Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland – Volume 02

RUNE XLVIII

CAPTURE OF THE FIRE-FISH

  Wainamoinen, the enchanter,  The eternal wisdom-singer,  Long reflected, well considered,  How to weave the net of flax-yarn,  Weave the fish-net of the fathers.  Spake the minstrel of Wainola:  "Who will plow the field and fallow,  Sow the flax, and spin the flax-threads,  That I may prepare the fish-net,  Wherewith I may catch the Fire-pike,  May secure the thing of evil?"  Soon they found a fertile island,  Found the fallow soil befitting,  On the border of the heather,  And between two stately oak-trees.  They prepared the soil for sowing.  Searching everywhere for flax-seed,  Found it in Tuoni's kingdom,  In the keeping of an insect.  Then they found a pile of ashes,  Where the fire had burned a vessel;  In the ashes sowed the seedlings  Near the Alue-lake and border,  In the rich and loamy fallow.  There the seed took root and flourished,  Quickly grew to great proportions,  In a single night in summer.  Thus the flax was sowed at evening,  Placed within the earth by moonlight;  Quick it grew, and quickly ripened,  Quick Wainola's heroes pulled it,  Quick they broke it on the hackles,  Hastened with it to the waters,  Dipped it in the lake and washed it;  Quickly brought it borne and dried it.  Quickly broke, and combed, and smoothed it,  Brushed it well at early morning,  Laid it into laps for spinning  Quick the maidens twirl the spindles,  Spin the flaxen threads for weaving,  In a single night in summer.  Quick the sisters wind and reel it,  Make it ready for the needle.  Brothers weave it into fish-nets,  And the fathers twist the cordage,  While the mothers knit the meshes,  Rapidly the mesh-stick circles;  Soon the fish-net is completed,  In a single night in summer.  As the magic net is finished,  And in length a hundred fathoms,  On the rim three hundred fathoms.  Rounded stones are fastened to it,  Joined thereto are seven float-boards.  Now the young men take the fish-net,  And the old men cheer them onward,  Wish them good-luck at their fishing.  Long they row and drag the flax-seine,  Here and there the net is lowered;  Now they drag it lengthwise, sidewise,  Drag it through the slimy reed-beds;  But they do not catch the Fire-pike,  Only smelts, and luckless red-fish,  Little fish of little value.  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:  "O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,  Let us go ourselves a-fishing,  Let us catch the fish of evil!"  To the fishing went the brothers,  Magic heroes of the Northland,  Pulled the fish-net through the waters,  Toward an island in the deep-sea  Then they turn and drag the fish-net  Toward a meadow jutting seaward;  Now they drag it toward Wainola,  Draw it lengthwise, sidewise, crosswise,  Catching fish of every species,  salmon, trout, and pike, and whiting,  Do not catch the evil Fire-fish.  Then the master, Wainamoinen,  Made additions to its borders,  Made it many fathoms wider,  And a hundred fathoms longer,  Then these words the hero uttered  "Famous blacksmith, Ilmarinen,  Let us go again a-fishing,  Row again the magic fish-net,  Drag it well through all the waters,  That we may obtain the Fire-pike!"  Thereupon the Northland heroes  Go a second time a-fishing,  Drag their nets across the rivers,  Lakelets, seas, and bays, and inlets,  Catching fish of many species,  But the Fire-fish is not taken.  Wainamoinen, ancient singer,  Long reflecting, spake these measures:  "Dear Wellamo, water-hostess,  Ancient mother with the reed-breast,  Come, exchange thy water-raiment,  Change thy coat of reeds and rushes  For the garments I shall give thee,  Light sea-foam, thine inner vesture,  And thine outer, moss and sea-grass,  Fashioned by the wind's fair daughters,  Woven by the flood's sweet maidens;  I will give thee linen vestments  Spun from flax of softest fiber,  Woven by the Moon's white virgins,  Fashioned by the Sun's bright daughters  Fitting raiment for Wellamo!  "Ahto, king of all the waters,  Ruler of a thousand grottoes,  Take a pole of seven fathoms,  Search with this the deepest waters,  Rummage well the lowest bottoms;  Stir up all the reeds and sea-weeds,  Hither drive a school of gray-pike,  Drive them to our magic fish-net,  From the haunts in pike abounding,  From the caverns, and the trout-holes,  From the whirlpools of the deep-sea,  From the bottomless abysses,  Where the sunshine never enters,  Where the moonlight never visits,  And the sands are never troubled."  