Runo XX: The Great Ox, and the Brewing of the Ale

How shall we our song continue,And what legends shall we tell you?Thus will we pursue our story;These the legends we will tell you;How in Pohjola they feasted,And the drinking-bout was Godlike.

Long prepared they for the wedding,For the feast provided all things,In the household famed of Pohja,Halls of Sariola the misty.

What provisions were provided,What did they collect together,For a lengthy feast at Pohja,For the multitude of drinkers,For the feasting of the people,For the multitude of feasters?

In Carelia grew a bullock,Fat the ox they reared in Suomi,Not a large one, not a small one,But a calf of middle stature.While he switched his tail in HameStooped his head to Kemi's river,Long his horns one hundred fathoms,Muzzle broad as half a hundred,For a week there ran an ermineAll along the yoke he carried,All day long there flew a swallow'Twixt the mighty ox's horn-tips,Striving through the space to hasten,Nor found resting-place between them;Month-long ran a summer-squirrelFrom his neck unto his tail-end,Nor did he attain the tail-tip,Till a month had quite passed over.

'Twas this calf of size stupendous,'Twas this mighty bull of Suomi,Whom they led forth from CareliaTill they reached the fields of Pohja.By his horns, a hundred led him,And a thousand dragged his muzzle,And they led the ox still further,Till to Pohjola they brought him.

On his road the ox proceededBy the Sound of Sariola strayed;Browsed the grass in marshy places,While his back the clouds were touching;But they could not find a butcher,Who could fell the country's marvelOn the list of Suomi's children,'Mid the mighty host of people,Not among the youthful people,Nor among the very aged.

From afar an old man journeyedVirokannas from Carelia;And he spoke the words which follow:"Wait thous wait, thou ox unhappy,While I go and fetch my mallet.If I strike you with my malletOn the skull, unhappy creature,Never in another summer,Would you turn about your muzzle,Or your tail would jerk around you,Here among the fields of Pohja,By the Sound of Sariola stray."

Then the old man went to strike him,Virokannas moved against him,Went to slay the ox unhappy;But his head the ox was turning,And his black eyes he was blinking.To a pine-tree sprang the old man,Virokannas in the bushes,In the scrubby willow-thicket.

After this they sought a butcher,Who the mighty ox could slaughter,From Carelia's lovely country,From the vast expanse of Suomi,From the peaceful land of Russia,From the hardy land of Sweden,From the regions wide of Lapland,From the mighty land of Turja,And they sought through Tuoni's regions,In the depths of Mana's kingdom,And they sought, but no one found they,Long they searched; but vainly searched they.

Yet again they sought a butcher,Sought again to find a slaughterer,On the ocean's shining surface,On the wide-extending billows.From the dark sea rose a hero,Rose a hero from the sea-swell,From the shining surface rising,From the wide expanse of water.He was not among the greatest,But in nowise of the smallest.In a bowl would he lie sleeping,And beneath a sieve stand upright.

'Twas an old man, iron-fisted,Iron-coloured, too, to gaze on;On his head a stony helmet;Shoes of stone his feet protected;In his hand a knife, gold-bladed,And the haft o'erlaid with copper.

Thus the people found a butcher,And at length they found a slaughterer,Who should fell the bull of Suomi,And should fell the country's marvel.Scarce had he beheld the quarry,Than at once his neck he shattered,On his knees he forced the bullock,And upon his side he threw him.Did he yield them much provisions?Not so very much he yielded.Of his flesh a hundred barrels,And a hundred fathoms sausage;Seven boat-loads of blood they gathered,Six large casks with fat were loaded,All for Pohjola's great banquet,Feast of Sariola the misty.

Then they built a house in Pohja,Built a house with hall enormous,Fathoms nine its sides extended,And the breadth thereof was seven.If a cock crowed at the smoke-hole,Underneath they could not hear it,If a dog at end was barking,At the door they did not hear it.

Then did Pohjola's old MistressWalk across the flooring's planking,To the middle of the chamber,And she pondered and reflected:"How shall I get ale sufficient,And shall brew the beer most wisely,To prepare it for the wedding,When the beer will much be needed?How to brew the beer I know not,Nor how ale was first concocted."

By the stove there sat an old man,From the stove spoke up the old man:"Ale of barley is concocted,And the drink with hops is flavoured,Yet they brew not save with water,And the aid of furious fire.

"Hop is called the son of Revel;Planted in the ground when little,With a plough they ploughed the region,Like an ant, away they cast himClose to Kaleva's great well-spring,There where Osmo's field is sloping;There the tender plant sprang upward,And the green shoot mounted quickly.Up a little tree it mounted,Rising to the leafy summit.

