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Drove away my lovely Aino,

       Fairest daughter of the Northland."

       Sadly weeps the gray-haired mother,

       And the tears that fall are bitter,

       Flowing down her wrinkled visage,

       Till they trickle on her bosom;

       Then across her heaving bosom,

       Till they reach her garment's border;

       Then adown her silken stockings,

       Till they touch her shoes of deer-skin;

       Then beneath her shoes of deer-skin,

       Flowing on and flowing ever,

       Part to earth as its possession,

       Part to water as its portion.

       As the tear-drops fall and mingle,

       Form they streamlets three in number,

       And their source, the mother's eyelids,

       Streamlets formed from pearly tear-drops,

       Flowing on like little rivers,

       And each streamlet larger growing,

       Soon becomes a rushing torrent

       In each rushing, roaring torrent

       There a cataract is foaming,

       Foaming in the silver sunlight;

       From the cataract's commotion

       Rise three pillared rocks in grandeur;

       From each rock, upon the summit,

       Grow three hillocks clothed in verdure;

       From each hillock, speckled birches,

       Three in number, struggle skyward;

       On the summit of each birch-tree

       Sits a golden cuckoo calling,

       And the three sing, all in concord:

       "Love! O Love! the first one calleth;

       Sings the second, Suitor! Suitor!

       And the third one calls and echoes,

       "Consolation! Consolation!"

       He that "Love! O Love!" is calling,

       Calls three moons and calls unceasing,

       For the love-rejecting maiden

       Sleeping in the deep sea-castles.

       He that "Suitor! Suitor!" singeth,

       Sings six moons and sings unceasing

       For the suitor that forever

       Sings and sues without a hearing.

       He that sadly sings and echoes,

       "Consolation! Consolation!"

       Sings unceasing all his life long

       For the broken-hearted mother

       That must mourn and weep forever.

       When the lone and wretched mother

       Heard the sacred cuckoo singing,

       Spake she thus, and sorely weeping:

       "When I hear the cuckoo calling,

       Then my heart is filled with sorrow;

       Tears unlock my heavy eyelids,

       Flow adown my, furrowed visage,

       Tears as large as silver sea pearls;

       Older grow my wearied elbows,

       Weaker ply my aged fingers,

       Wearily, in all its members,

       Does my body shake in palsy,

       When I hear the cuckoo singing,

       Hear the sacred cuckoo calling."

RUNE V.

       Table of Contents

WAINAVOINEN'S LAMENTATION.

       Table of Contents

      Far and wide the tidings travelled,

       Far away men heard the story

       Of the flight and death of Aino,

       Sister dear of Youkahainen,

       Fairest daughter of creation.

       Wainamoinen, brave and truthful,

       Straightway fell to bitter weeping,

       Wept at morning, wept at evening,

       Sleepless, wept the dreary night long,

       That his Aino had departed,

       That the maiden thus had vanished,

       Thus had sunk upon the bottom

       Of the blue-sea, deep and boundless.

       Filled with grief, the ancient singer,

       Wainamoinen of the Northland,

       Heavy-hearted, sorely weeping,

       Hastened to the restless waters,

       This the suitor's prayer and question:

       "Tell, Untamo, tell me, dreamer,

       Tell me, Indolence, thy visions,

       Where the water-gods may linger,

       Where may rest Wellamo's maidens?"

       Then Untamo, thus made answer,

       Lazily he told his dreamings:

       "Over there, the mermaid-dwellings,

       Yonder live Wellamo's maidens,

       On the headland robed in verdure,

       On the forest-covered island,

       In the deep, pellucid waters,

       On the purple-colored sea-shore;

       Yonder is the home or sea-maids,

       There the maidens of Wellamo,

       Live there in their sea-side chambers,

       Rest within their water-caverns,

       On the rocks of rainbow colors,

       On the juttings of the sea-cliffs."

       Straightway hastens Wainamoinen

       To a boat-house on the sea-shore,

       Looks with care upon the fish-hooks,

       And the lines he well considers;

       Lines, and hooks, and poles, arid fish-nets,

       Places in a boat of copper,

       Then begins he swiftly rowing

       To the forest-covered island,

       To the point enrobed In verdure,

       To the purple-colored headland,

       Where the sea-nymphs live and linger.

       Hardly does he reach the island

       Ere the minstrel starts to angle;

       Far away he throws his fish-hook,

       Trolls it quickly through the waters,

       Turning on a copper swivel

       Dangling from a silver fish-line,

       Golden is the hook he uses.

       Now he tries his silken fish-net,

       Angles long, and angles longer,

       Angles one day, then a second,

       In the morning, in the evening,

       Angles

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