Mure ja lein (Sorrow and Mourning)
These eight poems come from M. J. Eisen's 1919 anthology of Estonian folk songs, gathered from the oral tradition of the 19th century. They belong to the mure ja lein (sorrow and mourning) section of the regilaul — the trochaic runo-song tradition that runs from the Gulf of Finland to the Karelian uplands. The register is cold, direct, domestic: grief measured in cups, mourning in the bread eaten; tears becoming wells and springs and rivers.
The eight songs circle the same figures: the widow, the orphan, the servant-child, the person without kin. Each variation on abandonment produces its own imagery. Where the Finnish regilaul tends toward myth and cosmogony, the Estonian lament tends toward the household: the oven-side, the gate, the threshold. Love steps out the window as the body is carried out the door.
Matthias Johann Eisen (1857–1934) was the foremost Estonian folklorist of his era, the counterpart of Lönnrot in Finland. His Eesti rahwalaulud (Estonian Folk Songs, 1919) assembled texts from oral tradition across the Estonian-speaking lands. These mourning songs are presented here in their first complete English translation.
I. Ma vaene mure Mareta
I, poor sorrowful Mareta
I, poor sorrowful Mareta,
little bird of mourning and care,
I sit on the hill of grief
at the bank of the well of sorrow,
little hat of grief upon my head,
little apron of care before me.
The mouth sings, the heart grieves.
The cheeks release their waves,
the brows drip water,
the eyes roll water,
from the eyes it rolls to the breast,
from the breast it rolls to the knees,
from there it falls down to the ground—
then becomes a river flowing,
the village wells overflowing,
then the village cattle can drink,
even the cattle of Viru can drink,
from my poor tears,
from the wide waves of the cheeks,
from the golden drip of the brow.
Whence has grief come to me,
cares swum to the child,
mourning glided to the daughter,
sorrow poured onto the heel?
Last year I drank the grief-cup,
the year before, the care-tub,
this year I ate the mourning-bread,
the mourning-bread, the sorrow-cake.
What does my grief avail me?
The long carrying of cares,
the mourning for the little leaf.
Where does my father not worry,
where does my mother not worry,
two brothers carry their care!
Grief is mine, nothing else,
care is mine, not even a horse,
loss is mine, I have no cattle.
I would put out these fiery eyes,
I would sleep with a honeyed mind—
grief does not let me sleep,
care does not let sleep come,
torn mind cannot stretch out,
grief-mind cannot yawn,
grief heats beneath the shoulders,
presses beneath the blanket,
care burns in the breast,
mourning spreads through the bed.
If this grief were others' knowledge,
care before others' eyes,
damage for others' necks to bear—
what is known to myself alone
could be carried on a black horse,
rocked to sleep in a small basket.
What does my grief avail me?
I grieve, I break my mind,
I repent, I snap my neck,
I tear my thin hair,
I flatten the honey-colored locks,
I break the gold-colored ones.
II. Mitu halba?
How many ills?
How many ills in the world?
Five are the ills in the world:
one is a son without a father,
second a daughter without a mother,
third ill: the servant-child,
fourth ill: the poor orphan,
fifth ill: the widow.
Where a fatherless son weeps,
there a well is dug.
Where a motherless daughter weeps,
there a spring wells up.
Where the servant-child weeps,
there a small pond forms.
Where the poor child weeps,
there a small lake remains.
But where the widow weeps—
there a river flows!
III. Lese kaebus
The Widow's Lament
Oh I, poor widow,
widow, mourning bird,
weeping-slave, corner bird,
pain-slave, wretched bird!
Do not push me from the house,
from the house and in front of the house,
from the gate, from the field,
from the yard, from the place of fortune.
So the poor widow
is like a field without a fence—
all the sheep crowd in,
the herd presses in,
seeking the young grain,
testing all the tender shoots.
So the poor widow
is like a room without a roof—
all the rains rain down upon her,
all the showers shower upon her.
Oh I, poor wretched bird,
weeping-slave, sighing bird.
Myself I must sustain,
alone I must quench sorrow.
The leaves fly from the birches,
fall from the aspens,
come down from the maples,
scatter from the ashes,
draw back from the oaks,
rustle from the elms,
the cone drops from the spruces—
my feast does not heal,
my life does not rise.
The days of woe do not diminish,
the mourning-days do not end!
