ls of the waters
begin.' It is a curious instance of the animism, the vivid power of
personifying all the beings and forces of nature, which marks the
'Kalevala,' that the Cold speaks to Lemminkainen in human voice, and
seeks a reconciliation.

At this part of the epic there is an obvious lacuna. The story goes to
Kullervo, a luckless man, who serves as shepherd to Ilmarinen.
Thinking himself ill-treated by the heroic smith's wife, the shepherd
changes his flock into bears and wolves, which devour their mistress.
Then he returns to his own home, where he learns that his sister has
been lost for many days, and is believed to be dead. Travelling in
search of her he meets a girl, loves her, and all unwittingly commits
an inexpiable offence. 'Then,' says the 'Kalevala,' 'came up the new
dawn, and the maiden spoke, saying, "What is thy race, bold young
man, and who is thy father?" Kullervo said, "I am the wretched son of
Kalerva; but tell me, what is thy race, and who is thy father?" Then
said the maiden, "I am the wretched daughter of Kalerva. Ah! would God
that I had died, then might I have grown with the green grass, and
blossomed with the flowers, and never known this sorrow." With this
she sprang into the midst of the foaming waves, and found peace in
Tuoni, and rest in the waters of forgetfulness.' Then there was no
word for Kullervo, but the bitter moan of the brother in the terrible
Scotch ballad of the _Bonny Hind_, and no rest but in death by his own
sword, where grass grows never on his sister's tomb.

The epic now draws to a close. Ilmarinen seeks a new wife in Pohja,
and endeavours with Waeinaemoeinen's help to recover the mystic sampo. On
the voyage, the Runoia makes a harp out of the bones of a monstrous
fish, so strange a harp that none may play it but himself. When he
played, all four-footed things came about him, and the white birds
dropped down 'like a storm of snow.' The maidens of the sun and the
moon paused in their weaving, and the golden thread fell from their
hands. The Ancient One of the sea-water listened, and the nymphs of
the wells forgot to comb their loose locks with the golden combs. All
men and maidens and little children wept, amid the silent joy of
nature; nay, the great harper wept, and _of his tears were pearls
made_.

In the war with Pohjola the heroes were victorious, but the sampo was
broken in the fight, and lost in the sea, and that, perhaps, is 'why
the sea is salt.' Fragments w