Rose a pigmy from the waters,  From the floods a little hero,  Riding on a rolling billow,  And the pigmy spake these measures:  "Dost thou wish a worthy helper,  One to use the pole and frighten  Pike and salmon to thy fish-nets?"  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,  Answered thus the lake-born hero:  "Yea, we need a worthy helper,  One to hold the pole, and frighten  Pike and salmon to our fish-nets."  Thereupon the water-pigmy  Cut a linden from the border,  Spake these words to Wainamoinen:  "Shall I scare with all my powers,  With the forces of my being,  As thou needest shall I scare them?"  Spake the minstrel, Wainamoinen:  "If thou scarest as is needed,  Thou wilt scare with all thy forces,  With the strength of thy dominions."  Then began the pigmy-hero,  To affright the deep-sea-dwellers;  Drove the fish in countless numbers  To the net of the magicians.  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,  Drew his net along the waters,  Drew it with his ropes of flax-thread,  Spake these words of magic import:  "Come ye fish of Northland waters  To the regions of my fish-net,  As my hundred meshes lower."  Then the net was drawn and fastened,  Many were the gray-pike taken  By he master and magician.  Wainamoinen, happy-hearted,  Hastened to a neighboring island,  To a blue-point in the waters,  Near a red-bridge on the headland;  Landed there his draught of fishes,  Cast the pike upon the sea-shore,  And the Fire-pike was among them,  Cast the others to the waters.  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:  "May I touch thee with my fingers,  Using not my gloves of iron,  Using not my blue-stone mittens?  This the Sun-child hears and answers:  "I should like to carve the Fire-fish,  I should like this pike to handle,  If I had the knife of good-luck."  Quick a knife falls from the heavens,  From the clouds a magic fish-knife,  Silver-edged and golden-headed,  To the girdle of the Sun-child;  Quick he grasps the copper handle,  Quick the hero carves the Fire-pike,  Finds therein the tortured lake-trout;  Carves the lake-trout thus discovered.  Finds therein the fated whiting;  Carves the whiting, finds a blue-ball  In the third cave of his body.  He, the blue-ball quick unwinding,  Finds within a ball of scarlet;  Carefully removes the cover,  Finds the ball of fire within it,  Finds the flame from heaven fallen,  From the heights of the seventh heaven,  Through nine regions of the ether.  Wainamoinen long reflected  How to get the magic fire-ball  To Wainola's fireless hearth-stones,  To his cold and cheerless dwellings.  Quick he snatched the fire of heaven  From the fingers of the Sun-child.  Wainamoinen's beard it singes,  Burns the brow of Ilmarinen,  Burns the fingers of the blacksmith.  Rolling forth it hastens westward,  Hastens to the Alue shore-lines,  Burns the juniper and alder,  Burns the and heath and meadow,  Rises to the lofty linden,  Burns the firs upon the mountains;  Hastens onward, onward, onward,  Burns the islands of the Northland,  Burns the Sawa fields and forests,  Burns the dry lands of Karyala.  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen  Hastens through the fields and fenlands,  Tracks the ranger to the glen-wood,  Finds the Fire-child in an elm-tree,  Sleeping in a bed of fungus.  Thereupon wise Wainamoinen  Wakes the child and speaks these measures:  "Wicked fire that God created,  Flame of Ukko from the heavens,  Thou hast gone in vain to sea-caves,  To the lakes without a reason;  Better go thou to my village,  To the hearth-stones of my people;  Hide thyself within my chimneys,  In mine ashes sleep and linger.  In the day-time I will use thee  To devour the blocks of birch-wood;  In the evening I will hide thee  Underneath the golden circle."  Then he took the willing Panu,  Took the willing fire of Ukko,  Laid it in a box of tinder,  In the punk-wood of a birch-tree,  In a vessel forged from copper;  Carried it with care and pleasure  To the fog-point in the waters,  To the island forest covered.  Thus returned the fire to Northland,  To the chambers of Wainola,  To the hearths of Kalevala.  Ilmarinen, famous blacksmith,  Hastened to the deep-sea's margin,  Sat upon the rock of torture,  Feeling pain the flame had given,  Laved his wounds with briny water,  Thus to still the Fire-child's fury,  Thus to end his persecutions.  