Rune XXXVc

When the day-star led the morning, When the second day was dawning, Then the maid addressed Kullervo, Questioned thus the wicked wizard: "Of what tribe art thou descended, Of what race thy hero-father? Tell thy lineage and kindred.` This, Kullervo's truthful answer: "Am not from a mighty nation, Not the greatest, nor the smallest, But my lineage is worthy: Am Kalervo's son of folly, Am a child of contradictions, Hapless son of cold misfortune. Tell me of thy race of heroes, Tell thine origin and kindred." This the answer of the maiden: "Came not from a race primeval, Not the largest, nor the smallest, But my lineage is worthy; Am Kalervo's wretched daughter, Am his long-lost child of error, Am a maid of contradictions, Hapless daughter of misfortune. "When a child I lived in plenty In the dwellings of my mother; To the woods I went for berries, Went for raspberries to uplands, Gathered strawberries on mountains, Gathered one day then a second; But, alas! upon the third day, Could not find the pathway homeward, Forestward the highways led me, All the footpaths, to the woodlands. Long I sat in bitter weeping, Wept one day and then a second, Wept the third from morn till even. Then I climbed a. lofty mountain, There I called in wailing accents, And the woodlands gave this answer, Thus the distant hills re-echoed: 'Call no longer, foolish virgin, All thy calls and tears are useless; There is none to give thee answer, Far away, thy home and people.' "On the third and on the fourth days, On the fifth, and sixth, and seventh, Constantly I sought to perish; But in vain were all my efforts, Could not die upon the mountains. If this wretched maid had perished, In the summer of the third year, She had fed earth's vegetation, She had blossomed as a flower, Knowing neither pain nor sorrow." Scarcely had the maiden spoken, When she bounded from the snow-sledge, Rushed upon the rolling river, To the cataract's commotion, To the fiery stream and whirlpool. Thus Kullervo's lovely sister Hastened to her own destruction, To her death by fire and water, Found her peace in Tuonela, In the sacred stream of Mana. Then the wicked Kullerwoinen Fell to weeping, sorely troubled, Wailed, and wept, and heavy-hearted, Spake these words in bitter sorrow: "Woe is me, my life hard-fated! I have slain my virgin-sister, Shamed the daughter of my mother; Woe to thee, my ancient father! Woe to thee, my gray-haired mother! Wherefore was I born and nurtured, Why this hapless child's existence? Better fate to Kullerwoinen, Had he never seen the daylight, Or, if born, had never thriven In these mournful days of evil! Death has failed to do his duty, Sickness sinned in passing by me, Should have slain me in the cradle, When the seventh day had ended!" Thereupon he slips the collar Of his prancing royal racer, Mounts the silver-headed fleet-foot, Gallops like the lightning homeward; Gallops only for a moment, When he halts his foaming courser At the cabin of his father.