Selected songs from Elias Lönnrot's Kanteletar (1840), translated from the Finnish
The Kanteletar — "Daughter of the Kantele" — is Lönnrot's 1840 companion volume to the Kalevala. Where the Kalevala is epic and narrative, the Kanteletar is lyric and personal: laments, lullabies, wedding songs, ritual invocations, and pre-Christian mythological songs, compiled from the same Finnish Literary Society fieldwork manuscripts that yielded the Kalevala. Over five hundred songs across three books.
The six songs translated here span the Kanteletar's sacred core. From Book I: the kantele's true origin — not carved by Väinämöinen from the pike's bones, but moulded from human grief. From Book II: a shaman-singer's invocation naming the ancestral singers. From Book III's Ancient-Belief Songs: a pre-Christian cosmogonic myth of Suometar born from a duck's golden egg; Lyylikki the ski-maker's hubris punished by Hiisi's phantom elk; the Virgin Mary's rescue of Katri from fire; and the Estonian Slave's theology of heaven and hell — where the slave is carried to heaven and the master is cast into fire, and no posthumous gold can undo the injustice of a lifetime.
No complete English translation of the Kanteletar exists in the public domain. Keith Bosley's 1992 Oxford World's Classics selection is in copyright. These translations are independently derived from the 1840 Finnish text (Project Gutenberg #7078).
Song 1 — A Strange Kantele (Eräskummainen kantele)
Book I, Section I: Common to All — the opening song of the entire collection.
They are liars, every one,
speaking nothing but empty air,
who say of the instrument,
who suppose the kantele
was carved by Väinämöinen,
shaped by the hand of God,
from the great pike's shoulders,
from the water-dog's hooked bones.
The instrument is made from sorrows,
moulded out of griefs:
its body from hard days,
its stock-wood from lasting wretchedness,
its strings gathered from torments,
its pegs from other adversities.
Therefore my kantele does not play,
does not rejoice at all —
the instrument sounds not for favour,
releases no fitting joy,
for it was figured from cares,
moulded out of griefs.
Song 278 — I Sing the Enchantments I Know (Noita laulan, joita taian)
Book II — the shaman-singer's invocation. A declaration of inherited magical lineage, naming the great ancestral singers of Finnish tradition.
I, a man of little strength,
a hero of feeble breath,
not great in years,
not strong in the body's growth —
but still, all the same,
if the fat ones do not sing,
if the full-blooded do not chant,
then I shall sing, lean boy,
dry boy, I shall cry out,
sing from lean flesh,
from sides that have no fat,
for the joy of this evening,
for the ending of this day.
I sing the enchantments I know,
I chant what was heard before —
words received of old,
learned riddles of power,
words my father got,
prepared by the elder.
These my father taught me once,
my own elder instructed,
as we two walked the road,
as three of us journeyed on.
Words do not reach the hidden place,
nor charms into the cleft;
power does not pass into earth's crack,
though the powerful ones pass away.
That was the singer eternal,
the hymn-step through generations —
that is old Väinämöinen,
the second, smith Ilmarinen,
the third, reckless Lemminkäinen,
that fair Far-Mind too,
the maid of the North as fourth,
the North's maid, the North's wife,
fifth, Antero Vipunen,
the sixth, old Kaleva.
Still there was young Joukahainen,
and still many others,
whom my father once sang of,
whom my own elder taught.
Whether it be so or otherwise,
or somehow one way or another —
Sampo did not run short of words,
nor Louhi of charms;
old Sampo with his words,
rotten Louhi with her charms —
by hymns Vipunen died,
playing and striking, Lemminkäinen.
Book III, Song 1 — The Suitors of Suometar (Suomettaren kosijat)
Book III: Sacred Songs (Virsi-Lauluja), Section I: Ancient-Belief Songs (Muinais-uskoisia) — a pre-Christian cosmogonic myth. Suometar, born from a duck's golden egg, is courted by Moon, Sun, and the North Star.
There was once a young maiden;
she went to drive the cattle,
drove the cattle through the marsh,
found in the marsh a duck,
caught a teal at the shore.
She carried her duck home,
fed and watered her duck;
the duck built its nest,
laid a golden egg.
She rubbed it, she warmed it —
the egg became a maiden.
What name for the maiden?
Duck-daughter, or Suometar?
Duck-daughter is not fair;
Suometar is the fair name.
