KALEVALA
The selected poems of Kalevala
Калевала'99

"Kalevala".


Runo 4

AINO

Then that Aino, the young maiden,
Sister of young Joukahainen,
Went into the grove for broom twigs,
Leafy sprays for sauna slappers;
Broke a slapper for her father
Broke a second for her mother,
Even gathered up a third one,
Ready for her red-cheeked brother.

9 Just as she was starting homeward
Stepping lightly through the alders, 10
Vainamoinen came upon her,
Saw the maiden in the grove,
Finely-dressed one in the glade.
Said a word and spoke out thus:
"Not for anyone else, young maiden,
Not for anyone else but me,
Young maiden, wear that beaded necklace
Or the crosslet on your bosom,
Put your hair up in long braids
Tie them round with silken ribbons." 20

21 But to this the maiden answered:
"Not for you or anyone else
Will I wear this crosslet here
Or tie my hair in silken ribbons.
I don't care for foreign fashions
Nor for wheat bread sliver-sliced;
I can go in plainer clothing
And can live on heels and crusts
With my good and kindly father
And my mild and tender mother." 30

31 Then she tore off all her trinkets,
Cross from breast and rings from fingers,
Beaded necklace from her throat
And red ribbons from her hair;
Left them on the earth for earth
For the good of grove and woodland.
Then in tears she hurried homeward,
Crying to her father's farmyard.

39 At the window sat her father
Drawing figures on his ax-helve. 40
"What are you crying for, poor girl,
My sad daughter-and so young?"

43 "There is cause enough for weeping,
Trouble enough now for complaining!
This is why I'm weeping, father,
Why I'm crying and complaining:
From my breast the cross is lost,
Dropped the tassels from my belt;
From my breast the cross of silver,
From my belt the copper tassels." 50

51 At the gate her brother sat
Busy shaping out a shaft-bow:
"What are you crying for, poor sister,
My sad sister-and so young?"

55 "There is cause enough for weeping,
Trouble enough now for complaining!
This is why, my poor brother,
Why I'm crying and complaining:
From my finger the ring is lost,
From my neck the string of beads; 60
Ring of gold lost from my finger,
From my neck the beads of silver."

63 On the doorsill sat her sister
Knitting on a lovely sash:
"What are you crying for, poor sister,
My sad sister-and so young?"

67 "There is cause enough for weeping,
Trouble enough now for complaining!
This is why, my poor sister,
Why I'm crying and complaining: 70
From my brow the gold is gone,
From my hair the silver vanished;
So the blue silk from my temples
And red ribbons from my hair."

75 On the doorstep of the storehouse
Sat her mother skimming cream:
"What are you crying for, my poor daughter,
My sad daughter-and so young?"

79 "0 my mother, you who bore me,
You who bore and suckled me! so
Surely there is cause for grieving,
Bad the troubles that oppress me!
This I weep for, my poor mother,
Why, dear mother, I'm complaining:
To the woods I went for broom twigs,
Leafy sprays for sauna slappers;
Broke a slapper for my father
Broke a second for my mother,
Even gathered up a third one
Ready for my red-cheeked brother. 90
Just as I was starting homeward,
Crossing on an open clearing,
Osmo from the hollow spoke,
Kalevalander from the clearing:
"Not for anyone else, poor maiden,
Not for anyone else but me,
Poor maiden, wear that beaded necklace
Or the crosslet on your bosom,
Put your hair up in long braids
Tie them round with silken ribbons." 100

101 "From my breast I tore the crosslet,
Dashed the beads down from my throat,
And the blue silk from my temples,
The red ribbons from my hair;
Left them on the woodsy earth
For the good of earth and woodland.
Then I put it into words:
Not for you or anyone else
Will I wear this crosslet here
Or tie my hair in silken ribbons. 110
I don't care for foreign fashions
Nor for wheat bread sliver-sliced;
I can go in plainer clothing
And can live on heels and crusts
With my good and kindly father
And my mild and tender mother."

