Stills the pains by fire engendered, Stills the agonies and tortures Brought him by the child of evil, Brought him by the wicked Panu. RUNE XLIX. RESTORATION OF THE SUN AND MOON. Thus has Fire returned to Northland But the gold Moon is not shining, Neither gleams the silver sunlight In the chambers of Wainola, On the plains of Kalevala. On the crops the white-frost settled, And the cattle died of hunger, Even birds grew sick and perished. Men and maidens, faint and famished, Perished in the cold and darkness, From the absence of the sunshine, From the absence of the moonlight. Knew the pike his holes and hollows, And the eagle knew his highway, Knew the winds the times for sailing; But the wise men of the Northland Could not know the dawn of morning, On the fog-point in the ocean, On the islands forest-covered. Young and aged talked and wondered, Well reflected, long debated, How to live without the moonlight, Live without the silver sunshine, In the cold and cheerless Northland, In the homes of Kalevala. Long conjectured all the maidens, Orphans asked the wise for counsel. Spake a maid to Ilmarinen, Running to the blacksmith's furnace: "Rise, O artist, from thy slumbers, Hasten from thy couch unworthy; Forge from gold the Moon for Northland, Forge anew the Sun from silver Cannot live without the moonlight, Nor without the silver sunshine!" From his couch arose the artist, From his couch of stone, the blacksmith, And began his work of forging, Forging Sun and Moon for Northland. Came the ancient Wainamoinen, In the doorway sat and lingered, Spake, these Words to Ilmarinen: "Blacksmith, my beloved brother, Thou the only metal-worker, Tell me why thy magic hammer Falls so heavy on thine anvil?" Spake the youthful Ilmarinen: "Moon of gold and Sun of silver, I am forging for Wainola; I shall swing them into ether, Plant them in the starry heavens." Spake the wise, old Wainamoinen: "Senseless blacksmith of the ages, Vainly dost thou swing thy hammer, Vainly rings thy mighty anvil; Silver will not gleam as sunshine, Not of gold is born the moonlight!" Ilmarinen, little heeding, Ceases not to ply his hammer, Sun and Moon the artist forges, Wings the Moon of Magic upward, Hurls it to the pine-tree branches; Does not shine without her master. Then the silver Sun he stations In an elm-tree on the mountain. From his forehead drip the sweat-drops, Perspiration from his fingers, Through his labors at the anvil While the Sun and Moon were forging; But the Sun shone not at morning From his station in the elm-tree; And the Moon shone not at evening From the pine-tree's topmost branches. Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "Let the Fates be now consulted, And the oracles examined; Only thus may we discover Where the Sun and Moon lie hidden." Thereupon old Wainamoinen,