"Sowed, by chance, an old man barley,In the fresh-ploughed field of Osmo,And the barley sprouted bravely,And It grew and flourished greatly,On the new-ploughed field of Osmo,Kaleva's descendant's cornland.

"But a little time passed over,When the hops exclaimed from tree-top,And upon the field the barley,And in Kaleva's well-water,'When shall we be yoked together,Each with other be united?Life in solitude is weary;Better two or three together.'

"Osmotar, the ale-constructerShe, the maid who beer concocted,Took, on this, the grains of barley,Gathered six of grains of barley,Seven hop-tassels next she gathered,And eight ladles took of water,Then upon the fire she placed it,And allowed it there to simmer,And she boiled the ale of barleyThrough the fleeting days of summer,Out upon the cloudy headland,Cape upon the shady island;Poured it then in wooden barrels,And in tubs of birchwood stored it.

"Thus she brewed the ale and stored it,But the ale was not fermented,And she pondered and reflected,And she spoke the words which follow:'What must now be added to it,What is needful to provide for,That the ale may be fermented,And the beer be brought to foaming?'

"Kalevatar, beauteous maiden,She the maid with slender fingers,Which she ever moves so deftly,She whose feet are shod so lightly,Felt about the seams of staving,Groping all about the bottom,Trying one and then the other,In the midst of both the kettles;Found a splinter at the bottom,From the bottom took a splinter.

"Then she turned it and reflected:'What might perhaps be fashioned from it,In the hands of lovely maiden,In the noble damsel's fingers,Brought into the hands of maiden,To the noble damsel's fingers?'

"In her hands the maiden took it,In the noble damsel's fingers,And she clapped her hands together,Both her hands she rubbed together,Rubbed them on her thighs together,And a squirrel white created.

"Then she gave her son directions,And instructed thus the squirrel:'O thou squirrel, gold of woodlands,Flower of woodlands, charm of country,Speed then forth where I shall bid thee,Where I bid thee and direct thee,Forth to Metsola's bright regions,And to Tapiola's great wisdom.There a little tree upclimbing,Heedful to the leafy summit,That the eagle may not seize thee,Nor the bird of air may grasp thee.From the pine-tree bring me pine-cones,From the fir bring shoots of fir-tree,Bring them to the hands of maiden,For the beer of Osmo's daughter.'

"Knew the squirrel now his pathway,Trailed his bushy tail behind him,And his journey soon accomplished,Quickly through the open spaces,Past one wood, and then a second,And a third he crossed obliquely,Into Metsola's bright regions,And to Tapiola's great wisdom.

"There he saw three lofty pine-trees,There he saw four slender fir-trees,Climbed a pine-tree in the valley,On the heath he climbed a fir-tree,And the eagle did not seize him,Nor the bird of air did grasp him.

"From the pine he broke the pine-cones,From the fir the leafy tassels,In his claws he hid the pine-cones,And within his paws he rolled them,To the maiden's hands he brought them,To the noble damsel's fingers.

"In the beer the maiden laid them,In the ale she placed them likewise,But the ale was not fermented,Nor the fresh drink yet was working.

"Osmotar, the ale-preparer,She, the maid who beer concocted,Pondered yet again the matter.'What must now be added to it,That the ale shall be fermented,And the beer be brought to foaming?'

"Kalevatar, beauteous maiden,She, the maid with slender fingers,Which she ever moves so deftly,She whose feet are shod so lightly,Felt about the seams of staving,Groping all about the bottom,Trying one, and then the other,In the midst of both the kettles,Found a chip upon the bottom,Took the chip from off the bottom.

"Then she turned it and reflected,'What might perhaps be fashioned from it,In the hands of lovely maiden,In the noble damsel's fingers,Brought into the hands of maiden,To the noble damsel's fingers?'

"In her hands the maiden took itIn the noble damsel's fingers,And she clapped her hands together,Both her hands she rubbed together,Rubbed them on her thighs together,And she made a gold-breast marten.

"Thus the marten she instructed,Thus the orphan child directed:'O my marten, O my birdling,O my fair one, beauteous-hided!Thither go, where I shall bid thee,Where I bid thee, and direct thee,To the Bear's own rocky cavern,Where the forest bears are prowling,Where the bears are always fighting,Where they lurk in all their fierceness.With thy hands scrape foam together,In thy paws the foam then carry,To the maiden's hands convey it,And to Osmo's daughter's shoulders.'

"Understood the way the marten,Forth the golden-breasted hastened,And his journey soon accomplished,Quickly through the open spaces,Past one wood, and then a second,And a third he crossed obliquely,To the Bear's own rocky cavern,To the caverns bear-frequented,Where the bears are always fighting,Where they lurk In all their fierceness,In the rocks as hard as iron,And among the steel-hard mountains.

