Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland – Volume 02

RUNE XLIII

THE SAMPO LOST IN THE SEA

  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,  Called her many tribes together,  Gave the archers bows and arrows,  Gave her brave men spears and broadswords;  Fitted out her mightiest war-ship,  In the vessel placed her army,  With their swords a hundred heroes,  With their bows a thousand archers;  Quick erected masts and sail-yards,  On the masts her sails of linen  Hanging like the clouds of heaven,  Like the white-clouds in the ether,  Sailed across the seas of Pohya,  To re-take the wondrous Sampo  From the heroes of Wainola.  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,  Sailed across the deep, blue waters,  Spake these words to Lemminkainen:  "O thou daring son of Lempo,  Best of all my friends and heroes,  Mount the highest of the topmasts,  Look before you into ether,  Look behind you at the heavens,  Well examine the horizon,  Whether clear or filled with trouble."  Climbed the daring Lemminkainen,  Ever ready for a venture,  To the highest of the mastheads;  Looked he eastward, also westward,  Looked he northward, also southward,  Then addressed wise Wainamoinen.  "Clear the sky appears before me,  But behind a dark horizon;  In the north a cloud is rising,  And a longer cloud at north-west."  Wainamoinen thus made answer:  Art thou speaking truth or fiction?  I am fearful that the war-ships  Of Pohyola are pursuing;  Look again with keener vision."  Thereupon wild Lemminkainen  Looked again and spake as follows:  "In the distance seems a forest,  In the south appears an island,  Aspen-groves with falcons laden,  Alders laden with the wood-grouse."  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:  "Surely thou art speaking falsehood;  'Tis no forest in the distance,  Neither aspen, birch, nor alders,  Laden with the grouse, or falcon;  I am fearful that Pohyola  Follows with her magic armies;  Look again with keener vision."  Then the daring Lemminkainen  Looked the third time from the topmast,  Spake and these the words be uttered:  "From the north a boat pursues us,  Driven by a hundred rowers,  Carrying a thousand heroes!"  Knew at last old Wainamoinen,  Knew the truth of his inquiry,  Thus addressed his fleeing people:  "Row, O blacksmith, Ilmarinen,  Row, O mighty Lemminkainen,  Row, all ye my noble oarsmen,  That our boat may skim the waters,  May escape from our pursuers!"  Rowed the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,  Rowed the mighty Lemminkainen,  With them rowed the other heroes;  Heavily groaned the helm of birch-wood,  Loudly rattled all the row-locks;  All the vessel shook and trembled,  Like a cataract it thundered  As it plowed the waste of waters,  Tossing sea-foam to the heavens.  Strongly rowed Wainola's forces,  Strongly were their arms united;  But the distance did not widen  Twixt the boat and their pursuers.  Quick the hero, Wainamoinen,  Saw misfortune hanging over,  Saw destruction in the distance  Heavy-hearted, long reflecting,  Trouble-laden, spake as follows:  "Only is there one salvation,  Know one miracle for safety!"  Then he grasped his box of tinder,  From the box he took a flint-stone,  Of the tinder took some fragments,  Cast the fragments on the waters,  Spake these words of master-magic.  "Let from these arise a mountain  From the bottom of the deep-sea,  Let a rock arise in water,  That the war-ship of Pohyola,  With her thousand men and heroes,  May be wrecked upon the summit,  By the aid of surging billows."  Instantly a reef arises,  In the sea springs up a mountain,  Eastward, westward, through the waters.  Came the war-ship of the Northland,  Through the floods the boat came steering,  Sailed against the mountain-ledges,  Fastened on the rocks in water,  Wrecked upon the Mount of Magic.  In the deep-sea fell the topmasts,  Fell the sails upon the billows,  Carried by the winds and waters  O'er the waves of toil and trouble.  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,  Tries to free her sinking vessel,  Tries to rescue from destruction;  But she cannot raise the war-ship,  Firmly fixed upon the mountain;  Shattered are the ribs and rudder,  Ruined is the ship of Pohya.  