117 Then her mother spoke persuasive,
Spoke the mother to her child:
"Do not weep, my darling daughter,
Begotten of my younger years! 120
For a year eat fresh sweet butter
To grow plumper than the others;
For the second year eat pork
To become more desired,
And the third year eat sweet creamcakes
To become the loveliest.
Go to the storehouse on the hill,
Open up the richest storeroom;
There are treasures crate on crate,
Piled up high in chest on chest. 130
Open up the richest locker,
Clang the pictured cover up.
There you'll find six golden girdles,
Seven blue dresses which were woven
By the daughter of the moon,
Finished by the sun's own daughter.

137 "Long ago in my girlhood
When I was living as a virgin,
I went berrying in the woods,
Picking raspberries on the hillside. 140
There I heard the Moonmaid weaving
And her bright sun-sister spinning
In the far blue woodland haze
By a lovely leafy grove.

145 "Then I quietly approached them;
As I crept up near and nearer
I began there to beseech them,
And I spoke these wishful words:
'Give, good'Moonmaid, of your gold;
Give, sweet Sunmaid, of your silver 150
To this empty-handed maiden,
To this child who now implores you.

153 "So the Moonmaid gave her gold
And the Sunmaid of her silver.
With the gold upon my brow
And the silver in my hair,
I came home then like a flower,
As a joy to father's yards.

159 "Wore them one day and a second,
But already on the third day 160
Put the gold from off my forehead
And the silver from my hair;
Took them to the storehouse, put them
In the chest beneath the lid.
Since that time they've been lying there,
All that long time out of sight.

167 "Bind your brows with silken ribbons,
On your temples bands of gold,
Round your neck a string of beads
And a gold cross on your bosom. 170
Wear a shirt of sheerest linen
Woven of the finest flax,
And put on a skirt of broadcloth
With a silken sash around it,
Then your lovely silken stockings
And your shoes with fancy uppers.8
Do your hair up into braids,
Tie them round with silken ribbon,
Rings of gold upon your fingers,
Golden bracelets on your arms. 180
l8l "Thus adorned walk from the storeroom
To be welcomed in the house,
Hailed the sweetheart of your clan
And a joy to all your people.
Walk the laneways like a flower,
Like a raspberry parade about
Better looking than before,
So much lovelier now than ever."

189 Thus the mother gave advice,
Thus the elder to her child. 190
But the daughter did not heed her,
Did not even hear the words
As in tears she rushed outdoors
To the farmyard wildly weeping,
Moaning to herself aloud
In these melancholy words:
"How describe the happy mind
And the feelings of the blessed?
This is what their moods are like,
The happy and the fortunate, 200
Like the bubbling up of water
Or ripples running down a trough.
Why is the mournful mind compared
To the long-tailed duck, the woe-bird?
As the wailing of the woe-bird
So the grieving of the wretched,
Deep as drift beneath a ridge
Deep as water in a well.

209 "Often now my mind is misty,
Often like a child bewildered, 210
Wandering through the withered grasses,
Crawling through the bushy thickets,
Slinking stealthy through the grasslands,
Wallowing in the scrubby hollows.
Ah! my mind is black as pine tar,
Heart no whiter than the charcoal.

217 "It would be much better for me,
Surely would have been much better,.
If I never had been born,
Not grown up to be adult 220
In these dreadful days of evil,
In this joyless atmosphere.
Had I died a six-night infant
Or had perished on the eighth night
I would not have needed much,
Just a handspan length of linen,
Bit of earth and nothing more-
Except my mother's tears awhile,
Not even that much from my father,
Nothing at all from my brother." 230

231 She wept one day, wept another;
So once more the mother asked her:
"What are you crying for, poor girl,
And of whom are you complaining?"

235 "This I, wretched virgin, weep for
And will grieve for all my days:
That you gave me, wretched maiden,
That you promised your own child
To become an old man's comfort,
As a pleasure for the old one 240
And a refuge to a trembler,
Keeper of a corner-sitter.
Better had you ordered me
Underneath the seawaves deep
To be a sister to the whitefish,
And a comrade10 to the fishes.
Better a fish among the fishes
Dwelling deep beneath the billows
As a sister to the white fish
And a comrade to the fishes, 250
Than to be an old man's comfort
And a refuge to a trembler,
Tottering round in stockinged feet,
Stumbling over every twig."

