Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Touched again his magic harp-strings, Sang in miracles of concord, Filled the north with joy and gladness. Melodies arose to heaven, Songs arose to Luna's chambers, Echoed through the Sun's bright windows And the Moon has left her station, Drops and settles in the birch-tree; And the Sun comes from his castle, Settles in the fir-tree branches, Comes to share the common pleasure, Comes to listen to the singing, To the harp of Wainamoinen. Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Northland's old and toothless wizard, Makes the Sun and Moon her captives; In her arms she takes fair Luna From her cradle in the birch-tree, Calls the Sun down from his station, From the fir-tree's bending branches, Carries them to upper Northland, To the darksome Sariola; Hides the Moon, no more to glimmer, In a rock of many colors; Hides the Sun, to shine no longer, In the iron-banded mountain; Thereupon these words she utters: "Moon of gold and Sun of silver, Hide your faces in the caverns Of Pohyola's dismal mountain; Shine no more to gladden Northland, Till I come to give ye freedom, Drawn by coursers nine in number, Sable coursers of one mother!" When the golden Moon had vanished, And the silver Sun had hidden In the iron-banded caverns, Louhi stole the fire from Northland, From the regions of Wainola, Left the mansions cold and cheerless, And the cabins full of darkness. Night was king and reigned unbroken, Darkness ruled in Kalevala, Darkness in the home of Ukko. Hard to live without the moonlight, Harder still without the sunshine; Ukko's life is dark and dismal, When the Sun and Moon desert him. Ukko, first of all creators, Lived in wonder at the darkness; Long reflected, well considered, Why this miracle in heaven, What this accident in nature To the Moon upon her journey; Why the Sun no more is shining, Why has disappeared the moonlight. Then great Ukko walked the heavens, To the border of the cloudlets, In his purple-colored vestments, In his silver-tinselled sandals, Seeking for the golden moonlight, Looking for the silver sunshine. Lightning Ukko struck in darkness From the edges of his fire-sword; Shot the flames in all directions, From his blade of golden color, Into heaven's upper spaces, Into Ether's starry pastures. When a little fire had kindled, Ukko hid it in the cloud-space, In a box of gold and silver, In a case adorned with silver, Gave it to the ether-maidens, Called a virgin then to rock it, That it might become a new-moon, That a second sun might follow. On the long-cloud rocked the virgin, On the blue-edge of the ether, Rocked the fire of the Creator, In her copper-colored cradle, With her ribbons silver-studded. Lowly bend the bands of silver, Loud the golden cradle echoes, And the clouds of Northland thunder, Low descends the dome of heaven,