In the field is room for combat,
On the plain is space sufficient;
Blood looks fairer in the court-yard,
Better in the open spaces,
Let it dye the snow-fields scarlet.” 
To the yard the heroes hasten,
There they find a monstrous ox-skin,
Spread it on the field of battle;
On the ox-skin stand the swordsmen. 
Spake the hero, Lemminkainen: 
“Listen well, thou host of Northland,
Though thy broadsword is the longer,
Though thy blade is full of horror,
Thou shalt have the first advantage;
Use with skill thy boasted broadsword
Ere the final bout is given,
Ere thy head be chopped in pieces;
Strike with skill, or thou wilt perish,
Strike, and do thy best for Northland.” 
Thereupon Pohyola’s landlord
Raised on high his blade of battle,
Struck a heavy blow in anger,
Struck a second, then a third time,
But he could not touch his rival,
Could Dot draw a single blood-drop
From the veins of Lemminkainen,
Skillful Islander and hero. 
Spake the handsome Kaukomieli: 
“Let me try my skill at fencing,
Let me swing my father’s broadsword,
Let my honored blade be tested!”
But the landlord of Pohyola,
Does not heed the words of Ahti,
Strikes in fury, strikes unceasing,
Ever aiming, ever missing. 
When the skillful Lemminkainen
Swings his mighty blade of magic,
Fire disports along his weapon,
Flashes from his sword of honor,
Glistens from the hero’s broadsword,
Balls of fire disporting, dancing,
On the blade of mighty Ahti,
Overflow upon the shoulders
Of the landlord of Pohyola. 
Spake the hero, Lemminkainen: 
“O thou son of Sariola,
See! indeed thy neck is glowing
Like the dawning of the morning,
Like the rising Sun in ocean!”
Quickly turned Pohyola’s landlord,
Thoughtless host of darksome Northland,
To behold the fiery splendor
Playing on his neck and shoulders. 
Quick as lightning, Lemminkainen,
With his father’s blade of battle,
With a single blow of broadsword,
With united skill and power,
Lopped the head of Pohya’s master;
As one cleaves the stalks of turnips,
As the ear falls from the corn-stalk,
As one strikes the fins from salmon,
Thus the head rolled from the shoulders
Of the landlord of Pohyola,
Like a ball it rolled and circled. 
In the yard were pickets standing,
Hundreds were the sharpened pillars,
And a head on every picket,
Only one was left un-headed. 
Quick the victor, Lemminkainen,
Took the head of Pohya’s landlord,
Spiked it on the empty picket. 
Then the Islander, rejoicing,
Handsome hero, Kaukomieli,
Quick returning to the chambers,
Crave this order to the hostess: 
“Evil maiden, bring me water,
Wherewithal to cleanse my fingers
From the blood of Northland’s master,
Wicked host of Sariola.” 
Ilpotar, the Northland hostess,
Fired with anger, threatened vengeance,