"From the bears' mouths foam was dropping,From their furious jaws exuding;In his hands the foam he gathered,With his paws the foam collected,To the maiden's hands he brought it,To the noble damsel's fingers.

"In the ale the maiden poured it,In the beer she poured it likewise,But the ale was not fermented,Nor the drink of men foamed over.

"Osmotar, the ale-preparer,She the maid who beer concocted,Pondered yet again the matter,'What must now be added to it,That the ale shall be fermented,And the beer be brought to foaming?'

"Kalevatar, beauteous maiden,She the maid with slender fingers,Which she ever moves so deftly,She whose feet are shod so lightlyFelt about the seams of staving,Groping all about the bottom,Trying one and then the other,Then the space between the kettles,And a mustard-pod she saw there;From the ground the pod she lifted.

"Then she turned It, and surveyed it,'What might perhaps be fashioned from it,In the hands of lovely maiden,In the noble damsel's fingers,Brought into the hands of maiden,To the noble damsel's fingers?'

"In her hands the maiden took it,In the noble damsel's fingers,And she clapped her hands together,Both her hands she rubbed together,Rubbed them on her thighs together,And a bee she thus created.

"And the bee she thus instructed,And the bee she thus directed:'O thou bee, thou bird so nimble,King of all the flowery meadows,Thither fly, where I shall bid thee,Where I bid thee and direct thee,To an isle on ocean's surface,Where the reefs arise from ocean.There a maiden lies in slumber,With her belt of copper loosened;By her side springs sweetest herbage,On her lap rest honey grasses,On thy wings bring sweetest honey,Bring thou honey on thy clothing,From the fairest of the herbage,From the bloom of golden flowerets,To the maiden's hands convey it,And to Osmo's daughter's shoulders.'

"Then the bee, that bird so nimble,Flew away, and hastened onward,And his journey soon accomplished,Speeding o'er the open spaces,First across the sea, along it,Then in an oblique direction,To an isle on ocean's surface,Where the reefs arise from ocean.There he saw the maiden sleeping,With a tin brooch on her bosom,Resting in an unmowed meadow,All among the fields of honey;By her side grew golden grasses,At her belt sprang silver grasses.

"Then he soaked his wings with honey,Plunged his plumes in liquid honey,From the brightest of the herbage,From the tips of golden flowerets;To the maiden's hands he brought it,To the noble damsel's fingers.

"In the ale the maiden cast it,In the beer she poured it likewise,And the beer at length fermented,And the fresh drink now foamed upward,From within the new-made barrels,From within the tubs of birchwood,Foaming upward to the handles,Rushing over all the edges;To the ground it wished to trickle,And upon the floor ran downward.

"But a little time passed over,Very little time passed over,When the heroes flocked to drink it,Chief among them Lemminkainen.Drunk was Ahti, drunk was Kauko,Drunken was the ruddy rascal,With the ale of Osmo's daughter,And the beer of Kalevatar.

"Osmotar, the ale-preparer,She, the maid who beer concocted,Uttered then the words which follow:'Woe is me, my day is wretched,For I brewed the ale so badlyAnd the beer so ill concocted,That from out the tubs 'tis flowing,And upon the floor is gushing.'

"From a tree there sang a bullfinch.From the roof-tree sang a throstle,'No, the ale is not so worthless;'Tis the best of ale for drinking;If into the casks you pour it,And should store it in the cellar,Store it in the casks of oakwood,And within the hoops of copper.'

"Thus was ale at first created,Beer of Kaleva concocted,Therefore is it praised so highly,Therefore held in greatest honour,For the ale is of the finest,Best of drinks for prudent people;Women soon it brings to laughter,Men it warms into good humour,And it makes the prudent merry,But it brings the fools to raving."

Then did Pohjola's old Mistress,When she heard how ale was fashioned,Water pour in tubs the largest,Half she filled the new-made barrels,Adding barley as 'twas needed,Shoots of hop enough she added,And the ale began she brewing,And the beer began its working,In the new tubs that contained it,And within the tubs of birch wood.

'Twas for months the stones were glowing,And for summers water boiling,Trees were burning on the islands,Water from the wells was carried.Bare of trees they left the islands,And the lakes were greatly shrunken,For the ale was in the barrels,And the beer was stored securelyFor the mighty feast of Pohja,For carousing at the mansion.

From the island smoke was rising,On the headland fire was glowing;Thick the clouds of smoke were rising,In the air there rose the vapour.For the fire was burning fiercely,And the fire was brightly glowing,Half it filled the land of Pohja,Over all Carelia spreading.

All the people gazed upon it,Gazed, and then they asked each other,"Wherefore is the smoke arising,In the air the vapour rising?'Tis too small for smoke of battle,'Tis too large for herdsman's bonfire."