IV. Peretütar ja vaenelaps
The Family's Daughter and the Orphan
The family's daughter, the little maiden,
sits on the beauty-hill,
beauty-gloves in her hands,
beautiful pattern in the gloves.
She eats wheat bread and pig fat—
yet pale blue around the eyes,
yet yellowed around the ears.
She spins all the summer days,
treads the wheel all the winter days,
wool in summer, tow in winter,
easy flax in spring.
She gets no shirt for a mosquito,
no rag for a horsefly,
no golden cloth even for a flea.
Oh, that poor servant-child,
she sits on the grief-hill,
grief-gloves in her hands,
grief-pattern in the gloves.
She eats cow-parsnip from the bush,
water-weed from the alder-spring—
yet rosy from the cow-parsnip,
yet clear-eyed.
She spins and spins in the spring,
she gets a shirt for a mosquito,
a rag for a horsefly,
golden cloth even for a flea,
and fine cloth for the master.
V. Vaenelaps
The Orphan
I, the village orphan,
end-of-the-road servant-child—
who redeemed me from servitude,
freed me from the manor-days,
ransomed me from the snow-mud,
from the hands of the snow-lumps?
God redeemed me from servitude,
freed me from the manor-days,
ransomed me from the snow-mud,
from the hands of the snow-lumps.
Where does the sorrowful have their home,
where does the grieving have their place?
Where the winds have made a house,
rain has mossy'd the walls.
Mother was carried to the threshold,
love was driven to the oven's side.
Mother was carried out the door,
love stepped out the window.
Mother was carried along the road,
love stepped along the garden path.
Mother was carried to the grave's edge,
love stepped behind the grave.
As mother was dug into the grave,
love stood at the grave's edge.
Mother was lowered down into the grave,
love went down into the grave.
Dear mother, sweet one,
you left me in the uncles' care,
you left me in the aunts' keeping.
The uncle doesn't care anyway,
the aunt doesn't notice anyway.
Dear mother, sweet one,
you left me for the world to adorn,
left me for the parish to rule.
The world adorns my weeping,
the parish prepares my suffering.
Where I sit, the seat is wet,
where I stand, the wall is wet.
There forms a small pond,
there slopes a small well,
there remains a small lake.
There the village cattle can drink,
the village foals can frolic,
the village horses can swim—
in my long tears,
in the poor child's eye-water!
VI. Isata, emata
Without father, without mother
Oh I, fatherless child,
oh I, motherless child,
poor child without parents!
I search the world for a father,
I search the world for a mother,
one to warm me from below the world,
one to save me from above the world.
From above, the Father calls out,
from the earth, the Fate-giver speaks:
Do not strike the poor child,
the poor child, the widow.
The poor one weeps without being struck,
the widow without having eaten,
wanders without being beaten,
whimpers without a rod being taken,
cries out without a staff touching them.
I was left alone to cry,
to call the chicken-chick to the rock,
to stand with the flaxseed.
I have no one to give me grace,
no one to stroke my head.
The wind comes and gives grace,
the sun strokes my head by day.
For hours is the wind's grace.
For a lifetime is a mother's grace.
VII. Orjalaps
The Servant Child
Oh I, poor servant-child,
left-behind little berry.
No father to protect me,
no mother to give me love.
No little brother rolling on the meadow,
no sister greeting me in the evening,
no relative wishing me well,
no neighbor making peace.
My dear mother went to the grave,
my dear father was lost in the cairn.
My brother fell in war-death,
my sister yellowed to plague.
My aunt ended by fever,
my uncle in misfortune's hands,
my cousin died in mourning.
The master is very cruel,
the mistress too strict,
the master's daughter a fire-rake,
the master's son much worse!
The yard-dog has a better lot,
the herding-bench a lighter feast—
lighter feast, easier life
than that poor servant-child,
unprotected, left so long.
Oh I, fatherless child,
oh I, motherless child,
poor child without parents!
Everyone says of me:
Strike that one—the fatherless!
Strike that one—the motherless!
Poor child without parents,
no acquaintance for support,
no own-kin for help!
VIII. Üksi jäin
I was left alone
I was left alone, fatherless,
I was left alone, motherless,
I was left alone to cry,
to call the chicken-chick to the rock,
to call the young pike to the bush,
to call the cuckoo between the stumps.
