Flaming horse of Lempo's mountain, Bring thy mouth of gold, assenting, Gently place thy head of silver In this bright and golden halter, In this silver-mounted bridle. I shall never harshly treat thee, Never make thee fly too fleetly, On the way to Sariola, On the tracks of long duration, To the hostess of Pohyola, To her magic courts and stables, Will not lash thee on thy journey; I shall lead thee gently forward, Drive thee with the reins of kindness, Cover thee with silken blankets." Then the fire-haired steed of Juutas, Flaming horse of mighty Hisi, Put his bead of shining silver, In the bright and golden bead-stall, In the silver-mounted bridle. Thus the hero, Lemminkainen, Easy bridles Lempo's stallion, Flaming horse of evil Piru; Lays the bits within his fire-mouth, On his silver head, the halter, Mounts the fire-expiring courser, Brandishes his whip of willow, Hastens forward on his journey, Bounding o'er the hills and mountains, Dashing through the valleys northward, O'er the snow-capped hills of Lapland, To the courts of Sariola. Then the hero, quick dismounting, Stepped within the court of Louhi, Thus addressed the Northland hostess: "I have bridled Lempo's fire-horse, I have caught the Hisi-racer, Caught the fire-expiring stallion, In the Piru plains and pastures, Ridden him within thy borders; I have caught the moose of Lempo, I have done what thou demandest; Give, I pray thee, now thy daughter, Give to me thy fairest maiden, Bride of mine to be forever." Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Made this answer to the suitor: "I will only give my daughter, Give to thee my fairest virgin, Bride of thine to be forever, When for me the swan thou killest In the river of Tuoni, Swimming in the black death-river, In the sacred stream and whirlpool; Thou canst try one cross-bow only, But one arrow from thy quiver." Then the reckless Lemminkainen, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Braved the third test of the hero, Started out to hunt the wild-swan, Hunt the long-necked, graceful swimmer, In Tuoni's coal-black river, In Manala's lower regions. Quick the daring hunter journeyed, Hastened off with fearless footsteps, To the river of Tuoni, To the sacred stream and whirlpool, With his bow upon his shoulder, With his quiver and one arrow. Nasshut, blind and crippled shepherd, Wretched shepherd of Pohyola, Stood beside the death-land river, Near the sacred stream and whirlpool, Guarding Tuonela's waters, Waiting there for Lemminkainen, Listening there for Kaukomieli, Waiting long the hero's coming. Finally he hears the footsteps Of the hero on his journey, Hears the tread of Lemminkainen, As he journeys nearer, nearer, To the river of Tuoni, To the cataract of death-land, To the sacred stream and whirlpool. Quick the wretched shepherd, Nasshut, From the death-stream sends a serpent, Like an arrow from a cross-bow, To the heart of Lemminkainen, Through the vitals of the hero. Lemminkainen, little conscious, Hardly knew that be was injured, Spake these measures as he perished. "Ah! unworthy is my conduct, Ah! unwisely have I acted, That I did not heed my mother, Did not take her goodly counsel, Did not learn her words of magic. Oh I for three words with my mother, How to live, and bow to suffer, In this time of dire misfortune, How to bear the stings of serpents, Tortures of the reed of waters, From the stream of Tuonela! "Ancient mother who hast borne me, Who hast trained me from my childhood, Learn, I pray thee, where I linger, Where alas! thy son is lying, Where thy reckless hero suffers. Come, I pray thee, faithful mother, Come thou quickly, thou art needed, Come deliver me from torture, From the death-jaws of Tuoni, From the sacred stream and whirlpool." Northland's old and wretched shepherd, Nasshut, the despised protector Of the flocks of Sariola, Throws the dying Lemminkainen, Throws the hero of the islands, Into Tuonela's river, To the blackest stream of death-land, To the worst of fatal whirlpools. Lemminkainen, wild and daring, Helpless falls upon the waters, Floating down the coal-black current, Through the cataract and rapids To the tombs of Tuonela. There the blood-stained son of death-land, There Tuoni's son and hero, Cuts in pieces Lemminkainen, Chops him with his mighty hatchet, Till the sharpened axe strikes flint-sparks From the rocks within his chamber, Chops the hero into fragments, Into five unequal portions, Throws each portion to Tuoni, In Manala's lowest kingdom, Speaks these words when he has ended: "Swim thou there, wild Lemminkainen, Flow thou onward in this river, Hunt forever in these waters, With thy cross-bow and thine arrow, Shoot the swan within this empire, Shoot our water-birds in welcome!" Thus the hero, Lemminkainen, Thus the handsome Kaukomieli, The untiring suitor, dieth In the river of Tuoni, In the death-realm of Manala.

RUNE XV.

LEMMINKAINEN'S RESTORATION.

Lemminkainen's aged mother Anxious roams about the islands, Anxious wonders in her chambers, What the fate of Lemminkainen, Why her son so long has tarried; Thinks that something ill has happened To her hero in Pohyola. Sad, indeed, the mother's anguish, As in vain she waits his coming, As in vain she asks the question, Where her daring son is roaming, Whether to the fir-tree mountain, Whether to the distant heath-land, Or upon the broad-sea's ridges, On the floods and rolling waters, To the war's contending armies, To the heat and din of battle, Steeped in blood of valiant heroes, Evidence of fatal warfare. Daily does the wife Kyllikki Look about her vacant chamber, In the home of Lemminkainen, At the court of Kaukomieli; Looks at evening, looks at morning, Looks, perchance, upon his hair-brush, Sees alas! the blood-drops oozing, Oozing from the golden bristles, And the blood-drops, scarlet-colored. Then the beauteous wife, Kyllikki, Spake these words in deeps of anguish: "Dead or wounded is my husband, Or at best is filled with trouble, Lost perhaps in Northland forests, In some glen unknown to heroes, Since alas! the blood is flowing From the brush of Lemminkainen, Red drops oozing from the bristles." Thereupon the anxious mother Looks upon the bleeding hair-brush And begins this wail of anguish: "Woe is me, my life hard-fated,