Reaping whatsoe’er thou sowest;
Thou canst wear the golden girdle,
Or endure the tongue of censure.” 
When the boy had grown a little,
Had increased in strength and stature,
He was given occupation,
He was made to tend an infant,
Made to rock the infant’s cradle. 
These the words of Untamoinen: 
“Often look upon the young child,
Feed him well and guard from danger,
Wash his linen in the river,
Give the infant good attention.” 
Young Kullervo, wicked wizard,
Nurses one day then a second;
On the morning of the third day,
Gives the infant cruel treatment,
Blinds its eyes and breaks its fingers;
And when evening shadows gather,
Kills the young child while it slumbers,
Throws its body to the waters,
Breaks and burns the infant’s cradle. 
Untamoinen thus reflected: 
“Never will this fell Kullervo
Be a worthy nurse for children,
Cannot rock a babe in safety;
Do not know how I can use him,
What employment I can give him!”
Then he told the young magician
He must fell the standing forest,
And Kullervo gave this answer: 
“Only will I be a hero,
When I wield the magic hatchet;
I am young, and fair, and mighty,
Far more beautiful than others,
Have the skill of six magicians.” 
Thereupon he sought the blacksmith,
This the order of Kullervo: 
“Listen, O thou metal-artist,
Forge for me an axe of copper,
Forge the mighty axe of heroes,
Wherewith I may fell the forest,
Fell the birch, and oak, and aspen.” 
This behest the blacksmith honors,
Forges him an axe of copper,
Wonderful the blade he forges. 
Kullerwoinen grinds his hatchet,
Grinds his blade from morn till evening,
And the next day makes the handle;
Then he hastens to the forest,
To the upward-sloping mountain,
To the tallest of the birches,
To the mightiest of oak-trees;
There he swings his axe of copper,
Swings his blade with might of magic,
Cuts with sharpened edge the aspen,
With one blow he fells the oak-tree,
With a second blow, the linden;
Many trees have quickly fallen,
By the hatchet of Kullervo. 
Then the wizard spake as follows: 
“This the proper work of Lempo,
Let dire Hisi fell the forest!”
In the birch he sank his hatchet,
Made an uproar in the woodlands,
Called aloud in tones, of thunder,
Whistled to the distant mountains,
Till they echoed to his calling,
When Kullervo spake as follows: 
“May the forest, in the circle
Where my voice rings, fall and perish,
In the earth be lost forever! 
May no tree remain unlevelled,
May no saplings grow in spring-time,
Never while the moonlight glimmers,
Where Kullervo’s voice has echoed,
Where the forest hears my calling;
Where the ground with seed is planted,
And the grain shall sprout and flourish,
May it never come to ripeness,
Mar the ears of corn be blasted!”