Page:Folk-lore - A Quarterly Review. Volume 1, 1890.djvu/348

342 At the back of a speckled stone, in a burning heat, v. With her lovely comb, with her fish-bone comb, Near an angry river, close to powerful rapids. A tooth of her comb snapped off, a bristle of her brush broke, v. A hair fell rustling from her head, a hair was missing from her locks. From it grew up a lovely shoot, a beauteous sapling straightened out Near the angry [v. 'holy'] river, close to the strong rapids. An oak grew up with flowery sprays, with flowery sprays, with iron enclosure, Its head seized the sky, its branches touched the clouds.

The field-boy Pellervoinen, the tiny little boy Sampsa, When he formerly sowed lands, both lands and swamps, Caused trees to spring up, young saplings to shoot, (But) one, an oak, had failed to sprout, the "tree of God" had struck no root. He left it wholly to itself, he abandoned it to its fate. Two, three nights elapsed, an equal number, too, of days, He started off to ascertain Whether the oak had sprouted—the " tree of God" had struck root. The oak had not sprouted, the "tree of God" had struck no root. He left it wholly to itself, he abandoned it to its fate, Waited for three more nights, for an equal number of days, Then started off to ascertain Directly after these three nights, after completion of a week. Already an oak had sprouted, a "tree of God" had taken root, A shoot drawn forth by Jesus—grown by the ground (mantu) from out the earth. Whoever took a branch of it obtained a life-long luck, Whoever cut from it a sprig cut for himself eternal love.