Then rose Lemminkainen's mother,At the earliest dawn of morning,And she went to fetch some water.Clouds of smoke she saw arising,Up from Pohjola's dominions,And she spoke the words which follow:"Perhaps it is the smoke of combat,Perhaps it is the fire of battle."

Ahti, dweller on the island,He the handsome Kaukomieli,Wandered round and gazed about him,And he pondered and reflected,"I must go and look upon it,From a nearer spot examine,Whence the smoke is thus ascendingFilling all the air with vapour,If it be the smoke of combat,If it be the fire of battle."

Kauko went to gaze about him,And to learn whence smoke was rising,But it was not fire of battle,Neither was it fire of combat,But 'twas fire where ale was brewing,Likewise where the beer was brewing,Near where Sound of Sariola spreads,Out upon the jutting headland.

Then did Kauko gaze around him,And one eye he rolled obliquely,And he squinted with the other,And his mouth he pursed up slowly,And at last he spoke, while gazing,And across the sound he shouted,"O my dearest foster-mother,Pohjola's most gracious Mistress!Brew thou ale of extra goodness,Brew thou beer the best of any,For carousing at the mansion,Specially for Lemminkainen,At my wedding, now preparing,With thy young and lovely daughter."

Now the ale was quite fermented,And the drink of men was ripened,And the red ale stored they safely,And the good beer stored securely.Underneath the ground they stored it,Stored it in the rocky cellars,In the casks of oak constructed,And behind the taps of copper.

Then did Pohjola's old MistressAll the food provide for feasting,And the kettles all were singing,And the stewpans all were hissing,And large loaves of bread were baking,And she stirred great pots of porridge,Thus to feed the crowds of people,At the banquet at the mansion,At the mighty feast of Pohja,The carouse at Sariola dim.

Now the bread they baked was ready,And were stirred the pots of porridges,And a little time passed over,Very little time passed over,When the ale worked in the barrels,And the beer foamed in the cellars,"Now must some one come to drink me,Now must some one come to taste me,That my fame may be reported,And that they may sing my praises."

Then they went to seek a minstrel,Went to seek a famous singer,One whose voice was of the strongest,One who knew the finest legends.First to sing they tried a salmon,If the voice of trout was strongest;Singing is not work for salmon,And the pike recites no legends.Crooked are the jaws of salmon,And the teeth of pike spread widely.

Yet again they sought a singer,Went to seek a famous singer,One whose voice was of the strongest,One who knew the finest legends,And they took a child for singer,Thought a boy might sing the strongest.Singing is not work for children.Nor are splutterers fit for shouting.Crooked are the tongues of children,And the roots thereof are crooked.

Then the red ale grew indignant,And the fresh drink fell to cursing,Pent within the oaken barrels,And behind the taps of copper."If you do not find a minstrel,Do not find a famous singer,One whose voice is of the strongest,One who knows the finest legends,Then the hoops I'll burst asunder,And among the dust will trickle."

Then did Pohjola's old MistressSend the guests their invitations,Sent her messengers to journey,And she spoke the words which follow:"O my maid, of all the smallest,O my waiting-maid obedient,Call the people all together,To the great carouse invite them,Call the poor, and call the needy,Call the blind, and call the wretched,Call the lame, and call the cripples;In the boat row thou the blind men;Bring the lame ones here on horseback,And in sledges bring the cripples.

"Ask thou all the folk of Pohja,And of Kaleva the people:Ask the aged Väinämöinen,Greatest he of all the minstrels,Only ask not Lemminkainen,Ask not Ahti Saarelainen."

Then the maid, of all the smallest,Answered In the words which follow:"Wherefore ask not Lemminkainen,Only Ahti Saarelainen?"

Then did Pohjola's old Mistress,In these very words make answer:"Therefore ask not Kaukomieli,Not the reckless Lemminkainen.He is always quick to quarrel,And to fight is always ready.And at weddings works he mischief,And at banquets grievous scandal,Brings to shame the modest maidens,Clad in all their festive garments."

Then the maid, of all the smallest,Answered in the words which follow:"How shall I know KaukomieliThat I leave him uninvited?For I know not Ahti's dwelling,Nor the house of Kaukomieli."

Then did Pohjola's old Mistress,Answer in the words which follow:"Easy may you hear of Kauko,Learn of Ahti Saarelainen.Ahti dwells upon an island,Dwells the rascal near the water,Where the bay outspreads the broadest,At the curve of Kauko's headland."

Then the maid, of all the smallest,She the handmaid hired for money,Bid the guests from six directions,And in eight the news she carried;All she asked of Pohja's people,And of Kaleva the people,Of the householders the poorest,And the poorest clad amongst them,Only not the youth named Ahti,For she left him uninvited.