Kalevala, The Land of the Heroes, Volume Two. Anonymous

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ a half-joint of a finger.

      Spoke then Ahti Saarelainen,

       Said the handsome Kaukomieli,

       "As your sword is rather longer,

       Let the first attack be yours."

      Then did Pohjola's great Master,

       Aim a blow, and tried to strike him, 310

       Aimed his sword, but never struck it,

       On the head of Lemminkainen.

       Once indeed he struck the rafters,

       And the beams resounded loudly,

       And across the beam was shattered,

       And the arch in twain was broken.

      Then spoke Ahti Saarelainen,

       Said the handsome Kaukomieli:

       "Well, what mischief did the rafters,

       And what harm the beam effected, 320

       That you thus attack the rafters,

       And have made the arch to rattle?

      "Hear me, son of Pohja's country,

       Pohjola's illustrious Master,

       Awkward 'tis in room to combat,

       Trouble would it give the women, If the clean room should be damaged, And with blood defiled the flooring. Let us go into the courtyard, In the field outside to battle, 330 On the grass outside to combat. In the yard the blood looks better, In the yard it looks more lovely, On the snow it looks much better."

      Out into the yard they wandered,

       And they found therein a cowhide,

       And they spread it in the courtyard,

       And they took their stand upon it.

      Then said Ahti Saarelainen,

       "Hearken, O thou son of Pohja! 340

       As your sword is rather longer,

       And your sword is more terrific,

       Perhaps indeed you need to use it,

       Just before your own departure,

       Or before your neck is broken.

       Strike away, O son of Pohja."

      Fenced away the son of Pohja,

       Struck a blow, and struck a second,

       And he struck a third blow after,

       But he could not strike him fairly, 350

       Could not scratch the flesh upon him,

       From his skin a single bristle.

      Then spoke Ahti Saarelainen,

       Said the handsome Kaukomieli,

       "Give me leave to try a little,

       For at last my time is coming."

      Natheless Pohjola's great Master,

       Did not pay the least attention,

       Striking on, without reflection,

       Ever striking, never hitting. 360

       From his sword-blade flashed red fire,

       And its edge was always gleaming

       In the hands of Lemminkainen,

       And the sheen extended further,

       As against the neck he turned it,

       Of the mighty son of Pohja.

      Said the handsome Lemminkainen,

       "Hearken, Pohjola's great Master,

       True it is, thy neck so wretched,

       Is as red as dawn of morning." 370

      Thereupon the son of Pohja,

       He, the mighty lord of Pohja,

       Bent his eyes that he might witness

       How his own neck had been reddened.

       Then the lively Lemminkainen,

       Hurriedly a stroke delivered,

       With his sword he struck the hero,

       Quickly with the sword he struck him.

      Full and fair he struck the hero,

       Struck his head from off his shoulders, 380

       And the skull from neck he severed,

       As from off the stalk a turnip,

       Or an ear of corn is severed,

       From a fish a fin divided.

       In the yard the head went rolling,

       And the skull in the enclosure,

       As when it is struck by arrow

       Falls the capercail from tree-top.

      In the ground stood stakes a hundred,

       In the yard there stood a thousand, 390

       On the stakes were heads a hundred,

       Only one stake still was headless.

       Then the lively Lemminkainen

       Took the head of the poor fellow;

       From the ground the skull he lifted,

       And upon the stake he set it.

      Then did Ahti Saarelainen,

       He the handsome Kaukomieli,

       Once again the house re-enter,

       And he spoke the words which follow: 400

       "Wicked maid, now bring me water,

       That I wash my hands and cleanse them,

       From the blood of wicked Master,

       From the gore of man of evil."

      Furious was the Crone of Pohja,

       Wild with wrath and indignation,

       And at once she sang up swordsmen,

       СКАЧАТЬ