I was left: an egg on the meadow,
I was left: a ball of yarn on the stubble-field,
I was left: an apple on the yard.
The egg does not spoil the meadow,
the ball does not spoil the stubble-field,
the apple does not spoil the yard.
The egg is beautiful on the meadow,
the apple is round in the yard.
Yet always I am desolate,
always I am sorrowful,
many times my mind is sad.
To whom do I complain, to whom do I cry?
To whom do I tell my sad mind,
to whom do I mourn the aching,
to whom do I roll my anger?
I complain to the globe-flowers.
I mourn to the meadowsweet.
I weep to the young grass.
The globe-flowers yellow,
the meadowsweet greys,
the young grass bows down—
in my golden complaining,
and constant mourning,
in the drying of the clear eyes.
Colophon
Estonian Death Songs — Traditional Verses: Mure ja lein (Sorrow and Mourning) is the fifth section of Eesti rahwalaulud (Estonian Folk Songs), compiled by Matthias Johann Eisen (1857–1934) and published in 1919. The eight poems gathered here come from the oral tradition of the Estonian regilaul (runo-song) — the same trochaic octosyllabic tradition as the Finnish Kalevala — and represent the mourning register of that tradition: widow, orphan, servant-child, the person left without kin in a world that recognizes only kin.
Translator's notes: In poem VI ("Isata, emata"), the figure Määrija ("the Fate-giver") is a folk deity of uncertain identification — possibly the female aspect of the divine, possibly a folk reflex of the Virgin Mary, possibly an independent fate-goddess. The name derives from määrima (to ordain, to smear/anoint) and määr (measure, fate). It is rendered here as "the Fate-giver." The proper name Mareta in poem I is preserved from the source; it is a diminutive form of Maret (Margaret), common in Estonian folk poetry as a generic female speaker-figure. Kullerkupud (globe-flowers, Trollius europaeus) and angervaksad (meadowsweet, Filipendula ulmaria) are familiar summer wildflowers in the Estonian landscape.
Blood Rule statement: This translation was produced independently from the Estonian source text. No public-domain English translation of Eisen's Eesti rahwalaulud exists. All Estonian-language folk scholars and translators known to the archive (Korb, Labi, et al.) are under copyright. This is the first English translation of these poems.
Translated from Estonian for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026. Translator: Wataru (渡), iron-age pool, Translator Life 1.
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Source Text: Mure ja lein (Sorrow and Mourning)
Estonian source text from M. J. Eisen, Eesti rahwalaulud (1919), Section V: Mure ja lein, pages 126–134. Transcribed from the digitized original at archive.org (identifier: eestirahwalaulud00eiseuoft). Old orthography preserved: w = v. Presented here for reference, study, and verification alongside the English translation above.
I. Ma vaene mure Mareta
Ma vaene mure Mareta,
Leinahoole linnukene,
Ma istun muremäella,
Hoolekaevu kaldaalla,
Muremütsike peassa,
Hoolepõlleke eessa.
Suu laulab, süda muretseb.
Paled laineteid lasevad,
Kulmud vetta kukutavad,
Silmad vetta veeretavad;
Silmist veereb rindadele,
Rinnult veereb põlvedele,
Sealt maha maa peale,
Saab siis jõgi jooksemaie,
Külakaevud kallamaie,
Siis saab küla karjal juua,
Virumaagi veistel juua,
Minu vaese silmaveesta,
Pale laia lainetesta,
Kulmu kulla tilkeesta.
Kust on mure mulle tulnud,
Hooli lapsele ujunud,
Leina liugund tütarele,
Kahju kallanud kannale?
Mullu jõin murekarika,
Tunamullu hooletoobi,
Tänavu sõin leinaleiva,
Leinaleiva, kahjukaku.
Mis maksab minu muregi,
Kaua hoole kandemine,
Lehekese leinamine.
Kus ep mu isa muretse,
Kus ep mu ema muretse,
Vennad kaksi kanna hoolta!
Muret mulla, ega muuda,
Hoolta mulla, ega hoosta,
Kahju mulla, mul pole karja,
Tukuksin tuliseid silmi,
Magaksin mesise meele,
Ei lase mure magada.
Hool ei unda uinutada,
Rive meel ei ringuteda.
Hoole meel ei haigutada,
Mure kütab kulle alla.
