Rune XXVI-d

Never will thy hero stumble On the serpents of the Northland; With my heel I'll crush the monsters, Stamp the horrid things to atoms; I will banish them from Pohya, Drive them to Manala's kingdom, Step within Pohyola's mansion, Walk the halls of Sariola!" Lemminkainen's mother answered: "Do not go, my son beloved, To the firesides of Pohyola, Through the Northland fields and fallows; There are warriors with broadswords, Heroes clad in mail of copper, Are on beer intoxicated, By the beer are much embittered; They will charm thee, hapless creature, On the tips of swords of magic; Greater heroes have been conjured, Stronger ones have been outwitted." Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: "Formerly thy son resided In the hamlets of Pohyola; Laplanders cannot enchant me, Nor the Turyalanders harm me I the Laplander will conjure, Charm him with my magic powers, Sing his shoulders wide asunder, In his chin I'll sing a fissure, Sing his collar-bone to pieces, Sing his breast to thousand fragments." Lemminkainen's mother answered: "Foolish son, ungrateful wizard, Boasting of thy former visit, Boasting of thy fatal journey! Once in Northland thou wert living, In the homesteads of Pohyola; There thou tried to swim the whirlpool, Tasted there the dog-tongue waters, Floated down the fatal current, Sank beneath its angry billows; Thou hast seen Tuoni's river, Thou hast measured Mana's waters, There to-day thou wouldst be sleeping, Had it not been for thy mother! What I tell thee well remember, Shouldst thou gain Pohyola's chambers, Filled with stakes thou'lt find the court-yard, These to hold the heads of heroes; There thy head will rest forever, Shouldst thou go to Sariola." Spake the warlike Lemminkainen: "Fools indeed may heed thy counsel, Cowards too may give attention; Those of seven conquest-summers Cannot heed such weak advising. Bring to me my battle-armor. Bring my magic mail of copper, Bring me too my father's broadsword, Keep the old man's blade from rusting; Long it has been cold and idle, Long has lain in secret places, Long and constantly been weeping, Long been asking for a bearer." Then he took his mail of copper, Took his ancient battle-armor, Took his father's sword of magic, Tried its point against the oak-wood, Tried its edge upon the sorb-tree; In his hand the blade was bended, Like the limber boughs of willow, Like the juniper in summer.