Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland — Complete. Anonymous

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       Better therefore thou shouldst gallop

       To thy burrow in the mountains,

       Than be roasted for our dinners."

       Then the haughty hare made answer,

       Chanting thus the fate of Aino:

       "Think ye not I journey hither,

       To be roasted in the skillet,

       To be stewed in yonder kettle

       Let fell Lempo fill thy tables!

       I have come with evil tidings,

       Come to tell the cruel story

       Of the flight and death of Aino,

       Sister dear of Youkahainen.

       With the stone of many colors

       Sank poor Aino to the bottom

       Of the deep and boundless waters,

       Like a pretty song-bird perished;

       Hung her ribbons on the aspen,

       Left her gold-cross on the sea-shore,

       Silken robes upon the alders,

       On the rocks her silken stockings,

       On the grass her shoes of deer-skin,

       In the sand her shining necklace,

       In the sand her rings and jewels;

       In the waves, the lovely Aino,

       Sleeping on the very bottom

       Of the deep and boundless blue-sea,

       In the caverns of the salmon,

       There to be the whiting's sister

       And the friend of nimble fishes."

       Sadly weeps the ancient mother

       From her blue-eyes bitter tear-drops,

       As in sad and wailing measures,

       Broken-hearted thus she answers:

       "Listen, all ye mothers, listen,

       Learn from me a tale of wisdom:

       Never urge unwilling daughters

       From the dwellings of their fathers,

       To the bridegrooms that they love not,

       Not as I, inhuman mother,

       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,

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