from Eesti rahwalaulud, compiled by M.J. Eisen (1919)

These eight songs are drawn from Section IV of M.J. Eisen's 1919 anthology of Estonian folk poetry: Perekonna elu — Family Life. Where the mythological songs of Section I tell of the creation of the world and the cosmological songs of Section VI chart the turning of the seasons, these family songs chart the inner landscape of the Estonian household. They are not cosmic — they are intimate. They record the love between parent and child, the grief of homecoming when the parents are dead, the fury of the stepmother, the tenderness of the true mother, the debt that can never be repaid, and the deathbed counsel of a father who knows his daughters will walk the roads alone.

The central poem — "Oma ja võõras" (Own and Stranger) — is one of the most emotionally powerful songs in the entire collection. It builds a devastating parallel: when the child comes home to the true mother, the parent calls her a golden bird, sets out a seat and bread, and says "Cut yourself bread, little child — you come from the field exhausted." When the child comes home to the stepmother, the parent calls her a wicked bird, removes the seat, snatches the knife, and curses: "Eat blue stones down your throat, toads on top of your lungs." The parallelism is not decorative — it is the regilaul tradition's essential architecture, the art of saying the same thing twice, differently, so that the contrast reveals what neither version could say alone.

The section closes with "Sõbrad" (Friends), a quiet poem that begins in nostalgia — "Do you remember last year, the year before, where we ate butter and drank mead?" — and ends in myth: where they ate and drank, a butter-forest has grown, a golden wilderness, a silver sacred grove. In it three cuckoos sing, and they are three poor orphans. The transformation from memory into myth is the deepest movement in Estonian folk poetry — the dead do not stay dead; they become landscape.

Eisen's collection has never been translated into English. These translations are independently derived from the Estonian source text drawn from the archive.org digitization (identifier: eestirahwalaulud00eiseuoft). No prior English translation is known.

Oma ja võõras — Own and Stranger

When I was before my own mother,
Before my mother, before my father —
When they heard me coming home,
Coming down to the field below,
Singing on the open ground —
Then my tender mother
And my wise father
Began to speak sweetly,
To murmur softly,
To reason lovingly:
"Listen — there sings the golden bird,
There chirps the gentle bird,
There coos the bright little hen!
Run, child, hurry, child,
Take the bolt from the gate,
The locks from the door-irons,
Set a seat before her,
Set a knife upon the table!"

She set food upon the table,
Set bread upon the table,
A knife at the corner of the table:
"Cut yourself bread, little child —
You come from the field exhausted,
Wearied from your labour,
The sweat dried on your brow!"

My own mother was a mother,
My own father was a father —
She bade me take butter-bread,
Take strength from the chest,
Endurance from under the lid.
I took butter — it did not lessen,
I tried the fish — it did not shrink.
I ate the fish
That came playing up the hill,
That came leaping to the shore,
That came sporting into the boat.
Father blamed the mouse,
Mother blamed the cat —
I myself was the little mouse,
The two-legged kitten.

But when I came before the stranger —
The stranger cruel, the stranger harsh,
The stranger pitiless and envious —
When she heard me coming home,
Coming down to the field below,
Singing on the open ground,
Then that stranger, that vile old woman,
Began to shout her curses,
To snarl her venom:
"Listen — there caws the wicked bird,
There wails the woeful bird,
There chirps the lazy bird!
Run, son, hurry, son,
Put the bolt into the gate,
The locks into the door-irons.
Home comes the great eater,
The great eater, the great drinker,
Who carries the gold to the village,
Who gorges everything into her belly,
Stuffs everything into her gut,
Leaves not a crumb.
Take the seat from before her,
Take the ladle from the kettle,
Take the knife from the table!"
She feared to let me sit,
Feared to let me cut bread.
She lifted the broth scolding,
Gave food with her jaws snapping:
"Eat blue stones down your throat,
Toads on top of your lungs,
Sickness beneath your lungs!"
Now I ate that fish
That had long since gone moldy,
That had mushroomed by the wall,
Where the hens had been scratching,
The swallows had built their nests,
The beetles had laid their eggs,
The ants had swarmed inside!

Kui kooleb ära isake — When Father Dies

When father dies,
Half the home dies with him.
When mother dies,
The home dies completely!
So long there is a home to visit
As father lives,
As mother lives.
Then we visit three times a month,
A hundred times a year.
When the parents have sunk away,
When father is dead, when mother is dead —
You cannot come home once a year,
Three times in three years.

Seldom I went to my own,
Rarely I turned toward my brothers.
The horse stopped at the mouth of the stream,
The steed balked at the cattle-path.
I could not find the door —
The gates had been taken down,
The cattle-path had overgrown.

