Rune XVIII-d

Wainamoinen now is sailing On the blue back of the waters, Sitting at his helm of copper; On the prow are golden carvings, Beautiful his boat of magic, Sailing fleetly o'er the billows, To the never-pleasant Northland, To the dismal Sariola." Ilmarinen stood in wonder, Stood a statue at the story; Silent grief had settled o'er him, Settled o'er the iron-artist; From one hand the tongs descended, From the other fell the hammer, As the blacksmith made this answer: "Good Annikki, worthy sister, I shall forge the loom of silver, Golden rings to grace thy fingers, Forge thee gold and silver ear-rings, Six or seven golden girdles, Golden crosslets for thy bosom; Go and heat for me the bath-room, Fill with heat the honey-chambers, Lay the faggots on the fire-place, Lay the smaller woods around them, Pour some water through the ashes, Make a soap of magic virtue, Thus to cleanse my blackened visage, Thus to cleanse the blacksmith's body, Thus remove the soot and ashes." Then Annikki, kindly sister, Quickly warmed her brother's bath-room, Warmed it with the knots of fir-trees, That the thunder-winds had broken; Gathered pebbles from the fire-stream, Threw them in the heating waters; Broke the tassels from the birch-trees, Steeped the foliage in honey, Made a lye from milk and ashes, Made of these a strong decoction, Mixed it with the fat and marrow Of the reindeer of the mountains, Made a soap of magic virtue, Thus to cleanse the iron-artist, Thus to beautify the suitor, Thus to make the hero worthy. Ilmarinen, ancient blacksmith, The eternal metal-worker, Forged the wishes of his sister, Ornaments for fair Annikki, Rings, and bracelets, pins and ear-drops, Forged for her six golden girdles, Forged a weaving loom of silver, While the maid prepared the bath-room, Set his toilet-room in order. To the maid he gave the trinkets, Gave the loom of molten silver, And the sister thus made answer: "I have heated well thy bath-room, Have thy toilet-things in order, Everything as thou desirest; Go prepare thyself for wooing, Lave thy bead to flaxen whiteness, Make thy cheeks look fresh and ruddy, Lave thyself in Love's aroma, That thy wooing prove successful." Ilmarinen, magic artist, Quick repairing to his bath-room, Bathed his head to flaxen whiteness, Made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy, Laved his eyes until they sparkled Like the moonlight on the waters; Wondrous were his form and features, And his cheeks like ruddy berries.