A little time passed,
five months went by, six;
the maiden grew beautiful,
rose to surpassing goodness.
Three suitors came calling,
each a bridegroom seeking:
Moon came walking, Sun came riding,
and the third came — the North Star.
First came Moon the suitor,
came jingling in gold,
ringing in silver:
"Come to me, maiden,
leave this house
for silver chambers,
for rooms of gold!"
But the maiden would not go;
the maiden spoke these words:
"I will not go to the Moon —
the Moon has a strange gaze,
his form is of many shapes:
sometimes his face is narrow,
sometimes far too wide;
by night he wanders wretchedly,
by day he rests —
he cannot keep a house."
Then came Sun, the boy,
came jingling in gold,
ringing in silver:
"Come to me, maiden,
leave this house
for silver chambers,
for rooms of gold!"
But the maiden would not go;
the maiden spoke these words:
"I would not go to the Sun —
the Sun is ill-mannered:
in summer he torments with heat,
in winter he scorches with frost;
at the bright haying time
he gave nothing but rain,
at the precious oat-harvest
he made droughts without end."
Then came the boy, the North Star,
without jingling in gold,
without ringing in silver:
"Come to me, maiden,
leave this house
for rooms of gold,
for silver chambers!"
The maiden answered back:
"I may well go to the Star;
the Star is well-mannered,
always attentive in his house,
splendid beyond measure at home,
on the shoulders of the Great Bear,
on the back of the Seven Stars."
The Star's horse is led away,
guided into the stable;
fine hay is thrown down,
a measure of oats is carried.
The Star is brought into the house,
seated at the head of the table;
a cup of ale is brought,
a jug of mead is carried:
"Eat and drink, dear Star!"
"I do not wish to eat or drink
when I cannot see my maiden.
Where is my own,
where is fair Suometar?"
Fair Suometar the maiden
speaks from the storehouse herself:
"My wished-for bridegroom,
my highest betrothed!
Give me a little time —
time for one without a father,
more for one without a mother;
my mother does not help me,
my own elder does not prepare me.
Village women help me,
village wives clothe me —
cold is the village's care,
bitter the stranger's dressing."
Book III, Song 2 — Lyylikki's Ski-Chase (Lyylikin hiihanta)
Book III: Sacred Songs, Section I: Ancient-Belief Songs — a trickster myth. The master ski-maker boasts that no creature can escape him. The demons of Hiisi build a phantom elk to punish his hubris.
Lyylikki the ski-maker,
Kauppi the craftsman of runners,
a year he carved the new ski,
a winter he shaped the runner,
until the ski was fit to glide,
the runner fit to kick,
the pole's shaft fit to whittle,
its basket fit to fasten.
The pole cost the price of a sable,
the basket a ruddy fox.
Lyylikki the ski-maker,
Kauppi the craftsman of runners,
set out to prune a sapling,
to smooth a handsome wood;
he launched his ski on the snow,
to seek an open clearing,
and spoke these words aloud,
uttered this boasting speech:
"There is nothing in the forest
that runs on four legs,
or glides upon its wings,
that I could not overtake
on these single evening torches,
on these late-burning lights."
Hiisi's demons were listening,
the Juuttahat were watching;
the demons built an elk,
the Juuttahat fashioned a reindeer,
and thus they counselled their elk,
spoke to their reindeer with their mouths:
"Now run, you elk of Hiisi,
swift-legged noble beast,
through the reindeer-calving grounds,
across the chip-strewn fields of Lapland —
make the Lapp women weep,
make the Lapp dogs bark!"
Then ran the elk of Hiisi,
the worthless swift-foot galloped
across the chip-strewn fields of Lapland,
past the reindeer meadows,
kicked the pot's rim from the hearth,
toppled the kettles from the fire,
ground the stews into the ash,
scattered the fish into the embers;
then the dogs there barked,
then the women there wept,
then the wives there laughed.
Lyylikki the ski-maker,
Kauppi the craftsman of runners,
heard a great commotion,
heard the dogs barking,
the Lapp women weeping,
the Lapp wives laughing.
He left his sapling-pruning,
his handsome-wood smoothing,
stood himself upon his skis
on the chip-strewn fields of Lapland:
"Why do the women weep here?
Why do the dogs bark here?"
