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ater ran the silver
And the liquid gold flowed after.
Then the minstrelIlmarinen
The eternal wonder-forger
Looks within his magic furnace
On the border of his oven
There beholds the fire-sword forming
Sees the blade with golden handle;
Takes the weapon from the furnace
Lays it on his heavy anvil
For the falling of the hammer;
Forges well the blade of magic
Well the heavy sword be tempers
Ornaments the hero-weapon
With the finest gold and silver.
Wainamoinenthe magician
Comes to view the blade of conquest
Lifts admiringly the fire-sword
Then these words the hero utters:
Does the weapon match the soldier
Does the handle suit the bearer?
637
Yeathe blade and hilt are molded
To the wishes of the minstrel.
On the sword-point gleams the moonlight
On the blade the sun is shining
On the hilt the bright stars twinkle
On the edge a horse is neighing
On the handle plays a kitten
On the sheath a dog is barking.
Wainamoinen wields his fire-sword
Tests it on the iron-mountain
And these words the hero utters:
With this broadsword I could quickly
Cleave in twain the mount of Pohya
Cut the flinty rocks asunder.
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