Runo XXIV: The Departure of the Bride and Bridegroom

Now the girl had well been lectured,And the bride had been instructed;Let me now address my brother,Let me lecture now the bridegroom.

"Bridegroom, dearest of my brothers,Thou the best of all my brothers,Dearest of my mother's children,Gentlest of my father's children,Listen now to what I tell thee,What I speak and what I tell thee,Of thy linnet who awaits thee,And the dove that thou hast captured.

"Bridegroom, bless thy happy fortune,For the fair one granted to thee,When thou praisest, praise thou loudly,Loudly praise the good that's granted,Loudly praise thou thy Creator,For the gracious gift He granted,And her father praise thou also,Even more her mother praise thou,They who reared their lovely daughterTo the charming bride beside thee.

"Stainless sits the maid beside thee,Maiden bright to thee united,Pledged to thee in all her beauty,Fair one under thy protection,Charming girl upon thy bosom,At thy side so sweetly blushing,Girl with strength to help in threshing,Or to help thee in the hayfield,Skilful, too, to do the washing,Quick to bleach the clothes to whiteness,Skilful, too, the thread in spinning,Rapid, too, the cloth when weaving.

"And I hear her loom resounding,As upon the hill the cuckoo,And I see her shuttle darting,As the ermine through a thicket,And the reel she twists as quicklyAs the squirrel's mouth a fir-cone.Never sound has slept the village,Nor the country people slumbered,For her loom's incessant clatter,And the whizzing of the shuttle.

"O thou loved and youthful bridegroom,Handsomest of all the people,Forge thou now a scythe of sharpness,Fix the best of handles on it,Carve it, sitting in the doorway,Hammer it upon a tree-stump.When there comes the time of sunshine,Take thy young wife to the meadow,Look thou where the grass is rustling,And the harder grass is crackling,And the reeds are gently murmuring,And the sorrel gently rustling,Also note where stand the hillocks,And the shoots from stumps arising.

"When another day is dawning,Let her have a weaver's shuttle,And a batten that shall suit it,And a loom of best construction,And a treadle of the finest.Make the weaver's chair all ready,For the damsel fix the treadle,Lay her hand upon the batten.Soon the shuttle shall be singing,And the treadle shall be thumping,Till the rattling fills the village,And the noise is heard beyond it:And the crones will all perceive it,And the village women question,'Who is this we hear a-weaving?'And you thus must make them answer:''Tis my own, my darling, weaving,'Tis my loved one makes the clatter,Shall she loosen now the fabric,And the shuttle cease from throwing?'

"'Let her not the fabric loosen,Nor the shuttle cease from throwing.Thus may weave the Moon's fair daughters,Thus may spin the Sun's fair daughters,Even thus the Great Bear's daughters.Of the lovely stars the daughters.'

"O thou loved and youthful bridegroom,Handsomest of all the people,Set thou forth upon thy journey,Hasten to commence thy journey,Bear away thy youthful maiden,Bear away thy dove so lovely.From thy finch depart thou never,Nor desert thy darling linnet;In the ditches do not drive her,Nor against the hedge-stakes drive her,Nor upset her on the tree-stumps,Nor in stony places cast her.In her father's house she never,In her dearest mother's homestead,In the ditches has been driven,Nor against the hedge-stakes driven,Nor upset upon the tree-stumps,Nor upset in stony places.

"O thou loved and youthful bridegroom,Handsomest of all the people,Never may'st thou send the damsel,Never may'st thou push the fair oneIn the corner there to loiter,Or to rummage in the corner.In her father's house she never,Never in her mother's household,Went to loiter in the corner,Or to rummage in the corner.Always sat she at the window,In the room she sat, and rocked her,As her father's joy at evening,And her mother's love at morning.

"Never may'st thou, luckless husband,Never may'st thou lead thy dovekin,Where with arum-roots the mortar,Stands, the rind to pound from off them,Or her bread from straw prepare her,Neither from the shoots of fir-trees.In her father's house she never,In her tender mother's household,Needed thus to use the mortar,Pounding thus the rind from marsh-roots,Nor from straw her bread prepare her,Neither from the shoots of fir-tree.

