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       "Hast thou honey in thy branches,

       Does thy sap run full of sweetness?"

       Thus the oak-tree wisely answers:

       "Yea, but last night dripped the honey

       Down upon my spreading branches,

       And the clouds their fragrance sifted,

       Sifted honey on my leaflets,

       From their home within the heavens."

       Then the son takes oak-wood splinters,

       Takes the youngest oak-tree branches,

       Gathers many healing grasses,

       Gathers many herbs and flowers,

       Rarest herbs that grow in Northland,

       Places them within the furnace

       In a kettle made of copper;

       Lets them steep and boil together,

       Bits of bark chipped from the oak-tree,

       Many herbs of healing virtues;

       Steeps them one day, then a second,

       Three long days of summer weather,

       Days and nights in quick succession;

       Then he tries his magic balsam,

       Looks to see if it is ready,

       If his remedy is finished;

       But the balsam is unworthy.

       Then he added other grasses,

       Herbs of every healing virtue,

       That were brought from distant nations,

       Many hundred leagues from Northland,

       Gathered by the wisest minstrels,

       Thither brought by nine enchanters.

       Three days more be steeped the balsam,

       Three nights more the fire be tended,

       Nine the days and nights be watched it,

       Then again be tried the ointment,

       Viewed it carefully and tested,

       Found at last that it was ready,

       Found the magic balm was finished.

       Near by stood a branching birch-tree.

       On the border of the meadow,

       Wickedly it had been broken,

       Broken down by evil Hisi;

       Quick he takes his balm of healing,

       And anoints the broken branches,

       Rubs the balsam in the fractures,

       Thus addresses then the birch-tree:

       "With this balsam I anoint thee,

       With this salve thy wounds I cover,

       Cover well thine injured places;

       Now the birch-tree shall recover,

       Grow more beautiful than ever."

       True, the birch-tree soon recovered,

       Grew more beautiful than ever,

       Grew more uniform its branches,

       And its bole more strong and stately.

       Thus it was be tried the balsam,

       Thus the magic salve he tested,

       Touched with it the splintered sandstone,

       Touched the broken blocks of granite,

       Touched the fissures in the mountains,

       And the broken parts united,

       All the fragments grew together.

       Then the young boy quick returning

       With the balsam he had finished,

       To the gray-beard gave the ointment,

       And the boy these measures uttered

       "Here I bring the balm of healing,

       Wonderful the salve I bring thee;

       It will join the broken granite,

       Make the fragments grow together,

       Heat the fissures in the mountains,

       And restore the injured birch-tree."

       With his tongue the old man tested,

       Tested thus the magic balsam,

       Found the remedy effective,

       Found the balm had magic virtues;

       Then anointed he the minstrel,

       Touched the wounds of Wainamoinen,

       Touched them with his magic balsam,

       With the balm of many virtues;

       Speaking words of ancient wisdom,

       These the words the gray-beard uttered:

       "Do not walk in thine own virtue,

       Do not work in thine own power,

       Walk in strength of thy Creator;

       Do not speak in thine own wisdom,

       Speak with tongue of mighty Ukko.

       In my mouth, if there be sweetness,

       It has come from my Creator;

       If my bands are filled with beauty,

       All the beauty comes from Ukko."

       When the wounds had been anointed,

       When the magic salve had touched them,

       Straightway ancient Wainamoinen

       Suffered fearful pain and anguish,

       Sank upon the floor in torment,

       Turning one way, then another,

       Sought for rest and found it nowhere,

       Till his pain the gray-beard banished,

       Banished by the aid of magic,

       Drove away his killing torment

       To the court of all our trouble,

       To the highest hill of torture,

       To the distant rocks and ledges,

       To the evil-bearing mountains,

       To the realm of wicked Hisi.

       Then be took some silken fabric,

       Quick he tore the silk asunder,

       Making equal strips for wrapping,

       Tied the ends with silken ribbons,

       Making thus a healing bandage;

       Then he wrapped with skilful fingers

       Wainamoinen's knee and ankle,

       Wrapped the wounds of the magician,

       And this prayer the gray-beard uttered

       "Ukko's fabric is the bandage,

       Ukko's science is the surgeon,

       These have served the wounded hero,

       Wrapped the wounds of the magician.

       Look upon us, God of mercy,

       Come and guard us, kind Creator,

       And protect us from all evil!

       Guide our feet lest they may stumble,

       Guard our lives from every danger,

       From the wicked wilds of Hisi."

       Wainamoinen, old and truthful,

       Felt the mighty aid of magic,

       Felt the help of gracious Ukko,

       Straightway stronger grew in body,

       Straightway were the wounds

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