Rune XXIIIf

Thus created is the virgin, Thus intended is the daughter, Subject to her hero-husband, Subject also to his mother. "Then to other fields I hastened, Like a berry from the border, Like a cranberry for roasting, Like a strawberry for dinner; All the elm-trees seemed to wound me, All the aspens tried to cut me, All the willows tried to seize me, All the forest tried to slay me. Thus I journeyed to my husband, Thus I travelled to his dwelling, Was conducted to his mother. Then there were, as was reported, Six compartments built of pine-wood, Twelve the number of the chambers, And the mansion filled with garrets, Studding all the forest border, Every by-way filled with flowers Streamlets bordered fields of barley, Filled with wheat and corn, the islands, Grain in plenty in the garners, Rye unthrashed in great abundance, Countless sums of gold and silver, Other treasures without number. When my journey I had ended, When my hand at last was given, Six supports were in his cabin, Seven poles as rails for fencing. Filled with anger were the bushes, All the glens disfavor showing, All the walks were lined with trouble, Evil-tempered were the forests, Hundred words of evil import, Hundred others of unkindness. Did not let this bring me sorrow, Long I sought to merit praises, Long I hoped to find some favor, Strove most earnestly for kindness; When they led me to the cottage, There I tried some chips to gather, Knocked my head against the portals Of my husband's lowly dwelling. "At the door were eyes of strangers, Sable eyes at the partition, Green with envy in his cabin, Evil heroes in the back-ground, From each mouth the fire was streaming, From each tongue the sparks out-flying, Flying from my second father, From his eyeballs of unkindness. Did not let this bring me trouble, Tried to live in peace and pleasure, In the homestead of my husband In humility I suffered, Skipped about with feet of rabbit, Flew along with steps of ermine, Late I laid my head to slumber, Early rose as if a servant, Could not win a touch of kindness, Could not merit love nor honor, Though I had dislodged the mountains, Though the rocks had I torn open. "Then I turned the heavy millstone, Ground the flour with care and trouble, Ground the barley-grains in patience, That the mother might be nourished, That her fury-throat might swallow What might please her taste and fancy,. From her gold-enamelled platters, From the corner of her table. "As for me, the hapless daughter, All my flour was from the siftings On the table near the oven, Ate I from the birchen ladle; Oftentimes I brought the mosses Gathered in the lowland meadows, Baked them into loaves for eating; Brought the water from the river, Thirsty, sipped it from the dipper, Ate of fish the worst in Northland, Only smelts, and worthless swimmers, Rocking in my boat of birch-bark Never ate I fish or biscuit From my second mother's fingers. "Blades I gathered in the summers, Twisted barley-stalks in winter, Like the laborers of heroes, Like the servants sold in bondage. In the thresh-house of my husband, Evermore to me was given Flail the heaviest and longest, And to me the longest lever, On the shore the strongest beater, And the largest rake in haying; No one thought my burden heavy, No one thought that I could suffer, Though the best of heroes faltered, And the strongest women weakened.