Runo V: Väinämöinen's Fishing

Now the tidings were repeated,And the news was widely rumoured,How the youthful maid had perished,And the fair one had departed.

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,Deeply sorrowed at the tidings;Wept at evening, wept at morning,Spent the livelong night in weeping,For the fair one who had perished,For the maiden who had slumbered,In the muddy lake downsunkenTo the depths below the billows.

Then he went, in sorrow sighing,While his heart was filled with anguish,To the blue lake's rocky margin,And he spoke the words which follow:"Tell me, Untamo, thou sleeper,Tell me all thy dreams, O idler,Where to find the realm of Ahto,Where dwell Vellamo's fair maidens?"

Sleeper Untamo made answer,And his dreams he thus repeated:"There has Ahto fixed his country,There dwell Vellamo's fair maidens,Near the cloud-encompassed headland,Near the ever-misty island,In the depths below the billows,On the black ooze at the bottom.

"There has Ahto fixed his country,There dwell Vellamo's fair maidens,Living in a narrow chamber,In a little room abiding,With the walls of varied marble,In the depths beside the headland."

Then the aged VäinämöinenHastened to his little vessel,And he scanned his fishing-tackle,And his hooks with care inspected;Put the tackle in his pocket,And the barbed hooks in his wallet.Through the waves his boat he ferried,Making for the jutting headland,To the cape, with clouds encompassed,And the ever-misty island.

Then he set about his fishing,And he watched his angle closely,And he held his hand-net ready,Dropped his angle in the water,And he fished, and tried his fortune,While the rod of copper trembled,And the thread of silver whistled,And the golden line whirred loudly.

And at length one day it happened,Very early in the morning,On his hook a fish was hanging,And a salmon-trout was captured.In the boat he drew it quickly,And upon the planks he cast it.

Then he scanned the fish, and turned it,And he spoke the words which follow;"'Tis a fish, among the fishes,For I never saw its equal,Smoother is it than a powan,Than a salmon-trout more yellow,Greyer than a pike I deem it,For a female fish too finless,For a male 'tis far too scaleless;Has no tresses, like a maiden,Nor, like water-nymphs, 'tis belted;Nor is earless like a pigeon;It resembles most a salmon,Or a perch from deepest water."

In his waistband VäinämöinenBore a case-knife, silver-hafted,And he drew the knife of sharpness.Drew the case-knife, silver-hafted,And prepared to slit the salmon,And to cut the fish to pieces,Thought to eat it for his breakfast.Or a snack to make his luncheon,To provide him with a dinner,And a plenteous supper likewise.

As he would have slit the salmon.And would cut the fish to pieces,Sprang the salmon in the water,For the beauteous fish jumped sidewaysFrom the planking of the red boat,From the boat of Väinämöinen.

Thereupon her head she lifted,Raised her shoulders from the water,On the fifth wave's watery hillock,From the sixth high wave emerging,Then her hands in air uplifted,And displayed her left foot also,When the seventh wave roses upswelling,And upon the ninth wave's summit.

Thereupon the fish addressed him,And it spoke, and thus protested:"O thou aged Väinämöinen,Surely I have not come hither,Like a salmon, to be slaughtered,Or a fish, to cut to pieces,Only to become your breakfast,Or a snack to make your luncheon,To provide you with a dinner.And a plenteous supper likewise."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,"Wherefore didst thou then come hither?"

"Therefore 'tis that I have sought thee,In thine arm like dove to nestle,By thy side to sit for ever,On thy knee, as consort sitting,To prepare the couch to rest thee,And to smooth thy pillow for thee,Keep thy little room in order,And to sweep the flooring for thee,In thy room to light the fire,And to fan the flames up brightly,There large loaves of bread to bake thee,Cakes of honey to prepare thee,And thy jug of beer to fill thee,And thy dinner set before thee.

"I am not a water-salmon,Not a perch from deepest water,But a young and lovely maiden,Youthful Joukahainen's sister,Whom thou all thy life hast longed for,Whom thou hast so long desired.

"O thou pitiful old creature,Väinämöinen, void of wisdom,Thou hadst not the wit to hold me,Vellamo's young water-maiden,Me, the darling child of Ahto!"

Said the aged Väinämöinen,Head bowed down, and deeply grieving,"Sister thou of Joukahainen,Once again return, I pray thee."

But she never more came near him,Ne'er again throughout his lifetime;For she turned away, and, diving,Vanished from the water's surfaceDown among the rocks so varied,In a liver-coloured crevice.

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,Pondered deeply, and reflected,What to do, and what was needfulQuick he wove a net all silken,And he drew it straight and crossways,Through the reach, and then across it,Drew it through the quiet waters,Through the depths beloved by salmonsAnd through Väinölä's deep waters.And by Kalevala's sharp headlands,Through the deep, dark watery caverns,And the wide expanse of water,And through Joukola's great rivers,And across the bays of Lapland.

Other fish he caught in plenty,All the fishes of the waters,Only not the fish he sought for,Which he kept in mind for ever,Never Vellamo's fair maiden,Not the dearest child of Ahto.

Then the aged Väinämöinen,Bowed his head, lamenting deeply,With his cap adjusted sideways,And he spoke the words which follow:"O how grievous is my folly,Weak am I in manly wisdom,Once indeed was understanding,Insight too conferred upon me,And my heart was great within me;Such in former times my portion.But in days that now are passing.In the evil days upon me,Now my strength with age is failing,All my understanding weakensAnd my insight has departed,All my judgment is perverted.

"She for whom long years I waited,Whom for half my life I longed for,Vellamo's fair water-maiden,Youngest daughter of the surges.Who should be my friend for ever,And my wife throughout my lifetime,Came and seized the bait I offered,In my boat sprang unresisting,But I knew not how to hold her,To my home I could not take her,But she plunged amid the waters,Diving to the depths profoundest."

Then he wandered on a little,And he walked, in sadness sighing,To his home direct returning,And he spoke the words which follow:"Once indeed the birds were singing,And my joyous cuckoo hailed me,Both at morning and at evening,Likewise, too, in midday hours.What has stilled their lively music,And has hushed their charming voices?Care has stilled their lively music,Sorrow checked their cheerful voices,Therefore do they sing no longer,Neither at the sun's declining,To rejoice me in the evening,Nor to cheer me in the morning.

"Now no more can I considerHow to shape my course of action,How upon the earth to sojourn,How throughout the world to travel.Would my mother now were living,And my aged mother waking!She would surely tell me trulyHow to best support my trouble,That my grief may not o'erwhelm me,And my sorrow may not crush me,In these weary days of evil,In this time of deep depression."

In her grave his mother wakened,Answered from beneath the billows:"Still thy mother lives and hears thee,And thy aged mother wakens,That she plainly may advise thee.How to best support thy trouble.That thy grief may not o'erwhelm thee,And thy sorrow may not crush thee,In these weary days of evil,In these days of deep depression.Seek thou out the maids of Pohja,Where the daughters are more handsome,And the maidens twice as lovely,And are five or six times nimbler,Not like lazy girls of Jouko,Lapland's fat and sluggish daughters.

"Thence a wife, O son, provide thee,From the fairest maids of Pohja;Choose a maid of fair complexion,Lovely, too, in every feature,One whose feet are always nimble,Always active in her movements."