With your father's lifelong savings,
Which the aged man provided."
Said the lively Lemminkainen,
"O my mother who hast borne me,
If I quarrelled with the courser,
Or the foal had over-reached me, 100
I myself have shamed the masters,
Overcome the horses' drivers,
Foals and drivers I have vanquished,
And the heroes with their coursers."
Then said Lemminkainen's mother,
"Wherefore art thou then in trouble,
Wherefore is thy heart so troubled,
As from Pohjola thou comest?
Have the women laughed about you,
Or the maidens ridiculed you? 110
If the women laughed about you,
Or the maidens ridiculed you,
There are maidens to be jeered at,
Other women to be laughed at."
Said the lively Lemminkainen,
"O my mother who hast borne me,
If the women laughed about me,
Or the maidens ridiculed me,
I would laugh at all their menfolk,
And would wink at all the maidens, 120
I would shame a hundred women,
And a thousand brides would make them."
Then said Lemminkainen's mother,
"What has chanced, my son, my darling,
Hast thou perhaps encountered something
As to Pohjola thou wentest?
Have you eaten perhaps too freely,
Eaten much, too much have drunken,
Or at night perchance when resting
Have you seen a dream of evil?" 130
Then the lively Lemminkainen,
Answered in the words which follow:
"Perhaps old women may remember,
What in sleep they saw in vision!
Though my nightly dreams I think on,
Yet are those of daytime better.
O my mother, aged woman,
Fill my bag with fresh provisions,
With a good supply of flour,
And a lump of salt add likewise, 140
For thy son must travel further,
Journey to another country,
Journey from this house beloved,
Journey from this lovely dwelling,
For the men their swords are whetting,
And the lance-tips they are sharpening."
Then his mother interrupted,
Asking him his cause of trouble.
"Wherefore whet the men their sword-blades,
Wherefore sharpen they the lance-tips?" 150
Answered lively Lemminkainen,
Said the handsome Kaukomieli,
"Therefore do they whet their sword-blades,
Therefore they the lance-tips sharpen:
On the head of me unhappy,
On my neck to bring destruction.
From a quarrel rose a duel,
There in Pohjola's enclosure;
I have slain the son of Pohja,
Slain the very lord of Pohja, 160
Then rose Pohjola to battle,
Close behind me comes the tumult,
Raging all for my destruction,
To surround a single warrior."
Then his mother gave him answer,
To her child the old crone answered:
"I myself already told you,
And I had already warned you,
And forbidden you most strictly
Not to Pohjola to venture. 170
Had you stayed at home in quiet,
Living in your mother's dwelling,
Safely in your parent's homestead,
In the home of her who bore thee,
Then no war had ever risen,
Nor appeared a cause of contest.
"Whither now, my son unhappy,
Canst thou flee, unhappy creature,
Go to hide thee from destruction,
Flying from thy wicked action, 180
Lest thy wretched head be captured,
And thy handsome neck be severed,
That thy hair remain uninjured,
Nor thy glossy hair downtrodden?"
Said the lively Lemminkainen,
"No such refuge do I know of,
Where a safe retreat awaits me,
Where I from my crime can hide me.
O my mother who hast borne me,
Where do you advise my hiding?" 190
Answered Lemminkainen's mother,
And she spoke the words which follow:
"No, I know not where to hide you,
Where to hide you or to send you.
As a pine upon the mountain, Juniper in distant places, There might still misfortune find thee, Evil fate might rise against thee. Often is the mountain pine-tree Cut to pieces into torches, 200 And the juniper on heathland, Into posts is often cloven.
"As a birch-tree in the valley,
Or an alder in the greenwood,
There might still misfortune find thee,
Evil fate might rise against thee.
Often is the valley birch-tree
Chopped to pieces into faggots,
Often is the alder-thicket
Cut away to make a clearing. 210
"As a berry on the mountain,
Or upon the heath a cranberry,
Or upon the plain a strawberry,
Or in other spots a bilberry,
There might still misfortune find thee,
Evil fate might rise against thee,
For the girls might come to pluck thee,
Tin-adorned ones might uproot thee.
"In the lake as pike when hiding,
Powan in slow-flowing river, 220
There misfortune still might find thee,
And at last destruction reach thee.
If there came a youthful fisher,
He might cast his net in water,
And the young in net might take thee,
And the old with net might capture.
"Didst thou roam