Rune XVIIIf

God protect my magic snow-sledge, Be my safeguard on my journey To the dismal Sariola!" Now the ancient Ilmarinen Draws the reins upon the racer, Snaps his whip above the courser, To the gray steed gives this order, And the charger plunges northward: "Haste away, my flaxen stallion, Haste thee onward, noble white-face, To the never-pleasant Pohya, To the dreary Sariola!" Fast and faster flies the fleet-foot, On the curving snow-capped sea-coast, On the borders of the lowlands, O'er the alder-hills and mountains. Merrily the steed flies onward, Bluebirds singing, cuckoos calling, On the sea-shore looking northward, Through the sand and falling snow-flakes Blinding winds, and snow, and sea-foam, Cloud the hero, Ilmarinen, As he glides upon his journey, Looking seaward for the vessel Of the ancient Wainamoinen; Travels one day, then a second, Travels all the next day northward, Till the third day Ilmarinen Overtakes old Wainamoinen, Rails him in his magic vessel, And addresses thus the minstrel: "O thou ancient Wainamoinen, Let us woo in peace the maiden, Fairest daughter or the Northland, Sitting on the bow of heaven, Let each labor long to win her, Let her wed the one she chooses, Him selecting, let her follow." Wainamoinen thus makes answer: "I agree to thy proposal, Let us woo in peace the maiden, Not by force, nor faithless measures, Shall we woo the Maid of Beauty, Let her follow him she chooses; Let the unsuccessful suitor Harbor neither wrath nor envy For the hero that she follows." Thus agreeing, on they journey, Each according to his pleasure; Fleetly does the steed fly onward, Quickly flies the magic vessel, Sailing on the broad-sea northward; Ilmarinen's fleet-foot racer Makes the hills of Northland tremble, As he gallops on his journey To the dismal Sariola. Wainamoinen calls the South-winds, And they fly to his assistance; Swiftly sails his ship of beauty, Swiftly plows the rough sea-billows In her pathway to Pohyola. Time had gone but little distance, Scarce a moment had passed over, Ere the dogs began their barking, In the mansions of the Northland, In the courts of Sariola, Watch-dogs of the court of Louhi; Never had they growled so fiercely, Never had they barked so loudly, Never with their tails had beaten Northland into such an uproar. Spake the master of Pohyola: "Go and learn, my worthy daughter, Why the watch-dogs have been barking, Why the black-dog signals danger." Quickly does the daughter answer: "I am occupied, dear father, I have work of more importance, I must tend my flock of lambkins, I must turn the nether millstone, Grind to flour the grains of barley, Run the grindings through the sifter, Only have I time for grinding." Lowly growls the faithful watch-dog, Seldom does he growl so strangely.