"Follow thee this maid will never, Never heed unworthy suitors; Thou hast slain the Bride of Beauty, Once the Maiden of the Rainbow, Thou wouldst also slay her sister. I deserve a better suitor, Wish a truer, nobler husband, Wish to ride in richer sledges, Have a better home-protection; Never will I sweep the cottage And the coal-place of a blacksmith." Then the hero, Ilmarinen, The eternal metal-artist, Turned his head away, disdainful, Shook his sable locks in anger, Quickly seized the trembling maiden, Held her in his grasp of iron, Hastened from the court of Louhi To his sledge upon the highway. In his sleigh he seats the virgin, Snugly wraps her in his far-robes, Snaps his whip above the racer, Gallops on the high-road homeward; With one hand the reins be tightens, With the other holds the maiden. Speaks the virgin-daughter, weeping: We have reached the lowland-berries, Here the herbs of water-borders; Leave me here to sink and perish As a child of cold misfortune. Wicked Ilmarinen, listen! If thou dost not quickly free me, I will break thy sledge to pieces, Throw thy fur-robes to the north-winds." Ilmarinen makes this answer: "When the blacksmith builds his snow-sledge, All the parts are hooped with iron; Therefore will the beauteous maiden Never beat my sledge to fragments." Then the silver-tinselled daughter Wept and wailed in bitter accents, Wrung her hands in desperation, Spake again to Ilmarinen: "If thou dost not quickly free me, I shall change to ocean-salmon, Be a whiting of the waters." "Thou wilt never thus escape me, As a pike I'll fleetly follow." Then the maiden of Pohyola Wept and wailed in bitter accents, Wrung her hands in desperation, Spake again to Ilmarinen; "If thou dost not quickly free me, I shall hasten to the forest, Mid the rocks become an ermine!" "Thou wilt never thus escape me, As a serpent I will follow." Then the beauty of the Northland, Wailed and wept in bitter accents, Wrung her hands in desperation, Spake once more to Ilmarinen: "Surely, if thou dost not free me, As a lark I'll fly the ether, Hide myself within the storm-clouds." "Neither wilt thou thus escape me, As an eagle I will follow." They had gone but little distance, When the courser shied and halted, Frighted at some passing object; And the maiden looked in wonder, In the snow beheld some foot-prints, Spake these words to Ilmarinen: Who has run across our highway?" "'Tis the timid hare", he answered. Thereupon the stolen maiden Sobbed, and moaned, in deeps of sorrow, Heavy-hearted, spake these measures: "Woe is me, ill-fated virgin! Happier far my life hereafter, If the hare I could but follow To his burrow in the woodlands! Crook-leg's fur to me is finer Than the robes of Ilmarinen." Ilmarinen, the magician, Tossed his head in full resentment, Galloped on the highway homeward,