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       Now the tales of old-time heroes,

       Tales of ages long forgotten,

       Now the legends of creation,

       Once familiar to the children,

       By our children sung no longer,

       Sung in part by many heroes,

       In these mournful days of evil,

       Evil days our race befallen.

       Far and wide the story travelled,

       Far away men spread the knowledge

       Of the chanting of the hero,

       Of the song of Wainamoinen;

       To the South were heard the echoes,

       All of Northland heard the story.

       Far away in dismal Northland,

       Lived the singer, Youkahainen,

       Lapland's young and reckless minstrel,

       Once upon a time when feasting,

       Dining with his friends and fellows,

       Came upon his ears the story

       That there lived a sweeter singer,

       On the meadows of Wainola,

       On the plains of Kalevala,

       Better skilled in chanting legends,

       Better skilled than Youkahainen,

       Better than the one that taught him.

       Straightway then the bard grew angry,

       Envy rose within his bosom,

       Envy of this Wainamoinen,

       Famed to be a sweeter singer;

       Hastes he angry to his mother,

       To his mother, full of wisdom,

       Vows that he will southward hasten,

       Hie him southward and betake him

       To the dwellings of Wainola,

       To the cabins of the Northland,

       There as bard to vie in battle,

       With the famous Wainamoinen.

       "Nay," replies the anxious father,

       "Do not go to Kalevala."

       "Nay," replies the fearful mother,

       "Go not hence to Wainamoinen,

       There with him to offer battle;

       He will charm thee with his singing

       Will bewitch thee in his anger,

       He will drive thee back dishonored,

       Sink thee in the fatal snow-drift,

       Turn to ice thy pliant fingers,

       Turn to ice thy feet and ankles."

       These the words of Youkahainen:

       Good the judgement of a father,

       Better still, a mother's counsel,

       Best of all one's own decision.

       I will go and face the minstrel,

       Challenge him to sing in contest,

       Challenge him as bard to battle,

       Sing to him my sweet-toned measures,

       Chant to him my oldest legends,

       Chant to him my garnered wisdom,

       That this best of boasted singers,

       That this famous bard of Suomi,

       Shall be worsted in the contest,

       Shall become a hapless minstrel;

       By my songs shall I transform him,

       That his feet shall be as flint-stone,

       And as oak his nether raiment;

       And this famous, best of singers,

       Thus bewitched, shall carry ever,

       In his heart a stony burden,

       On his shoulder bow of marble,

       On his hand a flint-stone gauntlet,

       On his brow a stony visor."

       Then the wizard, Youkahainen,

       Heeding not advice paternal,

       Heeding not his mother's counsel,

       Leads his courser from his stable,

       Fire outstreaming from his nostrils,

       From his hoofs, the sparks outshooting,

       Hitches to his sledge, the fleet-foot,

       To his golden sledge, the courser,

       Mounts impetuous his snow-sledge,

       Leaps upon the hindmost cross-bench,

       Strikes his courser with his birch-whip,

       With his birch-whip, pearl-enamelled.

       Instantly the prancing racer

       Springs away upon his journey;

       On he, restless, plunges northward,

       All day long be onward gallops,

       All the next day, onward, onward,

       So the third from morn till evening,

       Till the third day twilight brings him

       To the meadows of Wainola,

       To the plains of Kalevala.

       As it happened, Wainamoinen,

       Wainamoinen, the magician,

       Rode that sunset on the highway,

       Silently for pleasure driving

       Down Wainola's peaceful meadows,

       O'er the plains of Kalevala.

       Youkahainen, young and fiery,

       Urging still his foaming courser,

       Dashes down upon the singer,

       Does not turn aside in meeting,

       Meeting thus in full collision;

       Shafts are driven tight together,

       Hames and collars wedged and tangled,

       Tangled are the reins and traces.

       Thus perforce they make a stand-still,

       Thus remain and well consider;

       Water drips from hame and collar,

       Vapors rise from both their horses.

       Speaks the minstrel, Wainamoinen:

       "Who art thou, and whence? Thou comest

       Driving like a stupid stripling,

       Wainamoinen and Youkahainen.

       Careless, dashing down upon me.

       Thou hast ruined shafts and traces;

       And the collar of my racer

       Thou hast shattered into ruin,

       And my golden sleigh is broken,

       Box and runners dashed to pieces."

       Youkahainen then make answer,

       Spake at last the words that follow:

       "I am youthful Youkahainen,

       But make answer first, who thou art,

       Whence thou comest, where thou goest,

       From what lowly tribe descended?"

       Wainamolinen, wise and ancient,

       Answered thus the youthful minstrel:

       "If thou art but Youkahainen,

       Thou shouldst give me all the highway;

       I

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