Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland — Complete. AnonymousЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Water is the oldest brother,

       And the fire is second brother,

       And the youngest brother, iron;

       Ukko is the first creator.

       Ukko, maker of the heavens,

       Cut apart the air and water,

       Ere was born the metal, iron.

       Ukko, maker of the heavens,

       Firmly rubbed his hands together,

       Firmly pressed them on his knee-cap,

       Then arose three lovely maidens,

       Three most beautiful of daughters;

       These were mothers of the iron,

       And of steel of bright-blue color.

       Tremblingly they walked the heavens,

       Walked the clouds with silver linings,

       With their bosoms overflowing

       With the milk of future iron,

       Flowing on and flowing ever,

       From the bright rims of the cloudlets

       To the earth, the valleys filling,

       To the slumber-calling waters.

       "Ukko's eldest daughter sprinkled

       Black milk over river channels

       And the second daughter sprinkled

       White milk over hills and mountains,

       While the youngest daughter sprinkled

       Red milk over seas and oceans.

       Whero the black milk had been sprinked,

       Grew the dark and ductile iron;

       Where the white milk had been sprinkled.

       Grew the iron, lighter-colored;

       Where the red milk had been sprinkled,

       Grew the red and brittle iron.

       "After Time had gone a distance,

       Iron hastened Fire to visit,

       His beloved elder brother,

       Thus to know his brother better.

       Straightway Fire began his roarings,

       Labored to consume his brother,

       His beloved younger brother.

       Straightway Iron sees his danger,

       Saves himself by fleetly fleeing,

       From the fiery flame's advances,

       Fleeing hither, fleeing thither,

       Fleeing still and taking shelter

       In the swamps and in the valleys,

       In the springs that loudly bubble,

       By the rivers winding seaward,

       On the broad backs of the marshes,

       Where the swans their nests have builded,

       Where the wild geese hatch their goslings.

       "Thus is iron in the swamp-lands,

       Stretching by the water-courses,

       Hidden well for many ages,

       Hidden in the birchen forests,

       But he could not hide forever

       From the searchings of his brother;

       Here and there the fire has caught him,

       Caught and brought him to his furnace,

       That the spears, and swords, and axes,

       Might be forged and duly hammered.

       In the swamps ran blackened waters,

       From the heath the bears came ambling,

       And the wolves ran through the marshes.

       Iron then made his appearance,

       Where the feet of wolves had trodden,

       Where the paws of bears had trampled.

       "Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,

       Came to earth to work the metal;

       He was born upon the Coal-mount,

       Skilled and nurtured in the coal-fields;

       In one hand, a copper hammer,

       In the other, tongs of iron;

       In the night was born the blacksmith,

       In the morn he built his smithy,

       Sought with care a favored hillock,

       Where the winds might fill his bellows;

       Found a hillock in the swamp-lands,

       Where the iron hid abundant;

       There he built his smelting furnace,

       There he laid his leathern bellows,

       Hastened where the wolves had travelled,

       Followed where the bears had trampled,

       Found the iron's young formations,

       In the wolf-tracks of the marshes,

       In the foot-prints of the gray-bear.

       "Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,

       'Thus addressed the sleeping iron:

       Thou most useful of the metals,

       Thou art sleeping in the marshes,

       Thou art hid in low conditions,

       Where the wolf treads in the swamp-lands,

       Where the bear sleeps in the thickets.

       Hast thou thought and well considered,

       What would be thy future station,

       Should I place thee in the furnace,

       Thus to make thee free and useful?'

       "Then was Iron sorely frightened,

       Much distressed and filled with horror,

       When of Fire he heard the mention,

       Mention of his fell destroyer.

       "Then again speaks Ilmarinen,

       Thus the smith addresses Iron:

       'Be not frightened, useful metal,

       Surely Fire will not consume thee,

       Will not burn his youngest brother,

       Will not harm his nearest kindred.

       Come thou to my room and furnace,

       Where the fire is freely burning,

       Thou wilt live, and grow, and prosper,

       Wilt become the swords of heroes,

       Buckles for the belts of women.'

       "Ere arose the star of evening,

       Iron ore had left the marshes,

       From the water-beds had risen,

       Had been carried to the furnace,

       In the fire the smith had laid it,

       Laid it in his smelting furnace.

       Ilmarinen starts the bellows,

       Gives three motions of the handle,

       And the iron flows in streamlets

       From the forge of the magician,

       Soon becomes like baker's leaven,

       Soft as dough for bread of barley.

       Then out-screamed the metal, Iron:

       'Wondrous blacksmith, Ilmarinen,

       Take, O take me from thy furnace,

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