Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Then began to weep full sorely.
Thereupon his horse he harnessed,
In the sledge he yoked the chestnut,210
On the sledge himself he mounted,
And upon the seat he sat him.
O'er the horse his whip he brandished,
With the bead-decked whip he lashed him.
And the horse sped quickly onward.
Rocked the sledge, the way grew shorter,
And they quickly reached a village,
Where the path in three divided.
Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Drove along the lowest pathway,220
To the lowest of the homesteads,
And he asked upon the threshold,
"Is there no one in this household,
Who can cure the wounds of iron.
Who can soothe the hero's anguish,
And can heal the wound that pains him?"
On the floor a child was playing,
By the stove a boy was sitting,
And he answered him in this wise:
"There is no one in this household230
Who can heal the wounds of iron,
Who can soothe the hero's anguish,
To the rock can fix it firmly,
And can heal the wound that pains him.
Such may dwell in other houses:
Drive away to other houses."
Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
O'er the horse his whip then brandished,
And the sledge went rattling onward.
Thus a little way he travelled,240
On the midmost of the pathways,
To the midmost of the houses,
And he asked upon the threshold,
And beseeching at the window,
"Is there no one in this household,
Who can heal the wounds of iron,
Who can stanch the blood when flowing,
And can check the rushing bloodstream?"
'Neath the quilt a crone was resting,
By the stove there sat a gossip,250
And she spoke and answered plainly,
As her three teeth gnashed together,
"There is no one in this household,
Who can heal the wounds of iron,
None who knows efficient blood-spells,
And can close the wound that pains you.
Such may dwell in other houses:
Drive away to other houses."
Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
O'er the horse his whip then brandished,260
And the sledge went rattling onward.
Thus a little way he travelled,
On the highest of the pathways,
To the highest of the houses,
And he asked upon the threshold,
Calling from beside the doorpost,
"Is there any in this household,
Who can heal the wounds of iron,
Who can check this rushing bloodstream,
And can stay the dark red torrent?"270
By the stove an old man rested,
On the stove-bed lay a greybeard,
From the stove the old man mumbled,
And the greybeard cried in answer,
"Stemmed before were greater torrents,
Greater floods than this were hindered,
By three words of the Creator,
By the mighty words primeval.
Brooks and streams were checked from flowing;
Mighty streams in cataracts falling,280
Bays were formed in rocky headlands,
Tongues of land were linked together."