Then the hostess of the Northland,  Much disheartened, spake as follows:  "Where the force, in earth or heaven,  That will help a soul in trouble?"  Quick she changes form and feature,  Makes herself another body;  Takes five sharpened scythes of iron,  Also takes five goodly sickles,  Shapes them into eagle-talons;  Takes the body of the vessel,  Makes the frame-work of an eagle;  Takes the vessel's ribs and flooring  Makes them into wings and breastplate;  For the tail she shapes the rudder;  In the wings she plants a thousand  Seniors with their bows and arrows;  Sets a thousand magic heroes  In the body, armed with broadswords  In the tail a hundred archers,  With their deadly spears and cross-bows,  Thus the bird is hero-feathered.  Quick she spreads her mighty pinions,  Rises as a monster-eagle,  Flies on high, and soars, and circles  With one wing she sweeps the heavens,  While the other sweeps the waters.  Spake the hero's ocean-mother:  "O thou ancient Wainamoinen,  Turn thy vision to the north-east,  Cast thine eyes upon the sunrise,  Look behind thy fleeing vessel,  See the eagle of misfortune!"  Wainamoinen turned as bidden,  Turned his vision to the north-east,  Cast his eyes upon the sunrise,  There beheld the Northland-hostess,  Wicked witch of Sariola,  Flying as a monster-eagle,  Swooping on his mighty war-ship;  Flies and perches on the topmast,  On the sail-yards firmly settles;  Nearly overturns the vessel  Of the heroes of Wainola,  Underneath the weight of envy.  Then the hero, Ilmarinen,  Turned to Ukko as his refuge,  Thus entreated his Creator:  "Ukko, thou O God in heaven,  Thou Creator full of mercy,  Guard us from impending danger,  That thy children may not perish,  May not meet with fell destruction.  Hither bring thy magic fire-cloak,  That thy people, thus protected,  May resist Pohyola's forces,  Well may fight against the hostess  Of the dismal Sariola,  May not fall before her weapons,  May not in the deep-sea perish!"  Then the ancient Wainamoinen  Thus addressed the ancient Louhi:  "O thou hostess of Pohyola,  Wilt thou now divide the Sampo,  On the fog-point in the water,  On the island forest-covered?  Thus the Northland hostess answered:  "I will not divide the Sampo,  Not with thee, thou evil wizard,  Not with wicked Wainamoinen!"  Quick the mighty eagle, Louhi,  Swoops upon the lid in colors,  Grasps the Sampo in her talons;  But the daring Lemminkainen  Straightway draws his blade of battle,  Draws his broadsword from his girdle,  Cleaves the talons of the eagle,  One toe only is uninjured,  Speaks these magic words of conquest:  "Down, ye spears, and down, ye broadswords,  Down, ye thousand witless heroes,  Down, ye feathered hosts of Louhi!"  Spake the hostess of Pohyola,  Calling, screeching, from the sail-yards:  "O thou faithless Lemminkainen,  Wicked wizard, Kaukomieli,  To deceive thy trusting mother!  Thou didst give to her thy promise,  Not to go to war for ages,  Not to war for sixty summers,  Though desire for gold impels thee,  Though thou wishest gold and silver!  Wainamoinen, ancient hero,  The eternal wisdom-singer,  Thinking he had met destruction,  Snatched the rudder from the waters,  With it smote the monster-eagle,  Smote the eagle's iron talons,  Smote her countless feathered heroes.  From her breast her hosts descended,  Spearmen fell upon the billows,  From the wings descend a thousand,  From the tail, a hundred archers.  Swoops again the bird of Pohya  To the bottom of the vessel,  Like the hawk from birch or aspen,  Like the falcon from the linden;  Grasps the Sampo with one talon,  Drags the treasure to the waters,  Drops the magic lid in colors  From the red rim of the war-ship  To the bottom of the deep-sea,  Where the Sampo breaks in pieces,  Scatters through the Alue-waters,  In the mighty deeps for ages,  To increase the ocean's treasures,  Treasures for the hosts of Ahto.  Nevermore will there be wanting  Richness for the Ahto-nation,  Never while the moonlight brightens  On the waters of the Northland.  Many fragments of the Sampo  Floated on the purple waters,  On the waters deep and boundless,  Rocked by winds and waves of Suomi,  Carried by the rolling billows  To the sea-sides of Wainola.  