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As a resting-place for eagles,

       And for birds of every feather,

       Even I may rest upon it."

       Quickly then this bird of heaven,

       Kindled fire among the branches;

       Soon the flames are fanned by north-winds,

       And the east-winds lend their forces,

       Burn the trees of all descriptions,

       Burn them all to dust and ashes,

       Only is the birch left standing.

       Wainamoinen, wise and ancient,

       Brings his magic grains of barley,

       Brings he forth his seven seed-grains,

       Brings them from his trusty pouches,

       Fashioned from the skin of squirrel,

       Some were made from skin of marten.

       Thence to sow his seeds he hastens,

       Hastes the barley-grains to scatter,

       Speaks unto himself these measures:

       "I the seeds of life am sowing,

       Sowing through my open fingers,

       From the hand of my Creator,

       In this soil enriched with ashes,

       In this soil to sprout and flourish.

       Ancient mother, thou that livest

       Far below the earth and ocean,

       Mother of the fields and forests,

       Bring the rich soil to producing,

       Bring the seed-grains to the sprouting,

       That the barley well may flourish.

       Never will the earth unaided,

       Yield the ripe nutritious barley;

       Never will her force be wanting,

       If the givers give assistance,

       If the givers grace the sowing,

       Grace the daughters of creation.

       Rise, O earth, from out thy slumber,

       From the slumber-land of ages,

       Let the barley-grains be sprouting,

       Let the blades themselves be starting,

       Let the verdant stalks be rising,

       Let the ears themselves be growing,

       And a hundredfold producing,

       From my plowing and my sowing,

       From my skilled and honest labor.

       Ukko, thou O God, up yonder,

       Thou O Father of the heavens,

       Thou that livest high in Ether,

       Curbest all the clouds of heaven,

       Holdest in the air thy counsel,

       Holdest in the clouds good counsel,

       From the East dispatch a cloudlet,

       From the North-east send a rain-cloud,

       From the West another send us,

       From the North-west, still another,

       Quickly from the South a warm-cloud,

       That the rain may fall from heaven,

       That the clouds may drop their honey,

       That the ears may fill and ripen,

       That the barley-fields may rustle."

       Thereupon benignant Ukko,

       Ukko, father of the heavens,

       Held his counsel in the cloud-space,

       Held good counsel in the Ether;

       From the East, he sent a cloudlet,

       From the North-east, sent a rain-cloud,

       From the West another sent he,

       From the North-west, still another,

       Quickly from the South a warm-cloud;

       Joined in seams the clouds together,

       Sewed together all their edges,

       Grasped the cloud, and hurled it earthward.

       Quick the rain-cloud drops her honey,

       Quick the rain-drops fall from heaven,

       That the ears may quickly ripen,

       That the barley crop may rustle.

       Straightway grow the seeds of barley,

       From the germ the blade unfolding,

       Richly colored ears arising,

       From the rich soil of the fallow,

       From the work of Wainamoinen.

       Here a few days pass unnoted

       And as many nights fly over.

       When the seventh day had journeyed,

       On the morning of the eighth day,

       Wainamoinen, wise and ancient,

       Went to view his crop of barley,

       How his plowing, how his sowing,

       How his labors were resulting;

       Found his crop of barley growing,

       Found the blades were triple-knotted,

       And the ears he found six-sided.

       Wainamoinen, old and trusty,

       Turned his face, and looked about him,

       Lo! there comes a spring-time cuckoo,

       Spying out the slender birch-tree,

       Rests upon it, sweetly singing:

       "Wherefore is the silver birch-tree

       Left unharmed of all the forest? "

       Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:

       "Therefore I have left the birch-tree,

       Left the birch-tree only growing,

       Home for thee for joyful singing.

       Call thou here, O sweet-voiced cuckoo,

       Sing thou here from throat of velvet,

       Sing thou here with voice of silver,

       Sing the cuckoo's golden flute-notes;

       Call at morning, call at evening,

       Call within the hour of noontide,

       For the better growth of forests,

       For the ripening of the barley,

       For the richness of, the Northland,

       For the joy of Kalevala."

RUNE III.

       Table of Contents

WAINAMOINEN AND YOUKAHAINEN.

       Table of Contents

      Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,

       Passed his years in full contentment,

       On the meadows of Wainola,

       On the plains of Kalevala,

       Singing ever wondrous legends,

       Songs of ancient wit and wisdom,

       Chanting one day, then a second,

       Singing in the dusk of evening,

       Singing till the dawn

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