Long reflecting, Ilmarinen  Thus addressed the flame of Ukko:  "Evil Panu from the heavens,  Wicked son of God from ether,  Tell me what has made thee angry,  Made thee burn my weary members,  Burn my beard, and face, and fingers,  Made me suffer death-land tortures?  Spake again young Ilmarinen:  "How can I wild Panu conquer,  How shall I control his conduct,  Make him end his evil doings?  Come, thou daughter from Pohyola,  Come, white virgin of the hoar-frost,  Come on shoes of ice from Lapland,  Icicles upon thy garments,  In one band a cup of white-frost,  In the other hand an ice-spoon;  Sprinkle snow upon my members,  Where the Fire-child has been resting,  Let the hoar-frost fall and settle.  "Should this prayer be unavailing,  Come, thou son of Sariola,  Come, thou child of Frost from Pohya,  Come, thou Long-man from the ice-plains,  Of the height of stately pine-trees,  Slender as the trunks of lindens,  On thy hands the gloves of Hoar-frost,  Cap of ice upon thy forehead,  On thy waist a white-frost girdle;  Bring the ice-dust from Pohyola,  From the cold and sunless village.  Rain is crystallized in Northland,  Ice in Pohya is abundant,  Lakes of ice and ice-bound rivers,  Frozen smooth, the sea of ether.  Bounds the hare in frosted fur-robe,  Climbs the bear in icy raiment,  Ambles o'er the snowy mountains.  Swans of frost descend the rivers,  Ducks of ice in countless numbers  Swim upon thy freezing waters,  Near the cataract and whirlpool.  Bring me frost upon thy snow-sledge,  Snow and ice in great abundance,  From the summit of the wild-top,  From the borders of the mountains.  With thine ice, and snow, and hoar-frost  Cover well mine injured members  Where wild Panu has been resting,  Where the child of Fire has lingered.  "Should this call be ineffective,  Ukko, God of love and mercy,  First and last of the creators,  From the east send forth a snow-cloud,  From the west despatch a second,  Join their edges well together,  Let there be no vacant places,  Let these clouds bring snow and  Lay the healing balm of Ukko  On my burning, tortured tissues,  Where wild Panu has been resting."  Thus the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,  Stills the pains by fire engendered,  Stills the agonies and tortures  Brought him by the child of evil,  Brought him by the wicked Panu.

RUNE XLIX

RESTORATION OF THE SUN AND MOON

  Thus has Fire returned to Northland  But the gold Moon is not shining,  Neither gleams the silver sunlight  In the chambers of Wainola,  On the plains of Kalevala.  On the crops the white-frost settled,  And the cattle died of hunger,  Even birds grew sick and perished.  Men and maidens, faint and famished,  Perished in the cold and darkness,  From the absence of the sunshine,  From the absence of the moonlight.  Knew the pike his holes and hollows,  And the eagle knew his highway,  Knew the winds the times for sailing;  But the wise men of the Northland  Could not know the dawn of morning,  On the fog-point in the ocean,  On the islands forest-covered.  Young and aged talked and wondered,  Well reflected, long debated,  How to live without the moonlight,  Live without the silver sunshine,  In the cold and cheerless Northland,  In the homes of Kalevala.  Long conjectured all the maidens,  Orphans asked the wise for counsel.  Spake a maid to Ilmarinen,  Running to the blacksmith's furnace:  "Rise, O artist, from thy slumbers,  Hasten from thy couch unworthy;  Forge from gold the Moon for Northland,  Forge anew the Sun from silver  Cannot live without the moonlight,  Nor without the silver sunshine!"  From his couch arose the artist,  From his couch of stone, the blacksmith,  And began his work of forging,  Forging Sun and Moon for Northland.  Came the ancient Wainamoinen,  In the doorway sat and lingered,  Spake, these Words to Ilmarinen:  "Blacksmith, my beloved brother,  Thou the only metal-worker,  Tell me why thy magic hammer  Falls so heavy on thine anvil?"  Spake the youthful Ilmarinen:  "Moon of gold and Sun of silver,  I am forging for Wainola;  I shall swing them into ether,  Plant them in the starry heavens."  Spake the wise, old Wainamoinen:  "Senseless blacksmith of the ages,  Vainly dost thou swing thy hammer,  Vainly rings thy mighty anvil;  Silver will not gleam as sunshine,  Not of gold is born the moonlight!"  