I reached the threshold of father's house.
I went inside to look.
My brother's wife, that dear woman,
Cried to her sons:
"Set the dogs upon her,
The curs to tear her,
The lions to rip her apart!"

I went inside regardless,
Took the water-pail on my shoulder,
Drove the dogs to the hearth.

A month I stood — my coat on my back.
A day I stood — my crown on my head.
A year — my shift on my shoulders.

My brother sat upon the oven,
His wife beside him.
My brother smiled at his wife,
His wife turned to me:
"A stranger from Võnnu has come to us —
A stranger, a wanderer!"

"I am no stranger from Võnnu,
No stranger, no wanderer!
I was already here
When this house was built.
Did I not sit upon the wall?
Did I not hew the corner-post?
I brought limestone from the quarry,
I brought moss from the bog!
I am your own,
I am the child of the same father!"

My little brother, dear brother,
Said to his wife:
"Put the pot upon the fire,
Set its legs before the heat,
Bring in a herring!"

My brother's wife, that dear woman,
Carried water from the spring,
Cold cabbage from the cellar.

Eit — Mother

The trees I may forget, the land I may forget,
Father's yard I may forget,
Brother's pasture I may lose —
But mother I cannot forget.

How shall I repay mother's labour,
Mother's labour, her tender milk,
The toil of nursing,
The dear work of raising,
The hushing at the mouth,
The carrying on the arm!
How many nights without sleep,
How many mornings without a meal,
How many dawns without a share,
How many days without a noon-meal,
The grey horse unsaddled,
The young wife unclothed.
Not a spark from the bedpost —
She sought a charmer for the child,
A taker of the young one's tears,
Promised sheep to the charmer,
Goats to the one who tried the tongue,
A dark-bay gelding to the soother.

But I just screamed in spite,
Twisted my mouth without comfort.

If I could thank her with my mouth,
Give gratitude with my tongue,
Pray with my tongue's string:
"To God, mother's soul,
To Mary, both her hands,
Her heart into Jesus' lap,
Her hands into Mary's hands,
Her knees onto the Creator's floor!"

Kesse eidekese unustab — Who Forgets Mother

Whoever forgets their mother,
Casts the tender parent from mind —
Let them not go to Mana's realm,
Nor peacefully to Toonela.

For those who forget their mother,
For those who scorn their parent,
The daughters of Tooni will scold them,
The maidens of Mana will rebuke them:

"Why did you forget your mother,
Why did you scorn your parent?
Your mother endured great suffering,
Bore bitter hardship
Bringing you into the world,
Giving life to you."

Lapse tänu — A Child's Thanks

Dear father, dear papa,
Dear mother, dear mama —
How you endured great labour
When you raised me.
You raised me, you embraced me,
Lifted me up, bounced me,
Set me down, played with me,
Hushed me at the mouth,
Rocked me with both hands,
Held me in your lap while eating,
Carried me on your arm while walking,
Cut the rye with me in your apron,
Carried me in your apron to the field,
Set me between the haycocks,
A lapful in the middle —
So the wind would not blow upon me
Nor the rain-gust roll over me!

Be well, dear mother,
Twice well, dear father,
For raising me so,
For raising me, for embracing me.
Thanks to you even in the grave,
Under the cover of the dark earth!

Õpetus tütarlastele — Instruction to Daughters

Father spoke his dying word,
Mother as she breathed her last,
Brother spoke his farewell word
As they nailed shut the coffin lid:
"O my humble sisters,
Young daughters —
Do not go roaming to the village,
Do not wander in the marketplace.
Beauty brings quarrel from the village,
Proud talk from the street,
Fair tales from the meadows —
Brings gossip upon your hair,
And clamour upon your gait,
And idle talk upon your ribbons.

Little daughters —
When you walk along the road,
Keep a stone in your fist,
Carry a cudgel under your arm.
When a boy comes pressing near,
When a married man comes grinning,
Strike the boy half on the head,
Strike the married man a good blow,
Knock down both his eyebrows.

Little daughters —
Be diligent in the morning,
Early before the dawn.
Cast your eyes upon the sieve,
And quickly on the distaff.
Do not listen to the rooster's voice,
The coop-bird's singing,
The night-bird's calling.
Sometimes the rooster crows too early,
Sometimes he sings at daylight,
Sometimes at dawn,
Sometimes before the dawn."

Mehe kiitus — Praise of the Husband

Dear wives, dear companions,
Sisters-in-law over the fence —
What a husband is mine,
What a mate walks with me!
My husband is a boot-smith,
My husband is a box-smith,
A clever man, a shoe-smith —
He makes boots to match each loaf of bread,
And boxes to match each fish,
New shoes to match each foot.
The servant has a new pair of boots,
New boots, a new box,
New shoes for the herder.

