In the sea was little water,
Scarcely would it fill three measures. 
Untamoinen then reflected,
This the language of the wizard: 
“Whither shall we take this wonder,
Lay this prodigy of evil,
That destruction may o’ertake him,
Where the boy will sink and perish?”
Then his messengers he ordered
To collect dried poles of brushwood,
Birch-trees with their hundred branches,
Pine-trees full of pitch and resin,
Ordered that a pyre be builded,
That the boy might be cremated,
That Kullervo thus might perish. 
High they piled the and branches,
Dried limbs from the sacred birch-tree,
Branches from a hundred fir-trees,
Knots and branches full of resign;
Filled with bark a thousand sledges,
Seasoned oak, a hundred measures;
Piled the brushwood to the tree-tops,
Set the boy upon the summit,
Set on fire the pile of brushwood,
Burned one day, and then a second,
Burned the third from morn till evening. 
When Untamo sent his heralds
To inspect the pyre and wizard,
There to learn if young Kullervo
Had been burned to dust and ashes,
There they saw the young boy sitting
On a pyramid of embers,
In his band a rod of copper,
Raking coals of fire about him,
To increase their heat and power;
Not a hair was burned nor injured,
Not a ringlet singed nor shrivelled. 
Then Untamo, evil-humored,
Thus addressed his trusted heralds: 
“Whither shall the boy be taken,
To what place this thing of evil,
That destruction may o’ertake him. 
That the boy may sink and perish?”
Then they hung him to an oak-tree,
Crucified him in the branches,
That the wizard there might perish. 
When three days and nights had ended,
Untamoinen spake as follows: 
“It is time to send my heralds
To inspect the mighty oak-tree,
There to learn if young Kullervo
Lives or dies among the branches.” 
Thereupon he sent his servants,
And the heralds brought this message: 
“Young Kullervo has not perished,
Has not died among the branches
Of the oak-tree where we hung him. 
In the oak he maketh pictures
With a wand between his fingers;
Pictures hang from all the branches,
Carved and painted by Kullervo;
And the heroes, thick as acorns,
With their swords and spears adjuste4
Fill the branches of the oak-tree,
Every leaf becomes a soldier.” 
Who can help the grave Untamo
Kill the boy that threatens evil
To Untamo’s tribe and country,
Since he will not die by water,
Nor by fire, nor crucifixion? 
Finally it was decided
That his body was immortal,
Could not suffer death nor torture. 
In despair grave Untamoinen
Thus addressed the boy, Kullervo: 
“Wilt thou live a life becoming,
Always do my people honor,
Should I keep thee in my dwelling? 
Shouldst thou render servant’s duty,
Then thou wilt receive thy wages,