Ilmarinen, little heeding,  Ceases not to ply his hammer,  Sun and Moon the artist forges,  Wings the Moon of Magic upward,  Hurls it to the pine-tree branches;  Does not shine without her master.  Then the silver Sun he stations  In an elm-tree on the mountain.  From his forehead drip the sweat-drops,  Perspiration from his fingers,  Through his labors at the anvil  While the Sun and Moon were forging;  But the Sun shone not at morning  From his station in the elm-tree;  And the Moon shone not at evening  From the pine-tree's topmost branches.  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:  "Let the Fates be now consulted,  And the oracles examined;  Only thus may we discover  Where the Sun and Moon lie hidden."  Thereupon old Wainamoinen,  Only wise and true magician,  Cut three chips from trunks of alder,  Laid the chips in magic order,  Touched and turned them with his fingers,  Spake these words of master-magic:  "Of my Maker seek I knowledge,  Ask in hope and faith the answer  From the great magician, Ukko:  Tongue of alder, tell me truly,  Symbol of the great Creator,  Where the Sun and Moon are sleeping;  For the Moon shines not in season,  Nor appears the Sun at midday,  From their stations in the sky-vault.  Speak the truth, O magic alder,  Speak not words of man, nor hero,  Hither bring but truthful measures.  Let us form a sacred compact:  If thou speakest me a falsehood,  I will hurl thee to Manala,  Let the nether fires consume thee,  That thine evil signs may perish."  Thereupon the alder answered,  Spake these words of truthful import:  "Verily the Sun lies hidden  And the golden Moon is sleeping  In the stone-berg of Pohyola,  In the copper-bearing mountain."  These the words of Wainamoinen:  "I shall go at once to Northland,  To the cold and dark Pohyola,  Bring the Sun and Moon to gladden  All Wainola's fields and forests."  Forth he hastens on his journey,  To the dismal Sariola,  To the Northland cold and dreary;  Travels one day, then a second,  So the third from morn till evening,  When appear the gates of Pohya,  With her snow-clad hills and mountains.  Wainamoinen, the magician,  At the river of Pohyola,  Loudly calls the ferry-maiden:  Bring a boat, O Pohya-daughter,  Bring a strong and trusty vessel,  Row me o'er these chilling waters,  O'er this rough and rapid river!"  But the Ferry-maiden heard not,  Did not listen to his calling.  Thereupon old Wainamoinen,  Laid a pile of well-dried brush-wood,  Knots and needles of the fir-tree,  Made a fire beside the river,  Sent the black smoke into heaven  Curling to the home of Ukko.  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,  Hastened to her chamber window,  Looked upon the bay and river,  Spake these words to her attendants:  "Why the fire across the river  Where the current meets the deep-sea,  Smaller than the fires of foemen,  Larger than the flames of hunters?"  Thereupon a Pohyalander  Hastened from the court of Louhi  That the cause he might discover,'  Bring the sought-for information  To the hostess of Pohyola;  Saw upon the river-border  Some great hero from Wainola.  Wainamoinen saw the stranger,  Called again in tones of thunder:  "Bring a skiff; thou son of Northland,  For the minstrel, Wainamoinen!  Thus the Pohyalander answered:  "Here no skiffs are lying idle,  Row thyself across the waters,  Use thine arms, and feet, and fingers,  To propel thee o'er the river,  O'er the sacred stream of Pohya."  Wainamoinen, long reflecting,  Bravely thus soliloquizes:  "I will change my form and features,  Will assume a second body,  Neither man, nor ancient minstrel,  Master of the Northland waters!"  Then the singer, Wainamoinen,  Leaped, a pike, upon the waters,  Quickly swam the rapid river,  Gained the frigid Pohya-border.  There his native form resuming,  Walked he as a mighty hero,  On the dismal isle of Louhi,  Spake the wicked sons of Northland:  Come thou to Pohyola's court-room."  To Pohyola's, court he hastened.  Spake again the sons of evil:  Come thou to the halls of Louhi!"  To Pohyola's halls he hastened.  On the latch he laid his fingers,  Set his foot within the fore-hall,  Hastened to the inner chamber,  Underneath the painted rafters,  Where the Northland-heroes gather.  There he found the Pohya-masters  Girded with their swords of battle,  With their spears and battle-axes,  With their fatal bows and arrows,  For the death of Wainamoinen,  Ancient bard, Suwantolainen.  