"May'st thou always lead this dovekinTo a slope with corn abundant,Or to help her from the rye-bins,From the barley-bins to gather,Whence large loaves of bread to bake her,And the best of ale to brew her,Loaves of wheaten-bread to bake her,Kneaded dough for cakes prepare her.

"Bridegroom, dearest of my brothers,Never may'st thou make this dovekin,Nor may'st cause our tender gosling,Down to sit, and weep in sadness.If there comes an hour of evil,And the damsel should be drearyYoke thou in the sledge the chestnut,Or the white horse do thou harness,Drive her to her father's dwelling,To her mother's home familiar.

"Never may'st thou treat this dovekin,Never may this darling linnet,Ever be like slave-girl treated,Neither like a hired servant,Neither be forbid the cellar,Nor the storehouse closed against herNever in her father's dwelling,In her tender mother's household,Was she treated like a slave-girl,Neither like a hired servant,Neither was forbid the cellar,Nor the storehouse closed against her.Always did she cut the wheatbread,And the hens' eggs also looked to,And she looked to all the milk-tubs,Looked within the ale-casks likewise,In the morn the storehouse opened,Locked it also in the evening.

"O thou loved and youthful bridegroom,Handsomest of all the people,If thou treatest well the damsel,Thou wilt meet a good receptionWhen thou seek'st her father's dwelling,Visiting her much loved mother.Thou thyself wilt well be feasted,Food and drink be set before thee,And thy horse will be unharnessed,And be led into the stable,Drink and fodder set before him,And a bowl of oats provided.

"Never surely, may our damsel,May our well-beloved linnet,Be in hissing tones upbraided,That from no high race she springeth;For in very truth our damselComes of great and famous lineage.If of beans you sow a measureOne bean each, it yields her kinsfolk;If of flax you sow a measure,But a thread it yields to each one.

"Never may'st thou, luckless husband,Badly treat this beauteous damsel,Nor chastise her with the slave-whip,Weeping 'neath the thongs of leather,'Neath the five-lashed whip lamenting,Out beyond the barn lamenting.Never was the maid aforetime,Never in her father's dwelling,With the slave-whip e'er corrected,Weeping 'neath the thongs of leather,'Neath the five-lashed whip lamenting,Out beyond the barn lamenting.

"Stand thou like a wall before her,Stand before her like a doorpost,Do not let thy mother beat her,Do not let thy father scold her,Do not let the guests abuse her,Do not let the neighbours blame her.Drive the mob away with whipping,Beat thou other people only,Do thou not oppress thy darling,Nor chastise thy heart's beloved,Whom for three long years thou waitedst,She whom thou alone hast longed for.

"Bridegroom, give thy bride instruction,And do thou instruct thy apple,In the bed do thou instruct her,And behind the door advise her,For a whole year thus instruct her,Thus by word of mouth advise her,With thine eyes the next year teach her,And the third year teach by stamping.

"If to this she pays no heeding,Nor concerns herself about it,Choose a reed where reeds are growing,From the heath fetch thou some horse-tail,And with these correct the damsel,In the fourth year thus correct her,With the stalks then whip her lightly,With the rough edge of the sedges,But with whiplash do not strike her,Neither with the rod correct her.

"If to this she pays no heeding,Nor concerns herself about it,Bring a switch from out the thicket,In the dell select a birch-rod,Underneath thy fur cloak hide it,That the neighbours may not know it,Let the damsel only see it;Threaten her, but do not touch her.

"If to this she pays no heeding,Nor concerns herself about it,With the switch correct the damsel,With the birch-rod do thou teach her,But within the room four-cornered,Or within the hut moss-covered.Do not beat her in the meadow,Do not whip her in the cornfield,Lest the noise should reach the village,And to other homes the quarrel,Neighbours' wives should hear the crying,And the uproar in the forest.