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,  Saw the fragments of the treasure  Floating on the billows landward,  Fragments of the lid in colors,  Much rejoicing, spake as follows:  "Thence will come the sprouting seed-grain,  The beginning of good fortune,  The unending of resources,  From the plowing and the sowing,  From the glimmer of the moonlight,  From the splendor of the sunshine,  On the fertile plains of Suomi,  On the meads of Kalevala."  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,  Thus addressed old Wainamoinen:  "Know I other mighty measures,  Know I means that are efficient,  And against thy golden moonlight,  And the splendor of thy sunshine,  And thy plowing, and thy reaping;  In the rocks I'll sink the moonbeams,  Hide the sun within the mountain,  Let the frost destroy thy sowings,  Freeze the crops on all thy corn-fields;  Iron-hail I'll send from heaven,  On the richness of thine acres,  On the barley of thy planting;  I will drive the bear from forests,  Send thee Otso from the thickets,  That he may destroy thy cattle,  May annihilate thy sheep-folds,  May destroy thy steeds at pasture.  I will send thee nine diseases,  Each more fatal than the other,  That will sicken all thy people,  Make thy children sink and perish,  Nevermore to visit Northland,  Never while the moonlight glimmers  On the plains of Kalevala!"  Thus the ancient bard made answer:  "Not a Laplander can banish  Wainamoinen and his people;  Never can a Turyalander  Drive my tribes from Kalevala;  God alone has power to banish,  God controls the fate of nations,  Never trusts the arms of evil,  Never gives His strength to others.  As I trust in my Creator,  Call upon benignant Ukko,  He will guard my crops from danger  Drive the Frost-fiend from my corn-fields,  Drive great Otso to his caverns.  "Wicked Louhi of Pohyola,  Thou canst banish evil-doers,  In the rocks canst hide the wicked,  In thy mountains lock the guilty;  Thou canst never hide the moonlight,  Never bide the silver sunshine,  In the caverns of thy kingdom.  Freeze the crops of thine own planting,  Freeze the barley of thy sowing,  Send thine iron-hail from heaven  To destroy the Lapland corn-fields,  To annihilate thy people,  To destroy the hosts of Pohya;  Send great Otso from the heather,  Send the sharp-tooth from the forest,  To the fields of Sariola,  On the herds and flocks of Louhi!"  Thus the wicked hostess answered:  "All my power has departed,  All my strength has gone to others,  All my hope is in the deep-sea;  In the waters lies my Sampo!"  Then the hostess of Pohyola  Home departed, weeping, wailing,  To the land of cold and darkness;  Only took some worthless fragments  Of the Sampo to her people;  Carried she the lid to Pohya,  In the blue-sea left the handle;  Hence the poverty of Northland,  And the famines of Pohyola.  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,  Hastened to the broad-sea's margin,  Stepped upon the shore in joyance;  Found there fragments of the Sampo,  Fragments of the lid in colors,  On the borders of the waters,  On the curving sands and sea-sides;  Gathered well the Sampo-relics  From the waters near the fog-point,  On the island forest-covered.  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen,  Spake these words in supplication:  "Grant, O Ukko, our Creator,  Grant to us, thy needful children,  Peace, and happiness, and plenty,  That our lives may be successful,  That our days may end in honor,  On the vales and hills of Suomi,  On the prairies of Wainola,  In the homes of Kalevala!  "Ukko, wise and good Creator,  Ukko, God of love and mercy,  Shelter and protect thy people  From the evil-minded heroes,  From the wiles of wicked women,  That our country's plagues may leave us,  That thy faithful tribes may prosper.  Be our friend and strong protector,  Be the helper of thy children,  In the night a roof above them,  In the day a shield around them,  That the sunshine may not vanish,  That the moonlight may not lessen,  That the killing frosts may leave them,  And destructive hail pass over.  Build a metal wall around us,  From the valleys to the heavens;  Build of stone a mighty fortress  On the borders of Wainola,  Where thy people live and labor,  As their dwelling-place forever,  Sure protection to thy people,  Where the wicked may not enter,  Nor the thieves break through and pilfer,  Never while the moonlight glistens,  And the Sun brings golden blessings  To the plains of Kalevala."

