Bride and bridegroom on their journey; Thought the maiden growing weary, Weary of my son's attentions, Since he faithfully had promised To return to Kalevala, Ere his foot-prints had departed From the snow-fields of his father. Every morn I looked and listened, Constantly I thought and wondered When his sledge would rumble homeward, When it would return triumphant To his home, renowned and ancient. Had a blind and beggared straw-horse Hobbled to these shores awaiting, With a sledge of but two pieces, Well the steed would have been lauded, Had it brought my son beloved, Had it brought the Bride of Beauty. Thus I waited long, impatient, Looking out from morn till even, Watching with my head extended, With my tresses streaming southward, With my eyelids widely opened, Waiting for my son's returning To this modest home of heroes, To this narrow place of resting. Finally am I rewarded, For the sledge has come triumphant, Bringing home my son and hero, By his side the Rainbow maiden, Red her cheeks, her visage winsome, Pride and joy of Sariola. "Wizard-bridegroom of Wainola, Take thy-courser to the stable, Lead him to the well-filled manger, To the best of grain and clover; Give to us thy friendly greetings, Greetings send to all thy people. When thy greetings thou hast ended, Then relate what has befallen To our hero in his absence. Hast thou gone without adventure To the dark fields of Pohyola, Searching for the Maid of Beauty? Didst thou scale the hostile ramparts, Didst thou take the virgin's mansion, Passing o'er her mother's threshold, Visiting the halls of Louhi? "But I know without the asking, See the answer to my question: Comest from the North a victor, On thy journey well contented; Thou hast brought the Northland daughter, Thou hast razed the hostile portals, Thou hast stormed the forts of Louhi, Stormed the mighty walls opposing, On thy journey to Pohyola, To the village of the father. In thy care the bride is sitting, In thine arms, the Rainbow-maiden, At thy side, the pride of Northland, Mated to the highly-gifted. Who has told the cruel story, Who the worst of news has scattered, That thy suit was unsuccessful, That in vain thy steed had journeyed? Not in vain has been thy wooing, Not in vain thy steed has travelled To the dismal homes of Lapland; He has journeyed heavy laden, Shaken mane, and tail, and forelock, Dripping foam from lips and nostrils, Through the bringing of the maiden, With the burden of the husband. "Come, thou beauty, from the snow-sledge, Come, descend thou from the cross-bench, Do not linger for assistance, Do not tarry to be carried; If too young the one that lifts thee, If too proud the one in waiting, Rise thou, graceful, like a young bird, Hither glide along the pathway, On the tan-bark scarlet- colored, That the herds of kine have evened,