Where for many days I wandered, Swam and rocked upon the billows, Where as many nights I struggled, In the dashing waves and sea-foam, With the angry winds and waters. "Woe is me, my life hard-fated! Cannot solve this heavy problem, How to live nor how to perish In this cruel salt-sea water. Build I in the winds my dwelling? It will find no sure foundation. Build my home upon the waters? Surely will the waves destroy it. Must I swim the sea forever, Must I live, or must I perish? What will happen if I perish, If I sink below the billows, Perish here from cold and hunger?" Thus the bird of Ether answered "Be not in the least disheartened, Place thyself between my shoulders, On my back be firmly seated, I will lift thee from the waters, Bear thee with my pinions upward, Bear thee wheresoe'er thou willest. Well do I the day remember Where thou didst the eagle service, When thou didst the birds a favor. Thou didst leave the birch-tree standing, When were cleared the Osmo-forests, From the lands of Kalevala, As a home for weary song-birds, As a resting-place for eagles." Then arises Wainamoinen, Lifts his head above the waters, Boldly rises from the sea-waves, Lifts his body from the billows, Seats himself upon the eagle, On the eagle's feathered shoulders. Quick aloft the huge bird bears him, Bears the ancient Wainamoinen, Bears him on the path of zephyrs, Floating on the vernal breezes, To the distant shore of Northland, To the dismal Sariola, Where the eagle leaves his burden, Flies away to join his fellows. Wainamoinen, lone and weary, Straightway fell to bitter weeping, Wept and moaned in heavy accents, On the border of the blue-sea. On a cheerless promontory, With a hundred wounds tormented, Made by cruel winds and waters, With his hair and beard dishevelled By the surging of the billows. Three long days he wept disheartened Wept as many nights in anguish, Did not know what way to journey, Could not find a woodland foot-print, That would point him to the highway, To his home in Kalevala, To his much-loved home and kindred. Northland's young and slender maiden, With complexion fair and lovely, With the Sun had laid a wager, With the Sun and Moon a wager, Which should rise before the other, On the morning of the morrow. And the maiden rose in beauty, Long before the Sun had risen, Long before the Moon bad wakened, From their beds beneath the ocean. Ere the cock had crowed the day-break, Ere the Sun had broken slumber She had sheared six gentle lambkins, Gathered from them six white fleeces, Hence to make the rolls for spinning, Hence to form the threads for weaving, Hence to make the softest raiment, Ere the morning dawn had broken, Ere the sleeping Sun had risen. When this task the maid had ended, Then she scrubbed the birchen tables, Sweeps the ground-floor of the stable, With a broom of leaves and branches From the birches of the Northland, Scrapes the sweepings well together On a shovel made of copper, Carries them beyond the stable, From the doorway to the meadow, To the meadow's distant border, Near the surges of the great-sea, Listens there and looks about her, Hears a wailing from the waters, Hears a weeping from the sea-shore, Hears a hero-voice lamenting. Thereupon she hastens homeward, Hastens to her mother's dwelling, These the words the maiden utters: "I have heard a wail from ocean, Heard a weeping from the sea-coast, On the shore some one lamenting." Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Ancient, toothless dame of Northland, Hastens from her door and court-yard, Through the meadow to the sea-shore, Listens well for sounds of weeping, For the wail of one in sorrow; Hears the voice of one in trouble, Hears a hero-cry of anguish. Thus the ancient Louhi answers: "This is not the wail of children, These are not the tears of women, In this way weep bearded heroes; This the hero-cry of anguish." Quick she pushed her boat to water, To the floods her goodly vessel, Straightway rows with lightning swiftness, To the weeping Wainamoinen; Gives the hero consolation, Comfort gives she to the minstrel Wailing in a grove of willows, In his piteous condition, Mid the alder-trees and aspens, On the border of the salt-sea, Visage trembling, locks dishevelled. Ears, and eyes, and lips of sadness. Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Thus addresses Wainamoinen: "Tell me what has been thy folly, That thou art in this condition." Old and truthful Wainamoinen Lifts aloft his bead and answers: "Well I know that it is folly That has brought me all this trouble, Brought me to this land of strangers, To these regions unbefitting Happy was I with my kindred, In my distant home and country, There my name was named in honor." Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Thus replied to Wainamoinen: "I would gain the information, Should I be allowed to ask thee, Who thou art of ancient heroes, Who of all the host of heroes? This is Wainamoinen's answer: "Formerly my name was mentioned, Often was I heard and honored, As a minstrel and magician, In the long and dreary winters, Called the 'Singer of the Northland, In the valleys of Wainola, On the plains of Kalevala; No one thought that such misfortune Could befall wise Wainamoinen." Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Thus replied in cheering accents "Rise, O hero, from discomfort, From thy bed among the willows; Enter now upon the new-way, Come with me to yonder dwelling, There relate thy strange adventures, Tell the tale of thy misfortunes." Now she takes the hapless hero, Lifts him from his bed of sorrow, In her boat she safely seats him, And begins at once her rowing, Rows with steady hand and mighty To her home upon the sea-shore, To the dwellings of Pohyola. There she feeds the starving hero, Rests the ancient Wainamoinen, Gives him warmth, and food, and shelter, And the hero soon recovers. Then the hostess of Pohyola Questioned thus the ancient singer: "Wherefore didst thou, Wainamoinen, Friend and fellow of the waters, Weep in sad and bitter accents, On the border of the ocean, Mid the aspens and the willows?" This is Wainamoinen's answer: Had good reason for my weeping, Cause enough for all my sorrow; Long indeed had I been swimming, Had been buffeting the billows, In the far outstretching waters. This the reason for my weeping; I have lived in toil and torture, Since I left my home and country, Left my native land and kindred, Came to this the land of strangers, To these unfamiliar portals. All thy trees have thorns to wound me, All thy branches, spines to pierce me, Even birches give me trouble, And the alders bring discomfort, My companions, winds and waters,