255 Then she walked up Storehouse Hill,
Stepped inside the treasure room;
Opened up the richest coffer,
Clanged the pictured cover up:
Found six golden girdles there
And the seven fine blue dresses. 260
Then with these she decked herself,
Setting off her lovely figure;
Set the gold upon her brow
And the silver on her hair,
Blue silk band around her head
And her braids with scarlet threaded.

267 Then she went across the clearing
And meandered through another,
Roamed the lowlands, roamed the uplands,
Wandered through the gloomy backwoods. 270
As she went she sang her sorrow,
Sang her grieving in her going:
"In my heart the hurt is heavy,
In my mind the thought is moaning,
But the hurt could not be heavier
Nor the moaning more despairing
If I, miserable girl, should die,
Were such a wretched one cut off
From these overwhelming sorrows,
From these torments of the mind. 280

281 "It is time for me already,
Time to leave these airs above,
Time to seek the under-earth,
Time to go to Tuonela:
Father will not weep for me,
Mother will not take it badly,
Sister's cheeks will not be dampened,
Nor my brother drop a tear,
Though I tumble in the water,
Fall into the fishy sea 290
Underneath the deep seawaves
To the black ooze at the bottom."

293 She walked one day, walked a second,
On the third day she arrived.
Before her stretched the open sea
Bordered by a reedy marsh.
There the nightfall overtakes her
And the darkness ends her wandering.

299 There the virgin wept all evening,
Cried all night upon the shore, 300
Seated on a water-stone
Where a broad bay opened out.
Very early in the morning
She looked out upon a headland
At the point of which she saw
Three maidens bathing in the sea;
She herself became the fourth,
And a slender twig made five."

309 Threw her shirt upon a willow
And her dress upon an aspen, 310
Stockings on the marshy ground,
Shoes upon a launder-stone,
Necklace on the sandy shore
And her rings among the pebbles.

315 On the water shone a writrock,
Scripted slabstone gleaming golden;
Swimming to the rock she hurried,
Hoping there to shed her sorrows.

319 When she got there she sat down,
Settled down to rest upon it, 320
On the many-ciphered rock,
On the scripted slab of stone,
When it suddenly plunged down
Beneath the water to the bottom
With the maiden Aino on it
Riding down upon the boulder.

327 There the poor young virgin vanished,
Thus the little chicken died.
As she was sinking she rehearsed
The story of her lonely sorrow: 330
"I went to the sea to bathe
And was swimming on the surface.
There I, the little chicken, vanished
Like a little bird struck down.
Never again my father, never,
Never at all in your lifetime
Pull a fish out of this water
Above the broad back of this bay.

339 "I went to the shore to wash,
To the seashore for a bath. 340
There I, the little chicken, vanished
Like a little bird struck down.
Never again, my mother, never,
Never at all in your lifetime
Mix in your bread dough this water
Out of the broad bay of our home place.
347 "I went to the shore to bathe it
To the seashore for a bath.
There I, the little chicken, vanished
Like a little bird struck down. 350
Never again, my brother, never,
Never at all in your lifetime
Water your warhorse on this shore.

355 "To the shore I went for washing,
To the bayside for a bath.
There I, the little chicken, vanished
Like a little bird struck down.
Never again, my sister, never,
Never at all in your lifetime
Wash your face in these home waters 360
Leaning by the old home jetty.
Wheresoever this water flows
There my blood is flowing too;
Wheresoever fish are swimming
There my flesh is floating also;
Wherever driftwood lines the beach
There my wretched ribs are lying;
Wherever grass grows on the shore
There my hair is growing also."

371 Such was the fate of the poor young maiden, 370
Thus the beautiful bird has vanished.

373 Who will be the messenger,
Who the bearer of the word
To the maiden's well-known homestead,
To the handsome manor house?

377 Let the bear now take the message,
Be the bearer of the word.
But the bear, he bore no message -
He got lost among the cattle.

381 Who will be the messenger now, 380
Be the bearer of the word
To the maiden's well-known homestead,
To the handsome manor house?

385 Let the wolf now take the message,
Be the bearer of the word.
But the wolf, he bore no word-
He got lost among the sheep.

389 Who will be the messenger now,
Be the bearer of the word
To the maiden's well-known homestead, 390
To the handsome manor house?