"An elk of Hiisi ran through here,
a worthless swift-foot galloped,
kicked the pot's rim from the hearth,
toppled the kettles from the fire,
ground the stews into the ash,
scattered the fish into the embers."
Lyylikki the ski-maker,
Kauppi the craftsman of runners,
grew angry at that, and wrathful,
fiercely angry and enraged;
he launched his ski on the snow
like a viper beneath the stubble,
slid the pole like a bog-pine,
like a living serpent.
One kick he made —
beyond the reach of sight;
a second he thrust —
beyond the reach of hearing;
the third he gathered himself,
onto the flanks of Hiisi's elk,
onto the haunches of the reindeer-phantom.
Already he stroked the hide,
caressed the flank:
"Here would be a place to stay,
here a place to lie,
a fine place to live
beside a young maiden,
a growing hen,
a girl just coming into her bloom."
He took a maple hobble,
built a birch-bark halter
to tether his elk.
He looked it over, turned it round:
the head was made from a tussock,
the eyes from the bubbles of a pond,
the ears from the pond's water-lilies,
the antlers from the fork of a willow,
the sinews from dried grasses,
the legs from fence-posts,
the back from fence-rails,
the rest of its frame from rotten wood,
its hide from the bark of a spruce.
Lyylikki the ski-maker,
Kauppi the craftsman of runners,
set off for home at once;
he kicked the first time —
the ski flew from the binding,
snapped clean from the binding,
the runner from behind the heel,
the pole from where the basket sat.
Lyylikki the ski-maker,
Kauppi the craftsman of runners,
head bowed, spirits low,
his cap all askew,
looked over his gear,
tried to fit his baskets,
and spoke these words himself:
"I do not know, poor boy,
in my miserable days,
how to be, how to live;
whether it will burn or scorch,
the Laplander's reed-shoe,
whether it will slide or slip,
the Laplander's runner-sole?
Let no man ever again,
not in the shining golden age,
let none of our men go
chasing the elk of Hiisi —
I got a piece of rotten wood,
and even that with great sorrow."
Book III, Song 3 — The Healing of Katri (Katrin parannus)
Book III: Sacred Songs, Section I: Ancient-Belief Songs — a syncretized healing myth. The weaver Katri is cast into fire by a stranger; the Virgin Mary runs across the earth to rescue and heal her.
Katri weaves at her loom,
her fine hem rings and sings;
so swift runs the shuttle,
like an ermine in a cleft of stone,
so sharp sounds the reed's voice,
like the bell of a stone-built church.
Katri weaves at her loom,
her fine hem rings and sings;
neither kinfolk sleep deeply
nor villagers rest enough
for the sound of Katri's cloth,
for the ringing of her fine hem.
A man came from across the sea,
a fellow of hidden words;
he split a little firewood,
chopped a few small logs,
thirty sleighloads in all,
and shoved them all into the fire,
carried Katri into the blaze,
her fine hem into the heat.
Katri let out a sharp cry,
shrieked a terrible sound;
the cry was heard six miles,
echoed eight miles out.
The Virgin Mary, dear mother,
sweet mother full of grace,
quickly ran the long road,
covered the distance in moments,
gathered her hem into her arms,
wrapped her garments with her hands;
ravines rose, ridges sank,
all the road turned smooth.
She snatched Katri from the fire,
her fine hem from the heat,
carried Katri to the bathhouse,
herself cast the finest steam,
blew the finest steam-heat,
sent the finest warmth
through the stone-built stove;
made Katri well again,
healed her into wholeness.
Book III, Song 4 — The Estonian Slave and the Master (Viron orja ja Isäntä)
Book III: Sacred Songs, Section I: Ancient-Belief Songs — a folk-theology of divine justice. The most powerful moral poem in the Kanteletar. The slave dies in the cold and is carried to heaven; the master dies in wealth and is cast into fire. The master's ghost offers gold in vain.
I sing two songs,
straight as the best wall-timber,
for the masters, for the mistresses,
for the slaves without a share.
There was once in Estonia a slave,
in a manor a cattle-herd;
badly was his wage paid,
badly the wage, wrongly the labour —
with the shortest ell,
with a rod already rotten,
with the smallest bushel,
with grain full of chaff.
The slave was given leave,
given the slave's leave, the captive's freedom,
to run home at Christmas,
to make it for the holy days;
the slave fell headlong into the snowdrift,
face-first into the drift, head into the slush,
arms into the bitter air,
feet into the wretched puddle.