RUNE XLIV

BIRTH OF THE SECOND HARP

  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,  Long reflecting, sang these measures:  "It is now the time befitting  To awaken joy and gladness,  Time for me to touch the harp-strings,  Time to sing the songs primeval,  In these spacious halls and mansions,  In these homes of Kalevala;  But, alas! my harp lies hidden,  Sunk upon the deep-sea's bottom,  To the salmon's hiding-places,  To the dwellings of the whiting,  To the people of Wellamo,  Where the Northland-pike assemble.  Nevermore will I regain it,  Ahto never will return it,  Joy and music gone forever!  "O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,  Forge for me a rake of iron,  Thickly set the teeth of copper,  Many fathoms long the handle;  Make a rake to search the waters,  Search the broad-sea to the bottom,  Rake the weeds and reeds together,  Rake them to the curving sea-shore,  That I may regain my treasure,  May regain my harp of fish-bow  From the whiting's place of resting,  From the caverns of the salmon,  From the castles of Wellamo."  Thereupon young Ilmarinen,  The eternal metal-worker,  Forges well a rake of iron,  Teeth in length a hundred fathoms,  And a thousand long the handle,  Thickly sets the teeth of copper.  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen  Takes the rake of magic metals,  Travels but a little distance,  To the cylinders of oak-wood,  To the copper-banded rollers,  Where he finds two ships awaiting,  One was new, the other ancient.  Wainamoinen, old and faithful,  Thus addressed the new-made vessel:  "Go, thou boat of master-magic,  Hasten to the willing waters,  Speed away upon the blue-sea,  And without the hand to move thee;  Let my will impel thee seaward."  Quick the boat rolled to the billows  On the cylinders of oak-wood,  Quick descended to the waters,  Willingly obeyed his master.  Wainamoinen, the magician,  Then began to rake the sea-beds,  Raked up all the water-flowers,  Bits of broken reeds and rushes,  Deep-sea shells and colored pebbles,  Did not find his harp of fish-bone,  Lost forever to Wainola!  Thereupon the ancient minstrel  Left the waters, homeward hastened,  Cap pulled clown upon his forehead,  Sang this song with sorrow laden:  "Nevermore shall I awaken  With my harp-strings, joy and gladness!  Nevermore will Wainamoinen  Charm the people of the Northland  With the harp of his creation!  Nevermore my songs will echo  O'er the hills of Kalevala!"  Thereupon the ancient singer  Went lamenting through the forest,  Wandered through the sighing pine-woods,  Heard the wailing of a birch-tree,  Heard a juniper complaining;  Drawing nearer, waits and listens,  Thus the birch-tree he addresses:  "Wherefore, brother, art thou weeping,  Merry birch enrobed in silver,  Silver-leaved and silver-tasselled?  Art thou shedding tears of sorrow,  Since thou art not led to battle,  Not enforced to war with wizards?  Wisely does the birch make answer:  "This the language of the many,  Others speak as thou, unjustly,  That I only live in pleasure,  That my silver leaves and tassels  Only whisper my rejoicings;  That I have no cares, no sorrows,  That I have no hours unhappy,  Knowing neither pain nor trouble.  I am weeping for my smallness,  Am lamenting for my weakness,  Have no sympathy, no pity,  Stand here motionless for ages,  Stand alone in fen and forest,  In these woodlands vast and joyless.  Others hope for coming summers,  For the beauties of the spring-time;  I, alas! a helpless birch-tree,  Dread the changing of the seasons,  I must give my bark to, others,  Lose my leaves and silken tassels.  Men come the Suomi children,  Peel my bark and drink my life-blood:  Wicked shepherds in the summer,  Come and steal my belt of silver,  Of my bark make berry-baskets,  Dishes make, and cups for drinking.  