393 Let the fox now take the message,
Be the bearer of the word,
But the fox, he bore no word -
He got lost among the geese.

397 Who will be the messenger now,
Be the bearer of the word
To the maiden's well-known homestead,
To the handsome manor house?

401 Let the hare now take the message, 400
Be the bearer of the word.
And the hare, he answered firmly:
"The message will not go astray."

405 Then the hare went off a-running,
Good old lop-ear went a-hopping,
Faithful crook-shank went a-leaping.
Thus the crook-mouth harelip ran
To the maiden's well-known homestead,
To the handsome manor house.

411 Ran up to the sauna threshold, 410
Where he crouched upon the doorstep.
Now the sauna's full of girls,
Slappers in their hands they tease him:
"Did you come for boiling, Squint-Eye,
Or perhaps a roast would do
As a supper for the master
Or a breakfast for the mistress,
As a snackbite for the daughter
Or a luncheon for the son?"

421 When he got his chance to speak 420
Round-eye spoke, and spoke up boldly:
"Go cook Lempo in your kettle,
Boil the devil if you like!
I am here as messenger,
As the bearer of the word:
Now the pretty maid is lost,
With the tin cross on her bosom,
Vanished with her silver breast pin;
Drowned the copper-belted maiden,
Disappeared between the billows 430
Down into the vasty deep
To be a sister to the whitefish,
Companion to all water creatures."

435 Then the mother started weeping
And her teardrops rolled down freely.
Thus the wretched woman spoke,
Giving counsel to all mothers:
"Never again, you poor mothers,
Never try to trick your daughters
With your lullabies and rockings 440
To accept your choice of husband,
Wed a man against her will.
As I myself, unhappy mother,
Lullabied and rocked my daughters,
Rearing them like little chickens."

447 And the mother went on weeping
With the teardrops rolling down,
Pouring from her sad blue eyes
Down her cheeks now blanched with sorrow.

451 Flowed a tear, another followed 450
Running down in rivulets,
Downward from her haggard cheeks,
Down upon her gentle bosom.

455 Flowed a tear, another followed
Running down in rivulets,
Downward from her gentle bosom,
Onto her finely woven skirt.

459 Flowed a tear, another followed
Running down in rivulets,
From her finely woven skirt, 460
Down upon her red-topped stockings.

463 Flowed a tear, another followed
Running down in rivulets,
Downward from her red-topped stockings,
Down upon her lovely shoe tops.

467 Flowed a tear, another followed
Running down in rivulets,
Downward from her lovely shoe tops,
To the ground beneath her feet -
To the ground and to the water 470
For the good of earth and water.

473 When the waters reached the ground
They began to flow like rivers
And indeed became three rivers
From the waters of her weeping,
Tears that started in her head
Flowing out beneath her brow.

479 Out of each of these three rivers
Rose in turn three rushing rapids;
In the foaming of each rapid 480
There arose three tiny islands;
On the shore of every island,
There arose a golden hillock;
On the peak of every hillock
There grew up three little birches;
On the tip of every birch tree
Sat three golden cuckoos singing.

489 Each in turn the cuckoos called.
Cried the first one: "Lover!, lover!"
Called the second: "Suitor! suitor!" 490
And the third sang: "Joyance, joyance!"

493 The one that cried out "Lover!, lover!"
Cried its message three months only,
Three months for the loverless maiden
Sleeping loverless in the sea.

497 The one that cried out "Suitor! suitor!"
Called its message only six months,
Six months for the grieving suitor
Sitting lonely in bereavement.

501 The one that sang out "Joyance, joyance!" 500
Sang its message for a lifetime,
For a lifetime to the mother
Ever weeping for her lost one.

505 And she put it into words
As she listened to the cuckoo:
"Do not, you unhappy mothers,
Listen to the cuckoo crying.
When I hear the cuckoo calling,
Then my heart begins to pound,
In my eyes the tears well over 510
Rolling down upon my cheeks,
Plumper than the broadest peas,
Bigger than the broadest beans.
Span by span my time is passing,
Hour by hour my body ages-
Shrivels every time I hear it,
Hear the springtime cuckoo calling."

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