Pakitab palaka alla,
Hooli põuessa põletab,
Leina lehib voodirssa.
Oleks see mure muude teada,
Hooli muude otsa eessa,
Kahi muude kaela kanda.
Mis on mu enese teada,
Muret saaks mustalla vedada,
Korvikesel kõigutada.
Mis maksab minu muregi?
Muretsen mina, murran meele,
Kahetsen mina, katkun kaela,
Rudjun nigejed juukseida.
Vaotan meevahaseid,
Katkun kullakarvalisi!
II. Mitu halba?
Mitu halba ilma pealla?
Viis on halba ilma pealla:
Üks on poeg ilma isata,
Teine tütar, kes emata.
Kolmas halba orjakene,
Neljas halba vaene lapsi.
Viies halba leskinaine.
Kus nutab poega isata,
Sinna kaevu kaevatakse.
Kus nutab tütar emata,
Sinna allikas aruneb.
Kussa nutab orjakene,
Sinna tehaks tiigikene,
Kussa nutab vaene lapsi,
Sinna jäänud järvekene.
Kus aga nutab leskinaine,
Sinna jookseb jõekene!
III. Lese kaebus
Oh ma vaene leskinaine,
Leskinaine, leinalindu,
Nutuorja, nurgalindu,
Valuorja, vaevalindu!
Ära mind toast tõugatie,
Toasta ja toa eesta,
Väravalta, vainuulta,
Õue pealta, õnnemaalta.
Nõnda vaene leskinaine
Kui see väli on aiata.
Kõik lambad sisse laduvad,
Kari sisse kalluteleb,
Orasida otsimaie,
Kõiki napru katsumaie.
Nõnda vaene leskinaine
Kui see tuba katuseta,
Kõik vihmad peale vihuvad,
Kõik sajud peale sajavad.
Oh ma vaene vaevalindu,
Nutuorja, õhkelindu.
Ennast pean elatama,
Üksi kurbust kustutama.
Lehed lendvad leppadesta,
Kadunevad kaskedelta,
Alanevad haabadesta,
Varisevad vahterista,
Taganevad tammedesta,
Sahisevad saaredesta,
Käbi kukub kuuskedesta,
Ei minu pidu ei parane,
Ei minu elu ei ülene.
Vähene ei vaevapäevad,
Lõpe otsa leinapäevad!
IV. Peretütar ja vaenelaps
Peretütar, neitsikene,
Istub seal ilumäella,
Ilukindaad käessa,
Kiri kinnastes ilusa.
Sööb saia, sia libada,
Siiski silmista sinine,
Kõrva äärest kolletanud.
Kedrab kedrust suised päevad,
Tallab vokki talvsed päevad,
Suvel villu, talvel takku,
Kevadel linu lahedaid.
Ei saa särki sääselegi,
Palakada parmulegi,
Kirbule ei kulle riiet.
Oh seda vaesta orjalasta,
Istub seal mure mäella.
Mure kindaad käessa.
Mure kiri kinnastessa,
Sööb aga putka põõsa aita,
Vesinaata lepi kusta,
Siiski putkella punane,
Siiski silmista sileda.
Kedrab, kedrab kevadella,
Saab aga särki sääselegi,
Palakada parmulegi,
Kirbulegi kulle riiet,
Peremehel peenta riiet.
V. Vaenelaps
Mina valla vaenelapsi,
Käia otsas orjakene.
Kes mind ostis orjusesta,
Päästis mõisa päevadesta,
Lunastas lume saosta,
Lumekäkkide käesta?
Jumal mind ostis orjusesta,
Päästis mõisa päevadesta,
Lunastas lume saosta,
Lumekäkkide käesta.
Kus on kurvalla kõduda
Ja on halajalla aseda?
Kus on tuuled teinud toa,
Sadu sammeldanud seinad.
Ema viidi läve poole,
Armud aeti ahju kõrva.
Ema viidi uksest välja,
Armud astsid aknast välja,
Ema viidi teeda mööda,
Armud astsid aeda mööda.
Ema viidi haua äärde,
Armud astsid haua taha,
Ema hauda kaevatessa,
Armud seisid haua ääres,
Ema lasti alla hauda,
Armud läksid haua alla.
Emakene, heldekene,
Jätsid mind onude hoolde,
Jätsid mind tädide teada.