Oftentimes the Northland maidens  Cut my tender limbs for birch-brooms,'  Bind my twigs and silver tassels  Into brooms to sweep their cabins;  Often have the Northland heroes  Chopped me into chips for burning;  Three times in the summer season,  In the pleasant days of spring-time,  Foresters have ground their axes  On my silver trunk and branches,  Robbed me of my life for ages;  This my spring-time joy and pleasure,  This my happiness in summer,  And my winter days no better!  When I think of former troubles,  Sorrow settles on my visage,  And my face grows white with anguish;  Often do the winds of winter  And the hoar-frost bring me sadness,  Blast my tender leaves and tassels,  Bear my foliage to others,  Rob me of my silver raiment,  Leave me naked on the mountain,  Lone, and helpless, and disheartened!"  Spake the good, old Wainamoinen:  "Weep no longer, sacred birch-tree,  Mourn no more, my friend and brother,  Thou shalt have a better fortune;  I will turn thy grief to joyance,  Make thee laugh and sing with gladness."  Then the ancient Wainamoinen  Made a harp from sacred birch-wood,  Fashioned in the days of summer,  Beautiful the harp of magic,  By the master's hand created  On the fog-point in the Big-Sea,  On the island forest-covered,  Fashioned from the birch the archings,  And the frame-work from the aspen.  These the words of the magician:  "All the archings are completed,  And the frame is fitly finished;  Whence the hooks and pins for tuning,  That the harp may sing in concord?"  Near the way-side grew an oak-tree,  Skyward grew with equal branches,  On each twig an acorn growing,  Golden balls upon each acorn,  On each ball a singing cuckoo.  As each cuckoo's call resounded,  Five the notes of song that issued  From the songster's throat of joyance;  From each throat came liquid music,  Gold and silver for the master,  Flowing to the hills and hillocks,  To the silvery vales and mountains;  Thence he took the merry harp-pins,  That the harp might play in concord.  Spake again wise Wainamoinen:  "I the pins have well completed,  Still the harp is yet unfinished;  Now I need five strings for playing,  Where shall I procure the harp-strings?"  Then the ancient bard and minstrel  Journeyed through the fen and forest.  On a hillock sat a maiden,  Sat a virgin of the valley;  And the maiden was not weeping,  Joyful was the sylvan daughter,  Singing with the woodland songsters,  That the eventide might hasten,  In the hope that her beloved  Would the sooner sit beside her.  Wainamoinen, old and trusted,  Hastened, tripping to the virgin,  Asked her for her golden ringleta,  These the words of the magician.  "Give me, maiden, of thy tresses,  Give to me thy golden ringlets;  I will weave them into harp-strings,  To the joy of Wainamoinen,  To the pleasure of his people."  Thereupon the forest-maiden  Gave the singer of her tresses,  Gave him of her golden ringlets,  And of these he made the harp-strings.  Sources of eternal pleasure  To the people of Wainola.  Thus the sacred harp is finished,  And the minstrel, Wainamoinen,  Sits upon the rock of joyance,  Takes the harp within his fingers,  Turns the arch up, looking skyward;  With his knee the arch supporting,  Sets the strings in tuneful order,  Runs his fingers o'er the harp-strings,  And the notes of pleasure follow.  Straightway ancient Wainamoinen,  The eternal wisdom-singer,  Plays upon his harp of birch-wood.  Far away is heard the music,  Wide the harp of joy re-echoes;  Mountains dance and valleys listen,  Flinty rocks are tom asunder,  Stones are hurled upon the waters,  Pebbles swim upon the Big-Sea,  Pines and lindens laugh with pleasure,  Alders skip about the heather,  And the aspen sways in concord.  All the daughters of Wainola  Straightway leave their shining needles,  Hasten forward like the current,  Speed along like rapid rivers,  That they may enjoy and wonder.  Laugh the younger men and maidens,  Happy-hearted are the matrons  Flying swift to bear the playing,  To enjoy the common pleasure,  Hear the harp of Wainamoinen.  