There the poor slave perished,
the wretched servant died,
in his bare shirt-sleeves,
with nothing over his linen.
Three maidens of Tuonela came,
gathering the dead;
they found the slave's soul,
they took the slave's soul,
led it into heaven,
escorted it to the halls of joy.
The silver door was opened,
the golden gate was unfastened
as the slave came inside.
A silver chair was brought,
a golden stool was carried:
"Sit here, poor slave!
You have had enough, poor slave,
of sitting on worse seats
while you were in bondage,
while you served as a servant —
sitting on hard wood,
and standing besides."
A silver cup was brought,
a golden jug was carried,
mead and honey inside,
ale of handsome appearance:
"Drink from this, poor slave!
You have had enough, poor slave,
of drinking even water from the river
while you were in bondage,
while you served as a servant —
drinking swamp-water from the bog,
stable-water from the yard."
A little time passed;
the great master died.
Three maidens of Tuonela came,
gathering the dead;
they found the master's soul,
they took the master's soul,
carried it to the house of sorrows,
cast it into hell,
into the wretched place of torment.
The door of fire was opened,
the tar-gate was wrenched wide:
"Stand there, great master!
You have had enough of sitting
while you were the master,
while you were the one who gave commands —
sitting in your hall-rooms,
in your handsome chambers."
A cup of fire was brought,
a tar-cup was wrenched forth,
fire and tar inside,
lizards and serpents:
"Drink from this, great master!
You have drunk better things
while you were the master,
while you were the one who gave commands —
drunk plenty of ale too,
at the head of your high table."
"Why is this done to me,
a wretched fellow?"
"This is why it is done:
you paid the slave's wage badly,
with blood-stained cloth,
with crooked-cut serge,
with the shortest ells,
with the narrowest measures,
with the smallest bushels,
with grain full of chaff."
The master's soul walked,
walked the stone road,
shuffled along the stone path,
a long ell-rod in his hand,
a roll of serge under his arm;
silver jingled from his purse,
gold gleamed from his pouch:
"Come here, poor slave!
I will pay your wage better;
take this, poor slave!"
"I will not take it, poor master."
"Take it, take it, poor slave —
fine cloth instead of serge,
ten-fold for every ell!"
"I will not take it, poor master."
"Take it, take it, poor slave —
wheat instead of rye,
a barrel for every bushel!"
"I will not take it, poor master."
"Take it, take it, poor slave —
the best cow from my barn,
the finest from my herd!"
"I will not take it, poor master,
for you did not give it in your time.
You could have paid me in the world,
settled it in your father's home;
you could have put the wage then
when I watered your cattle,
tended your flock of sheep;
when I trampled your malt,
kneaded your dough;
when I toiled in the barn,
groaned beneath the rafters,
was in the straw-house,
wiped my sweat with chaff.
You thought the barn was creaking
when my breastbone creaked;
you thought the beam was groaning
when my shoulders groaned;
you thought the rafter was cracking
when my hips were cracking;
the long woodpile rolling
when my blood was rolling —
while I was in bondage,
while I served as a servant."
Colophon
Translated from the Finnish of Elias Lönnrot, Kanteletar: Suomen kansan wanhoja lauluja ja wirsiä (Helsinki, 1840). Source text: Project Gutenberg EBook #7078 (8kant10.txt), public domain.
Songs translated: Book I, Song 1 (Eräskummainen kantele); Book II, Song 278 (Noita laulan, joita taian); Book III, Section I, Songs 1–4 (Suomettaren kosijat; Lyylikin hiihanta; Katrin parannus; Viron orja ja Isäntä).
These are the first known public-domain English translations of these songs. No complete English Kanteletar exists in the public domain. Keith Bosley's 1992 Oxford World's Classics selection is in copyright and was not consulted.
Good Works Translation by the New Tianmu Anglican Church. Uralic Verse Translator, March 2026.
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Source Text
Song 1 — Eräskummainen kantele
Ne varsin valehtelevat,
Tuiki tyhjeä panevat,
Jotka soittoa sanovat,
Arvelevat kanteletta
Väinämöisen veistämäksi,
Jumalan kuvoamaksi,
Hauin suuren hartioista,
Veen koiran koukkuluista;
Soitto on suruista tehty,
Murehista muovaeltu:
Koppa päivistä kovista,
Emäpuu ikipoloista,
Kielet kiusoista kerätty,
Naulat muista vastuksista.
