Page:Kalevala (Kirby 1907) v1.djvu/85

They would always rise together,
And they would awake together.
She herself arose before them,
Ere the sun or moon had risen,140
Long before the time of cockcrow,
Or the chirping of a chicken.
From five sheep she shore the fleeces,
Clipped the wool from off six lambkins,
In her loom she wove the fleeces,
And the whole with care she carded,
Long before the dawn of morning,
Long before the sun had risen.
After this she washed the tables,
Swept the wide-extended flooring,150
With the broom of twigs all leafless,
Then with broom of leafy branches.
Then the sweepings she collected
In the dustpan made of copper;
Out of doors she took the rubbish,
To the field beyond the farmyard,
To the field’s extremest limit,
Where the lowest fence has opening.
There she stood upon the sweepings,
And she turned around, and listened.160
From the lake she heard a weeping,
Sounds of woe across the river.
Quickly then she hastened homeward,
And she hurried to the parlour.
As she came, she told her tidings,
In such words as those which follow:
“From the lake I hear a weeping,
Sounds of woe across the river.”
Louhi, Pohjola’s old Mistress,
Old and gap-toothed dame of Pohja,170
Hastened forth into the farmyard,
Hurried to the fence’s opening,
Where she bent her ear to listen,
And she spoke the words which follow:
“This is not like childhood’s weeping,
Nor like women’s lamentation,