<h2><SPAN name="chap44"></SPAN>RUNE XLIV.<br/> BIRTH OF THE SECOND HARP.</h2>
<p>Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,<br/>
Long reflecting, sang these measures:<br/>
“It is now the time befitting<br/>
To awaken joy and gladness,<br/>
Time for me to touch the harp-strings,<br/>
Time to sing the songs primeval,<br/>
In these spacious halls and mansions,<br/>
In these homes of Kalevala;<br/>
But, alas! my harp lies hidden,<br/>
Sunk upon the deep-sea’s bottom,<br/>
To the salmon’s hiding-places,<br/>
To the dwellings of the whiting,<br/>
To the people of Wellamo,<br/>
Where the Northland-pike assemble.<br/>
Nevermore will I regain it,<br/>
Ahto never will return it,<br/>
Joy and music gone forever!</p>
<p>“O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen,<br/>
Forge for me a rake of iron,<br/>
Thickly set the teeth of copper,<br/>
Many fathoms long the handle;<br/>
Make a rake to search the waters,<br/>
Search the broad-sea to the bottom,<br/>
Rake the weeds and reeds together,<br/>
Rake them to the curving sea-shore,<br/>
That I may regain my treasure,<br/>
May regain my harp of fish-bone<br/>
From the whiting’s place of resting,<br/>
From the caverns of the salmon,<br/>
From the castles of Wellamo.”</p>
<p>Thereupon young Ilmarinen,<br/>
The eternal metal-worker,<br/>
Forges well a rake of iron,<br/>
Teeth in length a hundred fathoms,<br/>
And a thousand long the handle,<br/>
Thickly sets the teeth of copper.<br/>
Straightway ancient Wainamoinen<br/>
Takes the rake of magic metals,<br/>
Travels but a little distance,<br/>
To the cylinders of oak-wood,<br/>
To the copper-banded rollers,<br/>
Where he finds two ships awaiting,<br/>
One was new, the other ancient.</p>
<p>Wainamoinen, old and faithful,<br/>
Thus addressed the new-made vessel:<br/>
“Go, thou boat of master-magic,<br/>
Hasten to the willing waters,<br/>
Speed away upon the blue-sea,<br/>
And without the hand to move thee;<br/>
Let my will impel thee seaward.”<br/>
Quick the boat rolled to the billows<br/>
On the cylinders of oak-wood,<br/>
Quick descended to the waters,<br/>
Willingly obeyed his master.</p>
<p>Wainamoinen, the magician,<br/>
Then began to rake the sea-beds,<br/>
Raked up all the water-flowers,<br/>
Bits of broken reeds and rushes,<br/>
Deep-sea shells and colored pebbles,<br/>
Did not find his harp of fish-bone,<br/>
Lost forever to Wainola!</p>
<p>Thereupon the ancient minstrel<br/>
Left the waters, homeward hastened,<br/>
Cap pulled down upon his forehead,<br/>
Sang this song with sorrow laden:<br/>
“Nevermore shall I awaken<br/>
With my harp-strings, joy and gladness!<br/>
Nevermore will Wainamoinen<br/>
Charm the people of the Northland<br/>
With the harp of his creation!<br/>
Nevermore my songs will echo<br/>
O’er the hills of Kalevala!”</p>
<p>Thereupon the ancient singer<br/>
Went lamenting through the forest,<br/>
Wandered through the sighing pine-woods,<br/>
Heard the wailing of a birch-tree,<br/>
Heard a juniper complaining;<br/>
Drawing nearer, waits and listens,<br/>
Thus the birch-tree he addresses:<br/>
“Wherefore, brother, art thou weeping,<br/>
Merry birch enrobed in silver,<br/>
Silver-leaved and silver-tasselled?<br/>
Art thou shedding tears of sorrow,<br/>
Since thou art not led to battle,<br/>
Not enforced to war with wizards?”<br/>
Wisely does the birch make answer:<br/>
“This the language of the many,<br/>
Others speak as thou, unjustly,<br/>
That I only live in pleasure,<br/>
That my silver leaves and tassels<br/>
Only whisper my rejoicings;<br/>
That I have no cares, no sorrows,<br/>
That I have no hours unhappy,<br/>
Knowing neither pain nor trouble.<br/>
I am weeping for my smallness,<br/>
Am lamenting for my weakness,<br/>
Have no sympathy, no pity,<br/>
Stand here motionless for ages,<br/>
Stand alone in fen and forest,<br/>