Onu ei hooli ometigi,
Tädi ei pane tähelegi.
Emakene, heldekene,
Jätsid mind ilma ehitada,
Jätsid valla valitseda.
Ilm see ehib minu ikku,
Valda valmistab mu vaeva.
Kus ma istun, iste märga,
Kus ma seisan, seina märga.
Sinna tekib tiigikene,
Sinna kaldub kaevukene,
Sinna jääb järvekene.
Seal saab küla karjal juua,
Küla varsul vallatada,
Küla hobustel ujuda
Minu pikist pisarista,
Waese lapse silmaveesta!
VI. Isata, emata
Oh mina isata lapsi,
Oh mina emata lapsi,
Vanemata vaene lapsi!
Otsin ilmalta isada,
Otsin ilmalta emada,
Aita ilma haudujada,
Pealta ilma päästijada.
Ülevelt aga hüüab Isa,
Maalta Määrija kõneleb:
Ärge lööge vaesta lasta,
Vaesta lasta, leski naista.
Vaene nutab löömatagi,
Leski naine söömatagi,
Hulub ilma hoobitagi,
Vingub vitsa võttemata,
Karjub kaika katsumata.
Üksi jäin mina hüüdemaie,
Kanapoega karjumaie,
Linaseeme seisamaie.
Mul pole armuandijada,
Ei ole pea silitajat.
Tuleb tuuli, annab armu,
Päeva mu pea silitab.
Tundideks on tuule armu,
Eluajaks eide armu.
VII. Orjalaps
Oh ma vaene orjalapsi,
Mahajäänud marjakene,
Ei ole isa kaitsemassa,
Ema armu andemassa.
Vennakest ei veere vainul,
Õde õhtul teretamas,
Sugulast ei soovitamas,
Ligemist ei lepitamas.
Hauda läks mul eidekene,
Kalmu kadus taadikene.
Sõjasurma suikus veli,
Sõsar katkule kolletas.
Tädi taudilla lõpetas,
Onu õnnetuse kätte,
Lelle suri leinadesse.
Peremees on väga kuri,
Perenaine liiga vali,
Peretütar tuleharki,
Perepoega palju pahem!
Õuekoeral parem põli,
Karjapenil kergem pidu,
Kergem pidu, hõlpsam elu
Kui seal vaesel orjalapsel
Kaitsemata kauakesel.
Oh mina isata lapsi,
Oh mina emata lapsi,
Vanemata vaene lapsi!
Igaüks minusta ütleb:
Lööge seda, see isata,
Lööge seda, see emata,
Vanemata vaene lapsi,
Ei ole tuttawat toeksi,
Ei ole omasta abiksi!
VIII. Üksi jäin
Üksi jäin mina isata,
Üksi jäin mina emata,
Üksi jäin mina hüüdemaie,
Kanapoega kaljumaie,
Püüpoega põõsaasse,
Kägu kändude vahele.
Üksi jäin muna murule,
Üksi jäin kera kesale,
Üksi õuna õue peale;
Ei muna muruda riku,
Ei kera kesada riku,
Õun ei riku õuekesta.
Muna on murule ilusa,
Õun on õues ümmargune.
Ikka on minul igava,
Alati minul haleda,
Mitu korda meeli kurba;
Kellel kiirdan, kellel kaeban,
Kellel kurdan kurbad meeled,
Kellel haigeda halatsen,
Kellel vihad veeretaksin?
Kiirdan kullerkuppudele,
Halan angervaksadele,
Nutan noorele rohule;
Kullerkupud kolletavad,
Angervaksad hallitavad,
Rohi noori norus seisab
Minu kulla kurtadessa,
Ja aina halatsedessa,
Silmi selgeid pühkidessa.
Source Colophon
Source: M. J. Eisen, Eesti rahwalaulud (1919), Section V: Mure ja lein (pp. 126–134). Digitized by the University of Toronto and hosted at the Internet Archive (identifier: eestirahwalaulud00eiseuoft). Publication date: 1919, Tallinn: G. Pihlaka. Public domain. OCR quality: moderate; double-spacing of characters in places. Source text above has been lightly corrected for clear OCR artifacts (e.g., restoring v where OCR printed w in clearly modern-usage words; restoring missing vowels; page numbers and headers removed).
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