of nets, at least a thousand through the river of Tuoni, sets them lengthwise, sets them crosswise in the fatal darksome river, that the sleeping Wainamoinen, friend and brother of the waters, may not leave the isle of Mana, never in the course of ages, never leave the death-flanned castles, never while the moonlight glimmers on the empire of Tuoni. Wainamoinen, wise and wary, rising from his couch of slumber, speaks these words as he is waking. Is there not some mischief brewing? Am I not at last in danger in the chambers of Tuoni, in the Manala home and household? Quick, he changes his complexion, changes to his form and feature, slips into another body, like a serpent in a circle, rolls black dyed upon the waters, like a snake among the willows, crawls he like a worm of magic, like an adder through the grasses, through the cold black stream of death-land, through a thousand nets of copper interlaced with threads of iron, from the kingdom of Tuoni, from the castles of Manala. Mana's son, the wicked wizard, with his iron-pointed fingers in the early morning hastens to his thousand nets of copper, set within the Tuoni river, finds therein a countless number of the death-stream fish and serpents, does not find old Wainamoinen, Wainamoinen, wise and wary, friend and fellow of the waters, when the wonder-working hero had escaped from Tuonella, speaky thus in supplication, gratitude to thee, O Okko, do I bring for thy protection? Never suffer other heroes, of thy heroes not the wisest, to transgress the laws of nature. Never let another singer, while he lives within the body, cross the river of Tuoni, as thou lovest thy creations. Many heroes cross the channel, cross the fatal stream of Mana, few return to tell the story, few return from Tuonella, from Manala's courts and castles. Wainamoinen calls his people on the plains of Kalevala, speaks these words of ancient wisdom, to the young men, to the maidens, to the rising generation, every child of Northland listen, if thou wisest joy eternal, never disobey thy parents, never evil treat the guiltless, never wrong the feeble-minded, never harm thy weakest fellow, never stain thy lips with falsehood, never cheat thy trusting neighbour, never injure thy companion, lest thou surely payest penance in the kingdom of Tuoni in the prison of Manala. They're the home of all the wicked, they're the couch of the unworthy, they're the chambers of the guilty. Underneath Manala's fire-rock are their ever-flaming couches, for their pillows hissing serpents, vipers green their writhing covers, for their drink the blood of adders, for their food the pangs of hunger, pain and agony their solace. If thou wisest joy eternal, shun the kingdom of Tuoni. End of Room 16.