Sentä ei soita kanteleni,
Ei iloitse ensinkänä,
Soitto ei soita suosioksi,
Laske ei laatuista iloa,
Kun on huolista kuvattu,
Murehista muovaeltu.
Song 278 — Noita laulan, joita taian
Minä mies vähäväkinen,
Uros heikkohengellinen,
En ole iso iältä,
Vahva varren kasvannolta;
Vaan kuitenki, kaikitenki,
Jos ei muut lihavat laula,
Verevämmät vierettele,
Niin mä laulan laiha poika,
Kuiva poika kuikuttelen,
Laulan laihoilta lihoilta,
Kupehilta kuuttomilta,
Tämän iltasen iloksi,
Tämän päivän päätteheksi.
Noita laulan, joita taian,
Ennen kuultuja kujerran,
Ennen saatuja sanoja,
Opituita ongelmoita,
Taaton saamia sanoja,
Vanhemman varustamia.
Niit' ennen isoni neuoi,
Oma vanhempi opetti,
Kahen tietä käyessämme,
Kolmin kolkutellessamme.
Ei sanat salahan joua,
Eikä luottehet lovehen,
Mahti ei mene maan rakohon,
Vaikka mahtajat menevät.
Tuo oli laulaja ikuinen,
Virren porras polvuhinen,
Tuop' on vanha Wäinämöinen,
Toinen seppo Ilmarinen,
Kolmas lieto Lemminkäinen,
Seki kaunis Kaukomieli,
Pohjan neiti neljäntenä,
Pohjan neiti, Pohjan akka,
Viies Antero Wipunen,
Se kuues Kaleva vanha.
Viel' oli nuori Joukahainen,
Vielä muitaki monia,
Joit' ennen isoni lauloi,
Oma vanhempi opetti.
Onko niin elikkä toisin,
Eli muite jomminkummin?--
Sampo ei puuttunut sanoja,
Eikä Louhi luottehia;
Sampo vanhani sanoilla,
Lahoi Louhi luottehilla,
Virsillä Wipunen kuoli,
Leikin lyöen Lemminkäinen.
Book III, Song 1 — Suomettaren kosijat
Oli ennen neiti nuori,
Läksi lehmien ajohon,
Ajoi lehmät suota myöten,
Löysi suolta sorsalinnun,
Tavin rannalta tapasi.
Kantoi sorsansa kotihin,
Syötti, juotti sorsaistansa,
Sorsa suorivi pesäsen,
Muni kultaisen munasen.
Hierelevi, hautelevi,
Muna muuttui neitoseksi,
Mikä neielle nimeksi--
Sorsatarko, Suometarko?
Ei ole Sorsatar soria,
Suometar nimi soria.
Oli aikoa vähäsen,
Kului kuuta viisi, kuusi,
Neiti kasvoi kaunihiksi,
Yleni ylen hyväksi,
Kolmet sulhaset käkesi,
Yheksiset ylkämiehet:
Kulki Kuu, ajeli Päivä,
Kulki kolmas Pohjantähti.
Tuli ensin Kuu kosija,
Tuli kullassa kulisten,
Hopiassa helkkäellen:
"Tule'pas minulle neiti,
Lähe pois talosta tästä,
Hopiaisihin tupihin,
Kultaisihin kammioihin!"
Eipä neiti mennytkänä,
Tuon neiti sanoiksi virkki:
"Tok' en Kuulle mennetkänä,
Kuuli' on kumma katsantonsa,
Muotonsa monennäköinen:
Milloin kaita kasvoiltansa,
Milloin liiaksi leviä;
Öill' on kurja kulkemassa,
Päivällä lepeämässä,
Ei taia taloa tulla."
Tuli toinen Päivä poika,
Tuli kullassa kulisten,
Hopiassa helkkäellen:
"Tule'pas minulle neiti,
Lähe'päs talosta tästä,
Hopiaisihin tupihin,
Kultaisihin kammioihin!"
Eipä neiti mennytkänä,
Tuon neiti sanoiksi virkki:
"Enmä Päivälle menisi,
Päivä se pahantapainen
Kesän vaivavi varilla,
Talven paahtoi pakkasella;
Heliälla hein'ajalla
Antoi ainoiset satehet,
Kallihilla kaur'ajalla
Teki pouat ponnettomat."