In these woodlands vast and joyless.<br/>
Others hope for coming summers,<br/>
For the beauties of the spring-time;<br/>
I, alas! a helpless birch-tree,<br/>
Dread the changing of the seasons,<br/>
I must give my bark to others,<br/>
Lose my leaves and silken tassels.<br/>
Often come the Suomi children,<br/>
Peel my bark and drink my life-blood:<br/>
Wicked shepherds in the summer,<br/>
Come and steal my belt of silver,<br/>
Of my bark make berry-baskets,<br/>
Dishes make, and cups for drinking.<br/>
Oftentimes the Northland maidens<br/>
Cut my tender limbs for birch-brooms,<br/>
Bind my twigs and silver tassels<br/>
Into brooms to sweep their cabins;<br/>
Often have the Northland heroes<br/>
Chopped me into chips for burning;<br/>
Three times in the summer season,<br/>
In the pleasant days of spring-time,<br/>
Foresters have ground their axes<br/>
On my silver trunk and branches,<br/>
Robbed me of my life for ages;<br/>
This my spring-time joy and pleasure,<br/>
This my happiness in summer,<br/>
And my winter days no better!<br/>
When I think of former troubles,<br/>
Sorrow settles on my visage,<br/>
And my face grows white with anguish;<br/>
Often do the winds of winter<br/>
And the hoar-frost bring me sadness,<br/>
Blast my tender leaves and tassels,<br/>
Bear my foliage to others,<br/>
Rob me of my silver raiment,<br/>
Leave me naked on the mountain,<br/>
Lone, and helpless, and disheartened!”<br/>
Spake the good, old Wainamoinen:<br/>
“Weep no longer, sacred birch-tree,<br/>
Mourn no more, my friend and brother,<br/>
Thou shalt have a better fortune;<br/>
I will turn thy grief to joyance,<br/>
Make thee laugh and sing with gladness.”</p>
<p>Then the ancient Wainamoinen<br/>
Made a harp from sacred birch-wood,<br/>
Fashioned in the days of summer,<br/>
Beautiful the harp of magic,<br/>
By the master’s hand created<br/>
On the fog-point in the Big-Sea,<br/>
On the island forest-covered,<br/>
Fashioned from the birch the archings,<br/>
And the frame-work from the aspen.<br/>
These the words of the magician:<br/>
“All the archings are completed,<br/>
And the frame is fitly finished;<br/>
Whence the hooks and pins for tuning,<br/>
That the harp may sing in concord?”</p>
<p>Near the way-side grew an oak-tree,<br/>
Skyward grew with equal branches,<br/>
On each twig an acorn growing,<br/>
Golden balls upon each acorn,<br/>
On each ball a singing cuckoo.<br/>
As each cuckoo’s call resounded,<br/>
Five the notes of song that issued<br/>
From the songster’s throat of joyance;<br/>
From each throat came liquid music,<br/>
Gold and silver for the master,<br/>
Flowing to the hills and hillocks,<br/>
To the silvery vales and mountains;<br/>
Thence he took the merry harp-pins,<br/>
That the harp might play in concord.<br/>
Spake again wise Wainamoinen:<br/>
“I the pins have well completed,<br/>
Still the harp is yet unfinished;<br/>
Now I need five strings for playing,<br/>
Where shall I procure the harp-strings?”<br/>
Then the ancient bard and minstrel<br/>
Journeyed through the fen and forest.<br/>
On a hillock sat a maiden,<br/>
Sat a virgin of the valley;<br/>
And the maiden was not weeping,<br/>
Joyful was the sylvan daughter,<br/>
Singing with the woodland songsters,<br/>
That the eventide might hasten,<br/>
In the hope that her beloved<br/>
Would the sooner sit beside her.</p>
<p>Wainamoinen, old and trusted,<br/>
Hastened, tripping to the virgin,<br/>
Asked her for her golden ringlets,<br/>
These the words of the magician:<br/>
“Give me, maiden, of thy tresses,<br/>
Give to me thy golden ringlets;<br/>
I will weave them into harp-strings,<br/>
To the joy of Wainamoinen,<br/>
To the pleasure of his people.”</p>
<p>Thereupon the forest-maiden<br/>
Gave the singer of her tresses,<br/>
Gave him of her golden ringlets,<br/>
And of these he made the harp-strings.<br/>
