. Soldan, a Finn by birth, an enthusiastic
lover of his country, a scholar of great attainments, acquainted with
many languages, and once at the head of the Imperial Mint at
Helsingfors, the capital of Finland. Prof. Porter has very kindly
placed in the hands of the author of these pages, all the literature on
this subject at his command, including his own writings; he has watched
the growth of this translation with unusual interest; and, with the eye
of a gifted poet and scholar, he has made two careful and critical
examinations of the entire manuscript, making annotations, emendations,
and corrections, by which this work has been greatly improved.

With this prolonged introduction, this, the first English translation
of the Kalevala, with its many imperfections, is hesitatingly given to
the public.

JOHN MARTIN CRAWFORD.
October 1, 1887.

THE KALEVALA.

PROEM.

MASTERED by desire impulsive,
By a mighty inward urging,
I am ready now for singing,
Ready to begin the chanting
Of our nation's ancient folk-song
Handed down from by-gone ages.
In my mouth the words are melting,
From my lips the tones are gliding,
From my tongue they wish to hasten;
When my willing teeth are parted,
When my ready mouth is opened,
Songs of ancient wit and wisdom
Hasten from me not unwilling.
Golden friend, and dearest brother,
Brother dear of mine in childhood,
Come and sing with me the stories,
Come and chant with me the legends,
Legends of the times forgotten,
Since we now are here together,
Come together from our roamings.
Seldom do we come for singing,
Seldom to the one, the other,
O'er this cold and cruel country,
O'er the poor soil of the Northland.
Let us clasp our hands together
That we thus may best remember.
Join we now in merry singing,
Chant we now the oldest folk-lore,
That the dear ones all may hear them,
That the well-inclined may hear them,
Of this rising generation.
These are words in childhood taught me,
Songs preserved from distant ages,
Legends they that once were taken
From the belt of Wainamoinen,
From the forge of Ilmarinen,
From the sword of Kaukomieli,
From the bow of Youkahainen,
From the pastures of the Northland,
From the meads of Kalevala.
These my dear old father sang me
When at work with knife and hatchet
These my tender mother taught me
When she twirled the flying spindle,
When a