Rune XLIV-a

OF THE SECOND HARP. Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Long reflecting, sang these measures: "It is now the time befitting To awaken joy and gladness, Time for me to touch the harp-strings, Time to sing the songs primeval, In these spacious halls and mansions, In these homes of Kalevala; But, alas! my harp lies hidden, Sunk upon the deep-sea's bottom, To the salmon's hiding-places, To the dwellings of the whiting, To the people of Wellamo, Where the Northland-pike assemble. Nevermore will I regain it, Ahto never will return it, Joy and music gone forever! "O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Forge for me a rake of iron, Thickly set the teeth of copper, Many fathoms long the handle; Make a rake to search the waters, Search the broad-sea to the bottom, Rake the weeds and reeds together, Rake them to the curving sea-shore, That I may regain my treasure, May regain my harp of fish-bow From the whiting's place of resting, From the caverns of the salmon, From the castles of Wellamo." Thereupon young Ilmarinen, The eternal metal-worker, Forges well a rake of iron, Teeth in length a hundred fathoms, And a thousand long the handle, Thickly sets the teeth of copper. Straightway ancient Wainamoinen Takes the rake of magic metals, Travels but a little distance, To the cylinders of oak-wood, To the copper-banded rollers, Where he finds two ships awaiting, One was new, the other ancient. Wainamoinen, old and faithful, Thus addressed the new-made vessel: "Go, thou boat of master-magic, Hasten to the willing waters, Speed away upon the blue-sea, And without the hand to move thee; Let my will impel thee seaward." Quick the boat rolled to the billows On the cylinders of oak-wood, Quick descended to the waters, Willingly obeyed his master. Wainamoinen, the magician, Then began to rake the sea-beds, Raked up all the water-flowers, Bits of broken reeds and rushes, Deep-sea shells and colored pebbles, Did not find his harp of fish-bone, Lost forever to Wainola! Thereupon the ancient minstrel Left the waters, homeward hastened, Cap pulled clown upon his forehead, Sang this song with sorrow laden: "Nevermore shall I awaken With my harp-strings, joy and gladness! Nevermore will Wainamoinen Charm the people of the Northland With the harp of his creation! Nevermore my songs will echo O'er the hills of Kalevala!" Thereupon the ancient singer Went lamenting through the forest, Wandered through the sighing pine-woods, Heard the wailing of a birch-tree, Heard a juniper complaining; Drawing nearer, waits and listens, Thus the birch-tree he addresses: "Wherefore, brother, art thou weeping, Merry birch enrobed in silver, Silver-leaved and silver-tasselled? Art thou shedding tears of sorrow, Since thou art not led to battle, Not enforced to war with wizards? Wisely does the birch make answer: "This the language of the many, Others speak as thou, unjustly, That I only live in pleasure, That my silver leaves and tassels Only whisper my rejoicings; That I have no cares, no sorrows, That I have no hours unhappy, Knowing neither pain nor trouble.