Tuli poika Pohjantähti
Kullassa kulisematta,
Hopiassa helkkimättä:
"Tule'pas minulle neiti,
Lähe pois talosta tästä,
Kultaisihin kammioihin,
Hopiaisihin tupihin!"
Neiti vasten vastaeli:
"Taianpa Tähelle mennä,
Tähti se hyväntapainen,
Talossansa aina tarkka,
Koissahan ylen koria,
Otavaisten olkapäillä,
Seitsentähtisen selällä."
Vieähän Tähen hevonen,
Tallihin talutetahan,
Hienot heinät heitetähän,
Kauravakka kannetahan;
Tähti tuoahan tupahan,
Päähän pöyän laitetahan;
Tuoppi tuoahan olutta,
Mettä kannu kannetahan:
"Syö'pä, juo'pa Tähti kulta!"
"En taho syöä, enkä juoa,
Kun en nähne neitoani;
Missäp' on minun omani,
Kussa Suometar soria?"
Suometar soria neiti
Itse aitasta sanovi:
"Sulhoseni suotuseni,
Ylkäni ylimäiseni!
Anna aikoa vähäsen,
Aikoa isottomalle,
Emottomalle enempi;
Ei mua emoni auta,
Oma vanhin valmistele,
Auttavat kyläiset eukot,
Kylän vaimot vaatehtivat,
Kylmä on kyläinen toimi,
Valju mieron vaatehtima."
Book III, Song 2 — Lyylikin hiihanta
Lyylikki lylyjen seppä,
Kauppi kalhujen tekijä,
Vuoen vuoli uutta susta,
Talven kalhua kaverti,
Sai lylyn lykittäväksi,
Kalhun kannan lyötäväksi,
Sauan varren vuolleheksi,
Sompansa sovitetuksi,
Saukon maksoi sauanvarsi,
Sompa ruskian reposen.
Lyylikki lylyjen seppä,
Kauppi kalhujen tekijä,
Läksi rangan karsintahan,
Puun sorian sorrantahan,
Lykkäsi lylyn lumelle,
Olaspohjan ottamahan,
Sanovi sanalla tuolla,
Lausui tuolla lausehella:
"Ei sitä salossa liene
Jalan neljän juoksevata,
Tahi siivin siukovata,
Kut' en taitaisi tavata,
Näill' yksillä yötulilla,
Myöhäisillä valkioilla."
Päätyi Hiiet kuulemassa,
Juuttahat tähystämässä;
Hiiet hirviä rakenti,
Juuttahat poroja laati,
Noin he neuoi hirviänsä,
Porojansa suin puheli:
"Nyt sie juokse Hiitten hirvi,
Jalkoa jalo tevanki,
Poron poikima sioilla,
Lapin lastutanterilla,
Itketä Lapista immet,
Haukuta Lapista koirat!"
Siitä juoksi Hiitten hirvi,
Jalkasi jaloton vilja,
Lapin lastutanteritse,
Poropeltojen peritse,
Potkasi koasta korvon,
Kaatoi kattilat tulelta,
Keitot tuhkahan tuherti;
Kalat lietehen levitti;
Silloin siellä haukkui koirat,
Silloin siellä itki immet,
Silloin siellä nauroi naiset.
Lyylikki lylyjen seppä,
Kauppi kalhujen tekijä,
Kuuli melkoisen metelin,
Kuuli koirat haukkuvaksi,
Lapin immet itkeväksi,
Lapin naiset nauravaksi.
Heitti rangan karsintansa,
Puun sorian sorrantansa,
Itse seisottui lylylle,
Lapin lastutanterilla:
"Mitä täällä immet itki,
Kuta täällä koirat haukkui?"
"Juoksi tästä Hiitten hirvi,
Jalkasi jaloton vilja,
Potkasi koasta korvan,
Kaatoi kattilat tulelta,
Keitot tuhkahan tuherti,
Kalat lietehen levitti."
Lyylikki lylyjen seppä,
Kauppi kalhujen tekijä,
Tuosta suuttui, sekä syäntyi,
Kovin suuttui ja vihastui,
Lykkäsi lylyn lumelle,
Kuni kyyn kulonalaisen,
Solahutti suopetäjän,
Kuni käärmehen elävän.