I'll say it again from the start,
With fresh words,
With finer songs.
Such a husband is mine,
Such a mate walks with me —
A husband strong as the hard spruce,
Mighty as Kalev's son,
Proud as Olev's son,
Dear as Alev's son!

Sõbrad — Friends

Do you remember last year,
Do you recall the year before —
Where we ate butter last year,
Ate butter, drank mead?
There has grown a butter-forest,
A butter-forest, a golden wilderness,
A silver sacred grove.

There the cuckoos are calling,
The gentle birds are shining —
One calls with a golden tongue,
Another shines with a tender tongue,
The third wails with a mournful tongue.
These are three poor children.
The one that calls with a golden tongue —
That was the daughter without a mother.
The one that shines with a tender tongue —
That was the son without a father.
The one that wails with a mournful tongue —
That is the poor widow.

Who would fell the butter-forest,
The butter-forest, the golden wilderness,
The silver sacred grove?
You have a brother, I have a brother —
Send yours to fell it.

Colophon

Source: M.J. Eisen (comp.), Eesti rahwalaulud (Estonian Folk Songs), Kuressaare/Tallinn, 1919. Section IV: Perekonna elu (Family Life), pp. 117–125.

Translation: Good Works Translation by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026. Translated independently from the Estonian source text. The source text is drawn from the archive.org digitization (identifier: eestirahwalaulud00eiseuoft). No prior English translation of these songs is known to exist.

Note: These eight songs from Eisen's family life section preserve the intimate centre of Estonian folk religion — the theology of kinship. The greatest of them, "Oma ja võõras" (Own and Stranger), builds one of the most devastating parallels in all European folk poetry: the golden bird and the wicked bird, the bread set out and the bread snatched away, the true mother and the false mother. It is a song about the architecture of love, built in the regilaul metre's native technique of structural repetition with reversal. The closing poem, "Sõbrad" (Friends), begins in simple nostalgia and ends in myth — where friends ate and drank, a sacred forest has grown, and in it three orphans sing as cuckoos. This transformation of human memory into mythological landscape is one of the deepest movements in the Estonian oral tradition. The family that dies becomes the earth; the friendship that passes becomes the forest; the grief that endures becomes the bird that sings.

Compiled and formatted for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026.

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Source Text: Eesti rahwalaulud — IV. Perekonna elu

Estonian source text from M.J. Eisen, Eesti rahwalaulud (Kuressaare/Tallinn, 1919), Section IV: Perekonna elu (Family Life). Presented here for reference, study, and verification alongside the English translation above. Text drawn from archive.org digitization (eestirahwalaulud00eiseuoft). Archaic Estonian orthography preserved: "w" = modern "v", "ks" = modern "ks".

Oma ja võõras

Olin enne eide eessa,
Eide eessa, taadi eessa,
Kuulis mind koju tulevat,
Välja alla ju olevat,
Lagedalla laulavada.
Siis mu hella eidekene
Ja mu tarka taadikene
Võttis ütelda hüvasti,
Pajatada pehmeesti,
Arutada armsaasti:
"Kuule, kus kukkub kuldalindu,
Laksuteleb lahke lindu,
Kõõrutab kana heleda,
Jookse poega, jõua poega,
Võta see värava võrusta,
Uksed ummiraudadesta,
Pane istmed talle ette,
Pane nuga laua peale!"

Pani söögi laua peale,
Pani leiva laua peale,
Noa laua nurga peale:
"Lõika leiba, lapsukene,
Sa tuled väljasta väsinud,
Töö juuresta tüdinud,
Higi otsasta iganud!"

Oma eit oli eidekene,
Oma taati taadikene,
Käskis võtta võidaleiba,
Võtta kirstust kinnitusta,
Kaane aita kannatusta;
Võtsin võid, ei vähenend,
Katsin kala, ei kahanend,
Sõin aga seda kalada,
Mis tuli mängides mäele,
Mis tuli karates kaldale,
Lusti lüües lootsikusse.
Isa ütles hiire peale,
Ema ütles kassi peale;
Ise olin hiirekene,
Kahejalgne kassikene.