"Always strike her on the shoulders,On her soft cheeks do thou strike her,On her eyes forbear to strike her,On her ears forbear to touch her;Lumps would rise upon her temples,And her eyes with blue be bordered,And the brother-in-law would question,And the father-in-law perceive it,And the village ploughmen see it,And would laugh the village women:

"'Has she been among the spear-thrusts,Has she marched into a battle,Or the mouth of wolf attacked her,Or the forest bear has mauled her,Or was perhaps the wolf her husband,Was the bear perchance her consort?'"By the stove there lay an old man,By the hearth there sat a beggar;From the stove there spoke the old man,From the hearth there spoke the beggar.

"Never may'st thou, luckless husband,Listen to thy wife's opinion,Tongue of lark, and whim of women,Like myself, a youth unhappy,For both bread and meat I bought her,Bought her butter, ale I bought her,Every sort of fish I bought her,Bought her all sorts of provisions,Home-brewed ale the best I bought her,Likewise wheat from foreign countries.

"But she let it not content her,Nor did it improve her temper,For one day the room she entered,And she grasped my hair, and tore it,And her face was quite distorted,And her eyes were wildly rolling,Always scolding in her fury,To her heart's contentment scolding,Heaping foul abuse upon me,Roaring at me as a sluggard.

"But I knew another method,Knew another way to tame her,So I peeled myself a birch-shoot,When she came, and called me birdie;But when juniper I gathered,Then she stooped, and called me darling;When I lifted rods of willow,On my neck she fell embracing."

Now the hapless girl was sighing,Sighing much, and sobbing sadly;Presently she broke out weeping,And she spoke the words which follow:"Soon most now depart the others,And the time is fast approaching,But my own departure's nearer,Swiftly comes my time for parting.Mournful is indeed my going,Sad the hour of my departure,From this far-renowned village,And this ever-charming homestead,Where my face was ever joyful,And I grew to perfect stature,All the days that I was growing,While my childhood's years were passing.

"Until now I never pondered,Nor believed in all my lifetime,Never thought on my departure,Realized my separation,From the precincts of this castle,From the hill where it is builded.Now I feel I am departing,And I know that I am going.Empty are the parting goblets,And the ale of parting finished,And the sledges all are waiting,Front to fields, and back to homestead,With one side towards the stables,And the other to the cowhouse.

"Whence comes now my separation,Whence my sadness at departure,How my mother's milk repay her.Or the goodness of my father,Or my brother's love repay him,Or my sister's fond affection?

"Thanks to thee, my dearest father,For my former life so joyful,For the food of days passed over,For the best of all the daintiesThanks to thee, my dearest mother,For my childhood's cradle-rocking,For thy tending of the infant,Whom thou at thy breast hast nurtured.

"Also thanks, my dearest brother,Dearest brother, dearest sister,Happiness to all the household,All companions of my childhood,Those with whom I lived and sported,And who grew from childhood with me.

"May thou not, O noble father,May thou not, O tender mother,Or my other noble kindred,Or my race, the most illustrious,Ever fall into affliction,Or oppressed by grievous trouble,That I thus desert my country,That I wander to a distance.Shines the sun of the Creator,Beams the moon of the Creator,And the stars of heaven are shining,And the Great Bear is extendedEver in the distant heavens,Evermore in other regions,Not alone at father's homestead,In the home where passed my childhood.

"Truly must I now be partedFrom the home I loved so dearly,From my father's halls be carried,From among my mother's cellars,Leave the swamps and fields behind me,Leave behind me all the meadows,Leave behind the sparkling waters,Leave the sandy shore behind me,Where the village women bathe them,And the shepherd-boys are splashing.

"I must leave the quaking marshes,And the wide-extending lowlands,And the peaceful alder-thickets,And the tramping through the heather,And the strolling past the hedgerows,And the loitering on the pathways,And my dancing through the farmyards,And my standing by the house-walls,And the cleaning of the planking,And the scrubbing of the flooring,Leave the fields where leap the reindeer,And the woods where run the lynxes,And the wastes where flock the wild geese,And the woods where birds are perching.

"Now indeed I am departing,All the rest I leave behind me;In the folds of nights of autumn,On the thin ice of the springtime,On the ice I leave no traces,On the slippery ice no footprints,From my dress no thread upon it,Nor in snow my skirt's impression.