Aged men and bearded seniors,  Gray-haired mothers with their daughters  Stop in wonderment and listen.  Creeps the babe in full enjoyment  As he hears the magic singing,  Hears the harp of Wainamoinen.  All of Northland stops in wonder,  Speaks in unison these measures:  "Never have we heard such playing,  Never heard such strains of music,  Never since the earth was fashioned,  As the songs of this magician,  This sweet singer, Wainamoinen!"  Far and wide the sweet tones echo,  Ring throughout the seven hamlets,  O'er the seven islands echo;  Every creature of the Northland  Hastens forth to look and listen,  Listen to the songs of gladness,  To the harp of Wainamoinen.  All the beasts that haunt the woodlands  Fall upon their knees and wonder  At the playing of the minstrel,  At his miracles of concord.  All the songsters of the forests  Perch upon the trembling branches,  Singing to the wondrous playing  Of the harp of Wainamoinen.  All the dwellers of the waters  Leave their beds, and eaves, and grottoes,  Swim against the shore and listen  To the playing of the minstrel,  To the harp of Wainamoinen.  All the little things in nature,  Rise from earth, and fall from ether,  Come and listen to the music,  To the notes of the enchanter,  To the songs of the magician,  To the harp of Wainamoinen.  Plays the singer of the Northland,  Plays in miracles of sweetness,  Plays one day, and then a second,  Plays the third from morn till even;  Plays within the halls and cabins,  In the dwellings of his people,  Till the floors and ceilings echo,  Till resound the roofs of pine-wood,  Till the windows speak and tremble,  Till the portals echo joyance,  And the hearth-stones sing in pleasure.  As he journeys through the forest,  As he wanders through the woodlands,  Pine and sorb-tree bid him welcome,  Birch and willow bend obeisance,  Beech and aspen bow submission;  And the linden waves her branches  To the measure of his playing,  To the notes of the magician.  As the minstrel plays and wanders,  Sings upon the mead and heather,  Glen and hill his songs re-echo,  Ferns and flowers laugh in pleasure,  And the shrubs attune their voices  To the music of the harp-strings,  To the songs of Wainamoinen.

RUNE XLV

BIRTH OF THE NINE DISEASES

  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,  Heard the word in Sariola,  Heard the Dews with ears of envy,  That Wainola lives and prospers,  That Osmoinen's wealth increases,  Through the ruins of the Sampo,  Ruins of the lid in colors.  Thereupon her wrath she kindled,  Well considered, long reflected,  How she might prepare destruction  For the people of Wainola,  For the tribes of Kalevala.  With this prayer she turns to Ukko,  Thus entreats the god of thunder:  "Ukko, thou who art in heaven,  Help me slay Wainola's people  With thine iron-hail of justice,  With thine arrows tipped with lightning,  Or from sickness let them perish,  Let them die the death deserving;  Let the men die in the forest,  And the women in the hurdles!"  The blind daughter of Tuoni,  Old and wicked witch, Lowyatar,  Worst of all the Death-land women,  Ugliest of Mana's children,  Source of all the host of evils,  All the ills and plagues of Northland,  Black in heart, and soul, and visage,  Evil genius of Lappala,  Made her couch along the wayside,  On the fields of sin and sorrow;  Turned her back upon the East-wind,  To the source of stormy weather,  To the chilling winds of morning.  When the winds arose at evening,  Heavy-laden grew Lowyatar,  Through the east-wind's impregnation,  On the sand-plains, vast and barren.  Long she bore her weight of trouble,  Many morns she suffered anguish,  Till at last she leaves the desert,  Makes her couch within the forest,  On a rock upon the mountain;  Labors long to leave her burden  By the mountain-springs and fountains,  By the crystal waters flowing,  By the sacred stream and whirlpool,  By the cataract and fire-stream;  But her burden does not lighten.  