Sain aga võhivõõra ette,
Võõras kurja, võõras karja,
Võõras kannuni kadeda.
Kuulis mind koju tulevat,
Välja alla ju olevat,
Lagedalla laulavada,
Siis see võõras võigas eite
Hakkas kurja kuulutama,
Paisul paha pajatama:
"Kuule, kus kukkub kurja lindu,
Häälitseleb hädalindu,
Laksuteleb laiska lindu;
Jookse poega, jõua poega,
Pane see värava võrusse,
Uksed ummiraudadesse.
Koju tuleb suuri sööja,
Suuri sööja, suuri jooja,
Kulla kandija külasse,
Kõike uhab oma kõhtu,
Pistab kõik enese pukku,
Ei jäta üle ühtigi.
Võta istmed tal eesta,
Võta kulpi katelasta,
Võta nuga laua pealta!"
Kartis minda istuvada,
Kartis leiba lõikavada,
Tõstis leenta tõreledes,
Andis süüa hauguteles:
"Söö sisse sinikiviksi,
Peale kopsu konnadeksi,
Alla kopsu haiguseksi!"
Nüüd sõin seda kalada,
Mis on ammu hallitanud,
Seina ääres seenetanud.
Sel on kanad kallal käinud,
Pääsukesed pesad teinud,
Mutikad sisse munenud,
Sipelgad sisse siginud!

Kui kooleb ära isake

Kui kooleb ära isake,
Siis kooleb pooli koduda,
Kui kooleb ära emake,
Siis kooleb kodu koguni!
Seni on kodu külas käia,
Seni kui isa elussa,
Seni kui ema elussa.
Siis käiaks kuussa kolmi korda,
Aastassa mitu sadagi.
Kui on vanemad vajunud,
Isa koolnud, ema koolnud,
Ei saa aastas koju korda,
Kolmel aastal kolme korda.

Läksin harvasti omile,
Veersin harva vendadele.
Hobu jäi seisma oja suhu,
Ratsu kartma karja teele.
Ei mina uksele osanud,
Väravad ära ju veetud,
Karjatee ära kasunud.

Sain isa toa lävele.
Läksin sisse vaatamaie.
Vennanaine vennikene,
Poegadele pajatama:
"Assetage koerad peale,
Murid minda murdemaie,
Lõvi lõhki kiskumaie!"

Läksin tuppa ometigi,
Võtsin toobripuu õlale,
Koerad koldele ajasin.

Kuu mina seisin, kuub oli seljas,
Päeva seisin, pärg oli peassa,
Aasta hame õladella.

Veli istus ahju pealla,
Velje naine veere pealla,
Veli naeratas naisele,
Velje naine minu poole:
"Võnnu võõras meile tulnud,
Võnnu võõras, kõnnu koske!"

"Ei mina ole võnnu võõras,
Võnnu võõras, kõnnu koske!
Mina ju olin siisap siina,
Kui see tuba siia tehti.
Eks ma istund seina pealla,
Eks ma raiund nurga pealla?
Ma tõin paasi paemurrust,
Ma tõin soost sammelida!
Ma olen teie omane,
Ma olen ühe isa lapsi!"

Vennakene vennikene,
Ütles oma naisukesel:
"Pane ju pada tulele,
Paja jalad paiste ette,
Too sisse silgukene!"

Vennanaine vennikene
Kandis vetta allikasta,
Külmi kaali kelderista.

Eit

Puud unustan, maa unustan,
Isa õuemaad unustan,
Venna karjamaa kaotan,
Eidekest ei unusta.

Millal maksan eide vaeva,
Eide vaeva, hella piima
Ja ema imetisvaeva,
Memme kalli kasvatuse,
Suu juures suskumise,
Käe pealla kandemise!
Mitu ööd oli uneta,
Mitu suitsu suuruseta,
Mitu homikut osata,
Mitu päeva lõuneeta,
Hobu halli rakkeesta,
Naine noori riideesta.
Säde ei sängi sambaasta,
Otsis lapse lausujada,
Noore nutu võttijada,
Lubas lambad lausujale,
Kitse keele katsujale,
Tuhkru ruuna tuusijale.

Mina aga kiuste kiljatasin,
Soota suuda vääratasi.

Mõistaksin tänada suulla,
Keelel anda aitümada,
Keelepaelulla paluda:
"Jumalale eide hingi,
Määrijale kaksi katta,
Süda Jeesuse süleje,
Käed Määrija kädeje,
Põlved Looja põrandule!"

Kesse eidekese unustab

Kesse eidekse unustab,
Hella ema meelest heidab,
Ärgu see mingu Manale,
Rahulikult Toonelasse.

Eidekse unustajale,
Emakese põlgajale
Tooni tütred tõrelevad,
Manala neitsid pahandavad:

"Miks sa ema unustasid,
Eidekse ära põlgasid?
Ema on näinud suure vaeva,
Kandja kanget viletsusta
Ilmale sinda sünnitades,
Elu sinule andessa."