Sources of eternal pleasure<br/>
To the people of Wainola.</p>
<p>Thus the sacred harp is finished,<br/>
And the minstrel, Wainamoinen,<br/>
Sits upon the rock of joyance,<br/>
Takes the harp within his fingers,<br/>
Turns the arch up, looking skyward;<br/>
With his knee the arch supporting,<br/>
Sets the strings in tuneful order,<br/>
Runs his fingers o’er the harp-strings,<br/>
And the notes of pleasure follow.<br/>
Straightway ancient Wainamoinen,<br/>
The eternal wisdom-singer,<br/>
Plays upon his harp of birch-wood.<br/>
Far away is heard the music,<br/>
Wide the harp of joy re-echoes;<br/>
Mountains dance and valleys listen,<br/>
Flinty rocks are torn asunder,<br/>
Stones are hurled upon the waters,<br/>
Pebbles swim upon the Big-Sea,<br/>
Pines and lindens laugh with pleasure,<br/>
Alders skip about the heather,<br/>
And the aspen sways in concord.</p>
<p>All the daughters of Wainola<br/>
Straightway leave their shining needles,<br/>
Hasten forward like the current,<br/>
Speed along like rapid rivers,<br/>
That they may enjoy and wonder.<br/>
Laugh the younger men and maidens,<br/>
Happy-hearted are the matrons<br/>
Flying swift to bear the playing,<br/>
To enjoy the common pleasure,<br/>
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen.<br/>
Aged men and bearded seniors,<br/>
Gray-haired mothers with their daughters<br/>
Stop in wonderment and listen.<br/>
Creeps the babe in full enjoyment<br/>
As he hears the magic singing,<br/>
Hears the harp of Wainamoinen.<br/>
All of Northland stops in wonder,<br/>
Speaks in unison these measures:<br/>
“Never have we heard such playing,<br/>
Never heard such strains of music,<br/>
Never since the earth was fashioned,<br/>
As the songs of this magician,<br/>
This sweet singer, Wainamoinen!”</p>
<p>Far and wide the sweet tones echo,<br/>
Ring throughout the seven hamlets,<br/>
O’er the seven islands echo;<br/>
Every creature of the Northland<br/>
Hastens forth to look and listen,<br/>
Listen to the songs of gladness,<br/>
To the harp of Wainamoinen.<br/>
All the beasts that haunt the woodlands<br/>
Fall upon their knees and wonder<br/>
At the playing of the minstrel,<br/>
At his miracles of concord.<br/>
All the songsters of the forests<br/>
Perch upon the trembling branches,<br/>
Singing to the wondrous playing<br/>
Of the harp of Wainamoinen.<br/>
All the dwellers of the waters<br/>
Leave their beds, and caves, and grottoes,<br/>
Swim against the shore and listen<br/>
To the playing of the minstrel,<br/>
To the harp of Wainamoinen.<br/>
All the little things in nature,<br/>
Rise from earth, and fall from ether,<br/>
Come and listen to the music,<br/>
To the notes of the enchanter,<br/>
To the songs of the magician,<br/>
To the harp of Wainamoinen.</p>
<p>Plays the singer of the Northland,<br/>
Plays in miracles of sweetness,<br/>
Plays one day, and then a second,<br/>
Plays the third from morn till even;<br/>
Plays within the halls and cabins,<br/>
In the dwellings of his people,<br/>
Till the floors and ceilings echo,<br/>
Till resound the roofs of pine-wood,<br/>
Till the windows speak and tremble,<br/>
Till the portals echo joyance,<br/>
And the hearth-stones sing in pleasure.<br/>
As he journeys through the forest,<br/>
As he wanders through the woodlands,<br/>
Pine and sorb-tree bid him welcome,<br/>
Birch and willow bend obeisance,<br/>
Beech and aspen bow submission;<br/>
And the linden waves her branches<br/>
To the measure of his playing,<br/>
To the notes of the magician.<br/>
As the minstrel plays and wanders,<br/>
Sings upon the mead and heather,<br/>
Glen and hill his songs re-echo,<br/>
Ferns and flowers laugh in pleasure,<br/>
And the shrubs attune their voices<br/>
To the music of the harp-strings,<br/>
To the songs of Wainamoinen.</p>
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