Rune XXXa

FROST-FIEND. Lemminkainen, reckless minstrel, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Hastens as the dawn is breaking, At the dawning of the morning, To the resting-place of vessels, To the harbor of the island, Finds the vessels sorely weeping, Hears the wailing of the rigging, And the ships intone this chorus: "Must we wretched lie forever In the harbor of this island, Here to dry and fall in pieces? Ahti wars no more in Northland, Wars no more for sixty summers, Even should he thirst for silver, Should he wish the gold of battle." Lemminkainen struck his vessels With his gloves adorned with copper, And addressed the ships as follows: "Mourn no more, my ships of fir-wood, Strong and hardy is your rigging, To the wars ye soon may hasten, Hasten to the seas of battle; Warriors may swarm your cabins Ere to-morrow's morn has risen.!'" Then the reckless Lemminkainen Hastened to his aged mother, Spake to her the words that follow: "Weep no longer, faithful mother, Do not sorrow for thy hero, Should he leave for scenes of battle, For the hostile fields of Pohya; Sweet revenge has fired my spirit, And my soul is well determined, To avenge the shameful insult That the warriors of Northland Gave to thee, defenseless woman." To restrain him seeks his mother, Warns her son again of danger: "Do not go, my son beloved, To the wars in Sariola; There the jaws of Death await thee, Fell destruction lies before thee!" Lemminkainen, little heeding, Still determined, speaks as follows: "Where may I secure a swordsman, Worthy of my race of heroes, To assist me in the combat? Often I have heard of Tiera, Heard of Kura of the islands, This one I will take to help me, Magic hero of the broadsword; He will aid me in the combat, Will protect me from destruction." Then he wandered to the islands, On the way to Tiera's hamlet, These the words that Ahti utters As he nears the ancient dwellings: Dearest friend, my noble Tiera, My beloved hero-brother, Dost thou other times remember, When we fought and bled together, On the battle-fields of Northland? There was not an island-village Where there were not seven mansions, In each mansion seven heroes, And not one of all these foemen Whom we did not slay with broadswords, Victims of our skill and valor." Near the window sat the father Whittling out a javelin-handle; Near the threshold sat the mother Skimming cream and making butter; Near the portal stood the brother Working on a sledge of birch-wood Near the bridge-pass were the sisters Washing out their varied garments. Spake the father from the window, From the threshold spake the mother, From the portals spake the brother, And the sisters from the bridge-pass: "Tiera has no time for combat, And his broadsword cannot battle; Tiera is but late a bridegroom, Still unveiled his bride awaits him." Near the hearth was Tiera lying, Lying by the fire was Kura, Hastily one foot was shoeing, While the other lay in waiting. From the hook he takes his girdle, Buckles it around his body, Takes a javelin from its resting, Not the largest, nor the smallest, Buckles on his mighty scabbard, Dons his heavy mail of copper; On each javelin pranced a charger, Wolves were howling from his helmet, On the rings the bears were growling.