Blind Lowyatar, old and ugly,  Knew not where to look for succor,  How to lose her weight of sorrow,  Where to lay her evil children.  Spake the Highest from the heavens,  These, the words of mighty Ukko:  "Is a triangle in Swamp-field,  Near the border of the ocean,  In the never-pleasant Northland,  In the dismal Sariola;  Thither go and lay thy burden,  In Pohyola leave thine offspring;  There the Laplanders await thee,  There will bid thy children welcome."  Thereupon the blind Lowyatar,  Blackest daughter of Tuoni,  Mana's old and ugly maiden,  Hastened on her journey northward,  To the chambers of Pohyola,  To the ancient halls of Louhi,  There to lay her heavy burdens,  There to leave her evil offspring.  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,  Old and toothless witch of Pohya,  Takes Lowyatar to her mansion;  Silently she leads the stranger  To the bath-rooms of her chamber,  Pours the foaming beer of barley,  Lubricates the bolts and hinges,  That their movements may be secret,  Speaks these measures to Lowyatar:  "Faithful daughter of Creation,  Thou most beautiful of women,  First and last of ancient mothers,  Hasten on thy feet to ocean,  To the ocean's centre hasten,  Take the sea-foam from the waters,  Take the honey of the mermaids,  And anoint thy sacred members,  That thy labors may be lightened.  "Should all this be unavailing,  Ukko, thou who art in heaven,  Hasten hither, thou art needed,  Come thou to thy child in trouble,  Help the helpless and afflicted.  Take thy golden-colored sceptre,  Charm away opposing forces,  Strike the pillars of the stronghold,  Open all resisting portals,  That the great and small may wander  From their ancient hiding-places,  Through the courts and halls of freedom."  Finally the blind Lowyatar,  Wicked witch of Tuonela,  Was delivered of her burden,  Laid her offspring in the cradle,  Underneath the golden covers.  Thus at last were born nine children,  In an evening of the summer,  From Lowyatar, blind and ancient,  Ugly daughter of Tuoni.  Faithfully the virgin-mother  Guards her children in affection,  As an artist loves and nurses  What his skillful hands have fashioned.  Thus Lowyatar named her offspring,  Colic, Pleurisy, and Fever,  Ulcer, Plague, and dread Consumption,  Gout, Sterility, and Cancer.  And the worst of these nine children  Blind Lowyatar quickly banished,  Drove away as an enchanter,  To bewitch the lowland people,  To engender strife and envy.  Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,  Banished all the other children  To the fog-point in the ocean,  To the island forest-covered;  Banished all the fatal creatures,  Gave these wicked sons of evil  To the people of Wainola,  To the youth of Kalevala,  For the Kalew-tribe's destruction.  Quick Wainola's maidens sicken,  Young and aged, men and heroes,  With the worst of all diseases,  With diseases new and nameless;  Sick and dying is Wainola.  Thereupon old Wainamoinen,  Wise and wonderful enchanter,  Hastens to his people's rescue,  Hastens to a war with Mana,  To a conflict with Tuoni,  To destroy the evil children  Of the evil maid, Lowyatar.  Wainamoinen heats the bath-rooms,  Heats the blocks of healing-sandstone  With the magic wood of Northland,  Gathered by the sacred river;  Water brings in covered buckets  From the cataract and whirlpool;  Brooms he brings enwrapped with ermine,  Well the bath the healer cleanses,  Softens well the brooms of birch-wood;  Then a honey-heat be wakens,  Fills the rooms with healing vapors,  From the virtue of the pebbles  Glowing in the heat of magic,  Thus he speaks in supplication:  "Come, O Ukko, to my rescue,  God of mercy, lend thy presence,  Give these vapor-baths new virtues,  Grant to them the powers of healing,  And restore my dying people;  Drive away these fell diseases,  Banish them to the unworthy,  Let the holy sparks enkindle,  Keep this heat in healing limits,  That it may not harm thy children,  May not injure the afflicted.  