Niinkun kerran potkasihen,
Silmän siitämättömähän,
Kerran toisen kuopasihen,
Korvan kuulemattomahan,
Kolmannen kohenteleksen,
Lautasille Hiitten hirven,
Poropetran potsasille.
Jop' on taljoa taputti,
Sivua silittelevi:
"Oispa tuossa ollakseni,
Saispa tuossa maatakseni,
Sopisi elelläkseni,
Nuoren neitosen keralla,
Kanssa kasvavan kanasen,
Impyen yleneväisen."
Otti vaajan vaahterisen,
Raksin koivuisen rakenti,
Hirveänsä kytkemähän.
Katselevi, kääntelevi:
Pää oli pantu mättähästä,
Silmät lammin pulpukoista,
Korvat lammin lumpehista,
Sarvet raian haarukasta,
Suonet kuivista kuloista,
Sääret aian seipähistä,
Selkä aian aiaksista,
Muu runko lahosta puusta,
Talja kuusen koskuesta.
Lyylikki lylyjen seppä,
Kauppi kalhujen tekijä,
Jo kohti kotia lähti,
Potkasevi ensikerran,
Lyly lenti pälkähästä,
Lenti poikki pälkähästä,
Kaihu kantapään takoa,
Saua sompasen siasta.
Lyylikki lylyjen seppä,
Kauppi kalhujen tekijä,
Alla päin, pahoilla mielin,
Kaiken kallella kypärin,
Värkkiähän katselevi,
Sompia sovittelevi,
Itse tuon sanoiksi virkki:
"En tieä poloinen poika,
Poloisina päivinäni,
Miten olla, kuin eleä;
Palaneeko, paistuneeko,
Lappalaisen ruokokenkä,
Luikkaneeko, laikkaneeko
Lappalaisen kalhunpohja?
Elköhön sinä ikänä,
Kuuna kullan valkiana,
Menkö toinen miehiämme
Hiitten hirveä ajohon,
Sai palan lahoa puuta,
Senki suurella surulla."
Book III, Song 3 — Katrin parannus
Katri kangasta kutovi,
Helma hieno helkytteli;
Niin sen sulkki sukkulainen,
Kun kärppä kiven kolossa,
Niin sen piukki pirran ääni,
Kun kivisen kirkon kello.
Katri kangasta kutovi,
Helma hieno helkytteli;
Ei suku sikein makoa,
Kylä kyllin uinaele,
Katrin kankahan kuulta,
Helman hienon helkkeheltä.
Tuli mies merentakainen,
Uros umpilausehinen,
Pilkkoi puita pikkaraisen,
Halkoi halkoja vähäsen,
Kolmekymmentä rekiä,
Ne kaikki tulehen työnti,
Kai kantoi Katrin tulehen,
Helman hienon heltehesen.
Katri laski äänen kaihun,
Parkasi pahan sävelen;
Ääni kuului kuusialle,
Kajahti kaheksa'alle.
Neitsy Maaria emonen,
Rakas äiti armollinen,
Pian juoksi matkat pitkät,
Vähelen välit samosi,
Koprin helmansa kokosi,
Käsin kääri vaattehensa,
Rotkot nousi, vaarat vaipui,
Kaikki sai matkat tasaiset.
Tempasi tulesta Katrin,
Helman hienon heltehestä,
Kantoi Katrisen kylyhyn,
Itse loi parahan löylyn,
Hyvän löylyn löyhäytti,
Hyvän lämpösen lähetti,
Läpi kiukoan kivisen;
Teki Katrin terveheksi,
Paransi paranneheksi.
Book III, Song 4 — Wiron orja ja Isäntä
Minä laulan kaksi virttä,
Kun parasta seinähirttä,
Isännille, emännille,
Orjille osattomille,
Oli ennen Virossa orja,
Pajarissa karjapaimen,
Pahoin palkka maksettihin,
Pahoin palkka, väärin vaivat,
Lyhimmällä kyynärällä,
Saralla märännehellä,
Pienimmällä kappasella,
Ruumenisilla jyvillä.
Lupa orjan annettihin,
Lupa orjan, valta vangin,
Juosta jouluna kotihin,
Pääpyhille päästäksensä;
Orja suistuvi suvehen,
Suin suvehen, päin savehen,
Koprin ilmahan kovahan,
Perin pälvehen paha'an.
Sihen uupui orja rukka,
Kuoli kurja käskyläinen,
Paljahilla paioillahan,
Aivan aivinattomilla.
