Rune II-a

'S SOWING. Then arose old Wainamoinen, With his feet upon the island, On the island washed by ocean, Broad expanse devoid of verdure; There remained be many summers, There he lived as many winters, On the island vast and vacant, well considered, long reflected, Who for him should sow the island, Who for him the seeds should scatter; Thought at last of Pellerwoinen, First-born of the plains and prairies, When a slender boy, called Sampsa, Who should sow the vacant island, Who the forest seeds should scatter. Pellerwoinen, thus consenting, Sows with diligence the island, Seeds upon the lands he scatters, Seeds in every swamp and lowland, Forest seeds upon the loose earth, On the firm soil sows the acorns, Fir-trees sows he on the mountains, Pine-trees also on the hill-tops, Many shrubs in every valley, Birches sows he in the marshes, In the loose soil sows the alders, In the lowlands sows the lindens, In the moist earth sows the willow, Mountain-ash in virgin places, On the banks of streams the hawthorn, Junipers in hilly regions; This the work of Pellerwoinen, Slender Sampsa, in his childhood. Soon the fertile seeds were sprouting, Soon the forest trees were growing, Soon appeared the tops of fir-trees, And the pines were far outspreading; Birches rose from all the marshes, In the loose soil grew the alders, In the mellow soil the lindens; Junipers were also growing, Junipers with clustered berries, Berries on the hawthorn branches. Now the hero, Wainamoinen, Stands aloft to look about him, How the Sampsa-seeds are growing, How the crop of Pellerwoinen; Sees the young trees thickly spreading, Sees the forest rise in beauty; But the oak-tree has not sprouted, Tree of heaven is not growing, Still within the acorn sleeping, Its own happiness enjoying. Then he waited three nights longer, And as many days he waited, Waited till a week had vanished, Then again the work examined; But the oak-tree was not growing, Had not left her acorn-dwelling. Wainamoinen, ancient hero, Spies four maidens in the distance, Water-brides, he spies a fifth-one, On the soft and sandy sea-shore, In the dewy grass and flowers, On a point extending seaward, Near the forests of the island. Some were mowing, some were raking, Raking what was mown together, In a windrow on the meadow. From the ocean rose a giant, Mighty Tursas, tall and hardy, Pressed compactly all the grasses, That the maidens had been raking, When a fire within them kindles, And the flames shot up to heaven, Till the windrows burned to ashes, Only ashes now remaining Of the grasses raked together. In the ashes of the windrows, Tender leaves the giant places, In the leaves he plants an acorn, From the acorn, quickly sprouting, Grows the oak-tree, tall and stately, From the ground enriched by ashes, Newly raked by water-maidens; Spread the oak-tree's many branches, Rounds itself a broad corona, Raises it above the storm-clouds; Far it stretches out its branches, Stops the white-clouds in their courses, With its branches hides the sunlight, With its many leaves, the moonbeams, And the starlight dies in heaven.