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

       "Ilmarinen thus made answer:

       'I will take thee from my furnace,

       'Thou art but a little frightened,

       Thou shalt be a mighty power,

       Thou shalt slay the best of heroes,

       Thou shalt wound thy dearest brother.'

       "Straightway Iron made this promise,

       Vowed and swore in strongest accents,

       By the furnace, by the anvil,

       By the tongs, and by the hammer,

       These the words he vowed and uttered:

       'Many trees that I shall injure,

       Shall devour the hearts of mountains,

       Shall not slay my nearest kindred,

       Shall not kill the best of heroes,

       Shall not wound my dearest brother;

       Better live in civil freedom,

       Happier would be my life-time,

       Should I serve my fellow-beings,

       Serve as tools for their convenience,

       Than as implements of warfare,

       Slay my friends and nearest. kindred,

       Wound the children of my mother.'

       "Now the master, Ilmarinen,

       The renowned and skilful blacksmith,

       From the fire removes the iron,

       Places it upon the anvil,

       Hammers well until it softens,

       Hammers many fine utensils,

       Hammers spears, and swords, and axes,

       Hammers knives, and forks, and hatchets,

       Hammers tools of all descriptions.

       "Many things the blacksmith needed,

       Many things he could not fashion,

       Could not make the tongue of iron,

       Could not hammer steel from iron,

       Could not make the iron harden.

       Well considered Ilmarinen,

       Deeply thought and long reflected.

       Then he gathered birchen ashes,

       Steeped the ashes in the water,

       Made a lye to harden iron,

       Thus to form the steel most needful.

       With his tongue he tests the mixture,

       Weighs it long and well considers,

       And the blacksmith speaks as follows:

       'All this labor is for nothing,

       Will not fashion steel from iron,

       Will not make the soft ore harden.'

       "Now a bee flies from the meadow,

       Blue-wing coming from the flowers,

       Flies about, then safely settles

       Near the furnace of the smithy.

       "'Thus the smith the bee addresses,

       These the words of Ilmarinen:

       'Little bee, thou tiny birdling,

       Bring me honey on thy winglets,

       On thy tongue, I pray thee, bring me

       Sweetness from the fragrant meadows,

       From the little cups of flowers,

       From the tips of seven petals,

       That we thus may aid the water

       To produce the steel from iron.'

       "Evil Hisi's bird, the hornet,

       Heard these words of Ilmarinen,

       Looking from the cottage gable,

       Flying to the bark of birch-trees,

       While the iron bars were heating

       While the steel was being tempered;

       Swiftly flew the stinging hornet,

       Scattered all the Hisi horrors,

       Brought the blessing of the serpent,

       Brought the venom of the adder,

       Brought the poison of the spider,

       Brought the stings of all the insects,

       Mixed them with the ore and water,

       While the steel was being, tempered.

       "Ilmarinen, skilful blacksmith,

       First of all the iron-workers,

       Thought the bee had surely brought him

       Honey from the fragrant meadows,

       From the little cups of flowers,

       From the tips of seven petals,

       And he spake the words that follow:

       'Welcome, welcome, is thy coming,

       Honeyed sweetness from the flowers

       Thou hast brought to aid the water,

       Thus to form the steel from iron!'

       "Ilmarinen, ancient blacksmith,

       Dipped the iron into water,

       Water mixed with many poisons,

       Thought it but the wild bee's honey;

       Thus he formed the steel from iron.

       When he plunged it into water,

       Water mixed with many poisons,

       When be placed it in the furnace,

       Angry grew the hardened iron,

       Broke the vow that he had taken,

       Ate his words like dogs and devils,

       Mercilessly cut his brother,

       Madly raged against his kindred,

       Caused the blood to flow in streamlets

       From the wounds of man and hero.

       This, the origin of iron,

       And of steel of light blue color."

       From the hearth arose the gray-beard,

       Shook his heavy looks and answered:

       "Now I know the source of iron,

       Whence the steel and whence its evils;

       Curses on thee, cruel iron,

       Curses on the steel thou givest,

       Curses on thee, tongue of evil,

       Cursed be thy life forever!

       Once thou wert of little value,

       Having neither form nor beauty,

       Neither strength nor great importance,

       When in form of milk thou rested,

       When for ages thou wert hidden

       In the breasts of God's three daughters,

       Hidden in their heaving bosoms,

       On the borders of the cloudlets,

       In the blue vault of the heavens.

       "Thou wert once of little value,

       Having neither form nor beauty,

       Neither strength nor great importance,

       When like water thou wert resting

       On the broad back of the marshes,

       On the steep declines of mountains,

       When thou wert but formless matter,

       Only dust of rusty color.