If you’d eat, my lad, you must help yourself,
Fetch your rations raw from the wood and stream,
Split your own fir-roots[[[58]] and light your own fire,
Bustle around, and arrange and prepare things.
Would you clothe yourself warmly, you must stalk your deer;
Would you found you a house, you must quarry the stones;
Would you build up its walls, you must fell the logs,
And shoulder them all to the building-place.—
[His axe sinks down; he gazes straight in
front of him.