Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/58

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Then upon the ground I threw them,

Scattered them among the bushes,

And I answered him in this wise:

“Not for thee, and not for others,

Rests my cross upon my bosom,

And my hair is bound with ribands.

Nought I care for sea-borne raiment,

Wheaten bread I do not value.

I will walk in home-spun garments,

And with crusts will still my hunger,

In my dearest father’s dwelling,

And beside my much-loved mother.”

And her mother answered thus wise,

Said the old crone to the maiden,

“Do not weep, my dearest daughter,

Do not grieve (and thou so youthful);

Eat a whole year long fresh butter,

That your form may grow more rounded,

Eat thou pork the second season,

That your form may grow more charming,

And the third year eat thou cream-cakes,

That you may become more lovely.

Seek the storehouse on the mountain,

There the finest chamber open.

There are coffers piled on coffers,

Chests in heaps on chests are loaded,

Open then the finest coffer,

Raise the painted lid with clangour,

There you’ll find six golden girdles,

Seven blue robes of finest texture,

Woven by the Moon’s own daughter,

By the Sun’s own daughter fashioned.

“In the days when I was youthful,

In my youthful days of girlhood,

In the wood I sought for berries,

Gathered raspberries on the mountain,

Heard the moonlight’s daughter weaving,

And the sunlight’s daughter spinning,

There beside the wooded island,

On the borders of the greenwood.