Rune VIIa

'S RESCUE. Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Swam through all the deep-sea waters, Floating like a branch of aspen, Like a withered twig of willow; Swam six days in summer weather, Swam six nights in golden moonlight; Still before him rose the billows, And behind him sky and ocean. Two days more he swam undaunted, Two long nights be struggled onward. On the evening of the eighth day, Wainamoinen grew disheartened, Felt a very great discomfort, For his feet had lost their toe-nails, And his fingers dead and dying. Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Sad and weary, spake as follows: "Woe is me, my old life fated! Woe is me, misfortune's offspring! Fool was I when fortune, favored, To forsake my home and kindred, For a maiden fair and lovely, Here beneath the starry heavens, In this cruel waste of waters, Days and nights to swim and wander, Here to struggle with the storm-winds, To be tossed by heaving billows, In this broad sea's great expanses, In this ocean vast and boundless. "Cold my life and sad and dreary, Painful too for me to linger Evermore within these waters, Thus to struggle for existence! Cannot know how I can prosper, How to find me food and shelter, In these cold and lifeless waters, In these days of dire misfortune. Build I in the winds my dwelling? It will find no sure foundation. Build my home upon the billows? Surely would the waves destroy it." Comes a bird from far Pohyola, From the occident, an eagle, Is not classed among the largest, Nor belongs he to the smallest; One wing touches on the waters, While the other sweeps the heavens; O'er the waves he wings his body, Strikes his beak upon the sea-cliffs, Flies about, then safely perches, Looks before him, looks behind him, There beholds brave Wainamoinen, On the blue-back of the ocean, And the eagle thus accosts him: "Wherefore art thou, ancient hero, Swimming in the deep-sea billows? Thus the water-minstrel answered: "I am ancient Wainamoinen, Friend and fellow of the waters I, the famous wisdom-singer; Went to woo a Northland maiden, Maiden from the dismal Darkland, Quickly galloped on my journey, Riding on the plain of ocean. I arrived one morning early, At the breaking of the day-dawn. At the bay of Luotola, Near Youkola's foaming river, Where the evil Youkahainen Slew my steed with bow and arrow, Tried to slay me with his weapons. On the waters fell I headlong, Plunged beneath the salt-sea's surface, From the saddle of the courser, From my dappled steed of magic. "Then arose a mighty storm-wind, From the East and West a whirlwind, Washed me seaward on the surges, Seaward, seaward, further, further, Where for many days I wandered, Swam and rocked upon the billows, Where as many nights I struggled, In the dashing waves and sea-foam, With the angry winds and waters. "Woe is me, my life hard-fated! Cannot solve this heavy problem, How to live nor how to perish In this cruel salt-sea water. Build I in the winds my dwelling? It will find no sure foundation. Build my home upon the waters? Surely will the waves destroy it. Must I swim the sea forever, Must I live, or must I perish?