In the stone a crack perceiving,
In the rock some lines engraven,
Then he drew his sword from scabbard,
On the coloured stone he scraped it,
With the sharp point of his sword-blade,
With his gleaming blade he scraped it, 250
Till the stone in two divided,
And in three he quickly split it.
Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Looked into the stone all pictured;
Many serpents ale were drinking,
In the wort the snakes were writhing,
In the coloured stone were hiding,
In the cracks of liver-colour.
Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Uttered then the words that follow: 260
"Thus it is the hapless Mistress
Has so little ale acquired,
For the snakes the ale are drinking,
In the wort the snakes are writhing."
Off he cut the heads of serpents,
Broke the necks of all the serpents,
And he spoke the words which follow,
And in words like these expressed him:
"Never while the world existeth,
From this very day henceforward, 270
Let our ale by snakes be drunken,
And our malt-drink by the serpents."
Then the aged Väinämöinen,
He the great primeval sorcerer,
Sought with hands the doors to open,
And the bolts by spells to loosen,
But to hands the doors would yield not,
By his spells the bolts were moved not.
Then the aged Väinämöinen
Spoke his thoughts in words that follow: 280
"Man unarmed is weak as woman;
Weak as frog, without a hatchet."
And at once he wended homeward,
Head bowed down, in great vexation,
For the moon was not recovered,
Neither had the sun been captured.
Said the lively Lemminkainen,
"O thou aged Väinämöinen,
Wherefore didst forget to take me,
As your very trusty comrade? 290
I had brought the locks to creaking,
And the bars asunder broken,
And released the moon for shining,
And had raised the sun for shining."
Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words that follow:
"Unto spells the bolts will yield not,
And the locks my magic breaks not;
Strength of hands will never move them,
And no strength of arm will force them." 300
To the smith's forge then he wandered,
And he spoke the words which follow:
"O thou smith, O Ilmarinen,
Forge me now a mighty trident,
And a dozen hatchets forge me,
And a bunch of keys enormous,
From the stone the moon to rescue,
From the rock the sun deliver."
Thereupon smith Ilmarinen,
He the great primeval craftsman, 310
Forged the hero what he needed,
And a dozen hatchets forged him,
Forged a bunch of keys enormous,
And of spears a mighty bundle,
Not too large and not too little,
But of middle size he forged them.