When I pour the sacred waters  On the heated blocks of sandstone,  May the water turn to honey  Laden with the balm of healing.  Let the stream of magic virtues  Ceaseless flow to all my children,  From this bath enrolled in sea-moss,  That the guiltless may not suffer,  That my tribe-folk may not perish,  Till the Master gives permission,  Until Ukko sends his minions,  Sends diseases of his choosing,  To destroy my trusting people.  Let the hostess of Pohyola,  Wicked witch that sent these troubles,  Suffer from a gnawing conscience,  Suffer for her evil doings.  Should the Master of Wainola  Lose his magic skill and weaken,  Should he prove of little service  To deliver from misfortune,  To deliver from these evils,  Then may Ukko be our healer,  Be our strength and wise Physician.  "Omnipresent God of mercy,  Thou who livest in the heavens,  Hasten hither, thou art needed,  Hasten to thine ailing children,  To observe their cruel tortures,  To dispel these fell diseases,  Drive destruction from our borders.  Bring with thee thy mighty fire-sword,  Bring to me thy blade of lightning,  That I may subdue these evils,  That these monsters I may banish,  Send these pains, and ills, and tortures,  To the empire of Tuoni,  To the kingdom of the east-winds,  To the islands of the wicked,  To the caverns of the demons,  To the rocks within the mountains,  To the hidden beds of iron,  That the rocks may fall and sicken,  And the beds of iron perish.  Rocks and metals do not murmur  At the hands of the invader.  "Torture-daughter of Tuoni,  Sitting on the mount of anguish,  At the junction of three rivers,  Turning rocks of pain and torture,  Turn away these fell diseases  Through the virtues of the blue-stone;  Lead them to the water-channels,  Sink them in the deeps of ocean,  Where the winds can never find them,  Where the sunlight never enters.  "Should this prayer prove unavailing,  O, Health-virgin, maid of beauty  Come and heal my dying people,  Still their agonies and anguish,  Give them consciousness and comfort,  Give them healthful rest and slumber;  These diseases take and banish,  Take them in thy copper vessel,  To thy eaves within the mountains,  To the summit of the Pain-rock,  Hurl them to thy boiling caldrons.  In the mountain is a touch-stone,  Lucky-stone of ancient story,  With a hole bored through the centre,  Through this pour these pains and tortures,  Wretched feelings, thoughts of evil,  Human ailments, days unlucky,  Tribulations, and misfortunes,  That they may not rise at evening,  May not see the light of morning."  Ending thus, old Wainamoinen,  The eternal, wise enchanter,  Rubbed his sufferers with balsams,  Rubbed the tissues, red and painful,  With the balm of healing flowers,  Balsams made of herbs enchanted,  Sprinkled all with healing vapors,  Spake these words in supplication.  "Ukko, thou who art in heaven,  God of justice, and of mercy,  Send us from the east a rain-cloud,  Send a dark cloud from the North-west,  From the north let fall a third one,  Send us mingled rain and honey,  Balsam from the great Physician,  To remove this plague of Northland.  What I know of healing measures,  Only comes from my Creator;  Lend me, therefore, of thy wisdom,  That I may relieve my people,  Save them from the fell destroyer,  If my hands should fall in virtue,  Let the hands of Ukko follow,  God alone can save from trouble.  Come to us with thine enchantment,  Speak the magic words of healing,  That my people may not perish;  Give to all alleviation  From their sicknesses and sorrows;  In the morning, in the evening,  Let their wasting ailments vanish;  Drive the Death-child from Wainola,  Nevermore to visit Northland,  Never in the course of ages,  Never while the moonlight glimmers  O'er the lakes of Kalevala."  Wainamoinen, the enchanter,  The eternal wisdom-singer,  Thus expelled the nine diseases,  Evil children or Lowyatar,  Healed the tribes of Kalevala,  Saved his people from destruction.