Thus they asked the hero-stranger.  "Magic swimmer of the Northland,  Son of evil, what the message  That thou bringest from thy people,  What thy mission to Pohyola?"  Wainamoinen, old and truthful,  Thus addressed the hosts of Louhi:  "For the Sun I come to Northland,  Come to seek the Moon in Pohya;  Tell me where the Sun lies hidden,  Where the golden Moon is sleeping."  Spake the evil sons of Pohya:  "Both the Sun and Moon are hidden  In the rock of many colors,  In the copper-bearing mountain,  In a cavern iron-banded,  In the stone-berg of Pohyola,  Nevermore to gain their freedom,  Nevermore to shine in Northland!"  Spake the hero, Wainamoinen:  "If the Sun be not uncovered,  If the Moon leave not her dungeon,  I will challenge all Pohyola  To the test of spear or broadsword,  Let us now our weapons measure!"  Quick the hero of Wainola  Drew his mighty sword of magic;  On its border shone the moonlight,  On its hilt the Sun was shining,  On its back, a neighing stallion,  On its face a cat was mewing,  Beautiful his magic weapon.  Quick the hero-swords are tested,  And the blades are rightly measured  Wainamoinen's sword is longest  By a single grain of barley,  By a blade of straw, the widest.  To the court-yard rushed the heroes,  Hastened to the deadly combat,  On the plains of Sariola.  Wainamoinen, the magician,  Strikes one blow, and then a second,  Strikes a third time, cuts and conquers.  As the house-maids slice the turnips,  As they lop the heads of cabbage,  As the stalks of flax are broken,  So the heads of Louhi's heroes  Fall before the magic broadsword  Of the ancient Wainamoinen.  Then victor from Wainola,  Ancient bard and great magician,  Went to find the Sun in slumber,  And the golden Moon discover,  In, the copper-bearing Mountains,  In the cavern iron-banded,  In the stone-berg of Pohyola.  He had gone but little distance,  When he found a sea-green island;  On the island stood a birch-tree,  Near the birch-tree stood a pillar  Carved in stone of many colors;  In the pillar, nine large portals  Bolted in a hundred places;  In the rock he found a crevice  Sending forth a gleam of sunlight.  Quick he drew his mighty broadsword,  From the pillar struck three colors,  From the magic of his weapon;  And the pillar fell asunder,  Three the number of the fragments.  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,  Through the crevice looked and wondered.  In the center of the pillar,  From a scarlet-colored basin,  Noxious serpents beer were drinking,  And the adders eating spices.  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:  "Therefore has Pohyola's hostess  Little drink to give to strangers,  Since her beer is drank by serpents,  And her spices given to adders."  Quick he draws his magic fire-blade,  Cuts the vipers green in pieces,  Lops the heads off all the adders,  Speaks these words of master-magic:  Thus, hereafter, let the serpent  Drink the famous beer of barley,  Feed upon the Northland-spices!"  Wainamoinen, the magician,  The eternal wizard-singer,  Sought to open wide the portals  With the hands and words of magic;  But his hands had lost their cunning,  And his magic gone to others.  Thereupon the ancient minstrel  Quick returning, heavy-hearted,  To his native halls and hamlets,  Thus addressed his brother-heroes:  "Woman, he without his weapons,  With no implements, a weakling!  Sun and Moon have I discovered,  But I could not force the Portals  Leading to their rocky cavern  In the copper bearing mountain.  Spake the reckless Lemminkainen  "O thou ancient Wainamoinen,  Why was I not taken with thee  To become, thy war-companion?  Would have been of goodly service,  Would have drawn the bolts or broken,  All the portals to the cavern,  Where the Sun and Moon lie hidden  In the copper-bearing mountain!"  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,  Thus replied to Lemminkainen:  "Empty Words will break no portals,  Draw no bolts of any moment;  Locks and bolts are never broken.  With the words of little wisdom!  Greater means than thou commandest  Must be used to free the sunshine,  Free the moonlight from her dungeon."  Wainamoinen, not discouraged,  Hastened to the forge and smithy,  Spake these words to Ilmarinen:  "O thou famous metal-artist,  Forge for me a magic trident,  Forge from steel a dozen stout-rings,  Master-keys, a goodly number,  Iron bars and heavy hammers,  That the Sun we may uncover  In the copper-bearing mountain,  In the stone-berg of Pohyola."  Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,  The eternal metal-worker,  Forged the needs of Wainamoinen,  Forged for him the magic trident,  Forged from steel a dozen stout-rings,  Master-keys a goodly number,  Iron bars and heavy hammers,  Not the largest, nor the smallest,  Forged them of the right dimensions.  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,  Northland's old and toothless wizard,  Fastened wings upon her shoulders,  As an eagle, sailed the heavens,  Over field, and fen, and forest,  Over Pohya's many, waters,  To the hamlets of Wainola,  To the forge of Ilmarinen.  Quick the famous metal-worker  Went to see if winds were blowing;  Found the winds at peace and silent,  Found an eagle, sable-colored,  Perched upon his window-casement.  Spake the artist, Ilmarinen:  "Magic bird, whom art thou seeking,  Why art sitting at my window?"  This the answer of the eagle:  "Art thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,  The eternal iron-forger,  Master of the magic metals,  Northland's wonder-working artist?"  Ilmarinen gave this answer:  "There is nothing here of wonder,  Since I forged the dome of heaven,  Forged the earth a concave cover!"  Spake again the magic eagle:  Why this ringing of thine anvil,  Why this knocking of thy hammer,  Tell me what thy hands are forging?"  This the answer of the blacksmith:  "'Tis a collar I am forging  For the neck of wicked Louhi,  Toothless witch of Sariola,  Stealer of the silver sunshine,  Stealer of the golden moonlight;  With this collar I shall bind her  To the iron-rock of Ehstland!"  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,  Saw misfortune fast approaching,  Saw destruction flying over,  Saw the signs of bad-luck lower;  Quickly winged her way through ether  To her native halls and chambers,  To the darksome Sariola,  There unlocked the massive portals  Where the Sun and Moon were hidden,  In the rock of many colors,  In the cavern iron-banded,  In the copper-bearing mountain.  Then again the wicked Louhi  Changed her withered form and features,  And became a dove of good-luck;  Straightway winged the starry heavens,  Over field, and fen, and forest,  To the meadows of Wainola,  To the plains of Kalevala,  To the forge of Ilmarinen.  This the question of the blacksmith  "Wherefore comest, dove of good-luck,  What the tidings that thou bringest?"  Thus the magic bird made answer:  "Wherefore come I to thy smithy?  Come to bring the joyful tidings  That the Sun has left his cavern,  Left the rock of many colors,  Left the stone-berg of Pohyola;  That the Moon no more is hidden  In the copper-bearing mountains,  In the caverns iron-banded."  Straightway hastened Ilmarinen  To the threshold of his smithy,  Quickly scanned the far horizon,  Saw again the silver sunshine,  Saw once more the golden moonlight,  Bringing peace, and joy, and plenty,  To the homes of Kalevala.  Thereupon the blacksmith hastened  To his brother, Wainamoinen,  Spake these words to the magician:  "O thou ancient bard and minstrel,  The eternal wizard-singer  See, the Sun again is shining,  And the golden Moon is beaming  From their long-neglected places,  From their stations in the sky-vault!"  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,  Straightway hastened to the court-yard,  Looked upon the far horizon,  Saw once more the silver sunshine,  Saw again the golden moonlight,  Bringing peace, and joy, and plenty,  To the people of the Northland,  And the minstrel spake these measures:  "Greetings to thee, Sun of fortune,  Greetings to thee, Moon of good-luck,  Welcome sunshine, welcome moonlight,  Golden is the dawn of morning!  Free art thou, O Sun of silver,  Free again, O Moon beloved,  As the sacred cuckoo's singing,  As the ring-dove's liquid cooings.  "Rise, thou silver Sun, each Morning,  Source of light and life hereafter,  Bring us, daily, joyful greetings,  Fill our homes with peace and plenty,  That our sowing, fishing, hunting,  May be prospered by thy coming.  Travel on thy daily journey,  Let the Moon be ever with thee;  Glide along thy way rejoicing,  End thy journeyings in slumber;  Rest at evening in the ocean,  When the daily cares have ended,  To the good of all thy people,  To the pleasure Of Wainoloa,  To the joy of Kalevala!"