Lapse tänu

Isakene, taadikene,
Emakene, memmekene.
Küll sa nägid suure vaeva,
Kui sa minda kasvatasid.
Kasvatasid, kallistasid,
Üles tõstsid, hüpatasid,
Maha panid, mängitasid,
Suu juures susutasid,
Kahel käel kiigutasid,
Süles hoides süüessagi,
Käe pealla käiessagi,
Rüpes rukid lõigatessa,
Viisid põllel põllu peale,
Panid mu parmaste vahele,
Sülitäie keskeelle.
Et ei tulnud tuuli peale
Ega veerend vihma hoogu!

Ole terve, eidekene,
Teise terve, taadikene,
Minda nõnda kasvatamast,
Kasvatamast, kallistamast.
Tänu teile hauassagi,
Musta mulla katte alla!

Õpetus tütarlastele

Isa ütles surressana,
Ema heitessa hingekest,
Venda ütles viiessana,
Kirstu kaanta lüüessana:
"Oh minu õed madalad,
Tütarlapsed noorukesed,
Ärge te külassa käige,
Ärge hulkuge turulla.
Kena toob kära külasta,
Uhked jutud uulitsalta,
Valged jutud vainudelta,
Toob aga jutud juuste peale,
Ja kärad käiksete peale,
Liiad jutud lindi peale.

Tütarlapsed, tillukesed,
Kui te käite teeda mööda,
Pidage kivi peossa,
Kandke kaigas kainalussa,
Kui tuleb poissi puutumaie,
Naisemeesi naeramaie,
Lööge poisil pooli peada,
Naisemehel natein peada,
Kukutage kaksi kulmu.

Tütarlapsed, tillukesed,
Olge hoolikad homikul,
Vara enne valgeeda.
Lööge silmad sõela peale,
Otseti odava peale,
Ärge kuulge kuke häälta,
Lakalinnu laulemista,
Öölinnu hüüdemista.
Vahest kukk varagi laulab,
Vahest laulab valgeella,
Mõne korra koidikulla,
Korra koidiku eella."

Mehe kiitus

Naisukesed, kaasakesed,
Üle aia langukesed,
Missugune meesi minulla,
Missugune kaasa kanalla!
Minu meesi marsi seppa,
Minu meesi karbi seppa,
Viisas meesi viisu seppa,
Teeb aga marsi leiba mööda,
Ja karbi kalade mööda,
Viisud uued jalga mööda.
Orjal on see uusi marsi,
Uusi marsi, uusi karpi,
Uued viisud karjasella.

Ütlen uuest ümber jälle,
Uuest uusile sõnule,
Paremile lauludele.
Niisugune meesi minulla,
Missugune kaasa kanalla:
Meesi kui see kõva kuuski,
Kange kui Kalevi poega,
Uhke kui Olevi poega,
Armas kui Alevi poega!

Sõbrad

Eks sa mullista mäleta,
Tunamullista tuleta,
Kus me mullu võida sõime,
Võida sõime, metta jõime.
Sinna kasvand võine metsa,
Võine metsa, kuldne kõrbe,
Hõbedane hiiekene.

Seal need käod kukkumassa,
Hellad linnud helkimassa,
Üks seal kukkub kuldakeeli,
Teine helkib hella keeli,
Kolmas vaagub vaenukeeli.
Need on kolme vaese lasta.
Mis seal kukkub kuldakeeli,
See oli tütar emata.
Mis seal helgib hella keeli,
See oli poega isata.
Mis seal vaagub vaenukeeli,
See on vaene leskinaine.

Kesse raiub võise metsa,
Võise metsa, kuldse kõrbe,
Hõbedase hiiekese?
Sul on venda, mul on venda,
Pane sina oma raiumaie.

Source Colophon

Source: M.J. Eisen (comp.), Eesti rahwalaulud (Estonian Folk Songs), Kuressaare: T. Liiwi trükk / Tallinn: G. Pihlaka, 1919. Section IV: Perekonna elu (Family Life), pp. 117–125.

Digitization: archive.org (identifier: eestirahwalaulud00eiseuoft). DjVu text layer extracted from the Google-digitized scan. OCR quality moderate; archaic Estonian orthography preserved.

Copyright: Public domain. Published 1919, not registered in the United States. The compiler M.J. Eisen (1857–1934) collected and arranged existing folk songs from oral tradition.

Note on source text: The Estonian text preserves Eisen's 1919 orthographic conventions, which differ from modern Estonian: "w" for modern "v" (e.g., vaene vs. modern vaene), occasional archaic verb forms and dialectal vocabulary. The double-spacing artifacts from the OCR have been cleaned; substantive text is preserved.

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