"If I should return in future,And again my home revisit,Mother hears my voice no longer,Nor my father heeds my weeping,Though I'm sobbing in the corner,Or above their heads am speaking,For the young grass springs alreadyAnd the juniper is sproutingO'er the sweet face of my mother,And the cheeks of her who bore me.

"If I should return in futureTo the wide-extended homestead,I shall be no more remembered,Only by two little objects.At the lowest hedge are hedge-bands,At the furthest field are hedge-stakes,These I fixed when I was little,As a girl with twigs I bound them.

"But my mother's barren heifer,Unto which I carried water,And which as a calf I tended,She will low to greet my coming,From the dunghill of the farmyard,Or the wintry fields around it;She will know me, when returning,As the daughter of the household.

"Then my father's splendid stallion,Which I fed when I was little,Which as girl I often foddered,He will neigh to greet my coming,From the dunghill of the farmyard,Or the wintry fields around it;He will know me, when returning,As the daughter of the household.

"Then the dog, my brother's favouriteWhich as child I fed so often,Which I trained when in my girlhood,He will bark to greet my coming,From the dunghill of the farmyard,Or the wintry fields around it;He will know me, when returning,As the daughter of the household.

"But the others will not know me,To my former home returning,Though my boats are still the old ones,As when here I lived aforetime,By the shores where swim the powans,And the nets are spread as usual.

"Now farewell, thou room beloved,Thou my room, with roof of boarding;Good it were for me returning,That I once again should scrub thee.

"Now farewell, thou hall beloved,Thou my hall, with floor of boarding;Good it were for me returning,That I once again should scrub thee.

"Now farewell, thou yard beloved,With my lovely mountain-ashtree;Good it were for me returning,Once again to wander round thee.

"Now farewell to all things round me,Berry-bearing fields and forests,And the flower-bearing roadsides,And the heaths o'ergrown with heather,And the lakes with hundred islands,And the depths where swim the powans,And the fair hills with the fir-trees,And the swampy ground with birch-trees."

Then the smith, e'en Ilmarinen,In the sledge the maiden lifted,With his whip he lashed the coursers,And he spoke the words which follow:"Now farewell to all the lakeshores,Shores of lakes, and slopes of meadows,All the pine-trees on the hill-sides,And the tall trees in the firwoods,And behind the house the alders,And the junipers by well-sides,In the plains, all berry-bushes,Berry-bushes, stalks of grasses,Willow-bushes, stumps of fir-trees,Alder-leaves, and bark of birch-trees!"

Thus at length, smith IlmarinenForth from Pohjola departed,With the children farewells singing,And they sang the words which follow:

"Hither flew a bird of blackness,Through the wood he speeded swiftly,Well he knew to lure our duckling,And entice from us our berry,And he took from us our apple,Drew the fish from out the water,Lured her with a little money,And enticed her with his silver.Who will fetch us now the water,Who will take us to the river?

"Now remain the buckets standing,And the yoke is idly rattling,And the floor unswept remaineth,And unswept remains the planking,Empty now are all the pitchers,And the jugs two-handled dirty."

But the smith, e'en Ilmarinen,With the young girl hastened homeward,Driving rattling on his journey,From the magic coast of Pohja,By the shore of Sound of Sima.On he drove across the sandhills,Shingle crashed, and sand was shaking,Swayed the sledge, the pathway rattled,Loudly rang the iron runners,And the frame of birch resounded,And the curving laths were rattling,Shaking was the cherry collar,And the whiplash whistling loudly,And the rings of copper shaking,As the noble horse sprang forward,As the White-front galloped onward.

Drove the smith one day, a second,Driving likewise on the third day;With one hand the horse he guided,And with one embraced the damsel,One foot on the sledge-side rested,Underneath the rug the other.Quick they sped, and fast they journeyed,And at length upon the third dayJust about the time of sunset,Hove in sight the smith's fair dwellingAnd they came to Ilma's homestead,And the smoke in streaks ascended,And the smoke rose thickly upward,From the house in wreaths arising,Up amid the clouds ascending.