Tuli kolme Tuonen neittä,
Kerättihin kuollehia,
Löyettihin orjan sielu,
Otettihin orjan sielu,
Taluttihin taivahasen,
Saatettiin ilosalihin.
Avettiin hopia-uksi,
Kultaportti päästettihin,
Orjan saahessa sisälle.
Tuotihin hopiatuoli,
Kultakammi kannettihin:
"Istu tuolle orja raukka!
Kyll' oot saanut, orja raukka,
Istua pahemmallaki,
Orjuuessa ollessasi,
Käyessäsi käskyläisnä--
Istua kovalla puulla,
Sekä muuten seisoa'ki."
Tuotihin hopiatuoppi,
Kultakannu kannttihin,
Mettä, hunnaa sisässä,
Olutta hyvännäöstä:
"Juo'pas tästä orja rukka!
Kyll' oot saanut, orja rukkai
Juoa vettäki joesta,
Orjuuessa ollessasi,
Käskyläisnä käyessäsi
Juoa suolta suovesiä,
Taetvettä tanhuista."
Oli aikoa vähäsen,
Kuoli tuo iso isäntä,
Tuli kolme Tuonen neittä,
Kerättihin kuollehia;
Löyettiin isännän sielu,
Otettiin isännän sielu,
Vietihin surutupahan,
Heitettihin helvettihin,
Piinapaikkahan paha'an.
Avettiin tulinen uksi,
Tervaportti temmastihin:
"Seiso siin' iso isäntä!
Kyll' oot saanut istua'ki,
Isäntänä ollessasi,
Käskijänä käyessäsi--
Istua salituvissa,
Kaunehissa kammarissa."
Tuotihin tulinen tuoppi,
Tervatuoppi temmastihin,
Tulta, tervoa sisässä,
Sisiliskoja, matoja:
"Juo'pa täst' iso isäntä!
Jo oot juonut parempiaki,
Isäntänä ollessasi,
Käskijänä käyessäsi--
Juonut kyllä oluttaki
Päässä pöyän pöyhkeänä."
"Mintähen tämä minulle,
Kun on kurjalle pojalle?"
"Sentähenpä se sinulle:
Pahoin maksoit orjan palkan,
Veralla virannehella,
Saralla epäpäöllä,
Lyhyillä kyynärillä,
Kaitaisilla pietimillä,
Pienimmillä kappasilla,
Ruumenisilla jyvillä."
Käveli isännän sielu,
Käveli kivikatua,
Kivitietä telläjävi,
Pitkä arsina käessä,
Sarkatorvi kainalossa,
Hopia piosta piukki,
Kulta tuikki kukkarosta:
"Tule tänne orja raukka!
Maksan palkkasi paraite;
Ota tästä orja raukka!"
"En ota isäntä raukka."
"Ota, ota orja raukka,
Verkoa saran tilasta,
Kymmeniä kyynärästä!"
"En ota isäntä raukka."
"Ota, ota orja raukka,
Vehniä rukehisista,
Karpio kapan verosta!"
"En ota isäntä raukka."
Ota, ota orja raukka,
Paras lehmä läävästäni,
Katso paras karjastani!"
"En ota isäntä raukka,
Kun et anta't aikoinasi.
Mahoit maksella mailla,
Kostella ison kotona;
Mahoit silloin palkan panna,
Kun ma juotin lehmäjuonen,
Katsoin lammaskatrastasi;
Kun ma sotkin sotkujasi,
Räiskytin räpähiäsi;
Kun mä riihessä rimusin,
Alla parsien pamusin,
Olin olkihuonehessa,
Pyyhin hiemalla hikiä.
Luulit riihen ripsavaksi,
Kun mun ripsi rintaluuni;
Luulit orren ohkavaksi,
Kun mun ohki olkapääni;
Luulit parren paukkavaksi,
Kun mun paukkoi pallioni;
Pinon pitkän viereväksi,
Kun minun vereni vieri,
Orjuuessa ollessani,
Käskyläissä käyessäni."
Source Colophon
Source text: Elias Lönnrot, Kanteletar taikka Suomen kansan wanhoja lauluja ja wirsiä (Helsingissä: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 1840). Public domain.
Digitized text from Project Gutenberg EBook #7078. Original scan: Finnish Literature Society (SKS).
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