Why art thou in evil humor,
Wherefore sad in thy demeanor? 
Take a young shoot from the thicket,
Take a birch-rod from the valley,
Drive thy herd across the lowlands,
Through the quicksands of the marshes;
To the wolves let one half wander,
To the bear-dens, lead the other;
Sing the forest wolves together,
Sing the bears down from the mountains,
Call the wolves thy little children,
And the bears thy standard-bearers;
Drive them like a cow-herd homeward,
Drive them home like spotted cattle,
Drive them to thy master’s milk-yards;
Thus thou wilt repay the hostess
For her malice and derision.” 
Thereupon the wizard answered,
These the words of Kullerwoinen: 
“Wait, yea wait, thou bride of Hisi! 
Do I mourn my mother’s relic,
Mourn the keep-sake thou hast broken? 
Thou thyself shalt mourn as sorely
When thy, cows come home at evening!”
From the tree he cuts a birch-wand,
From the juniper a whip-stick,
Drives the herd across the lowlands,
Through the quicksands of the marshes,
To the wolves lets one half wander,
To the bear-dens leads the other;
Calls the wolves his little children,
Calls the bears his standard-bearers,
Changes all his herd of cattle
Into wolves and bears by magic. 
In the west the Sun is shining,
Telling that the night is coming. 
Quick the wizard, Kullerwoinen,
Wanders o’er the pine-tree mountain,
Hastens through the forest homeward,
Drives the wolves and bears before him
Toward the milk-yards of the hostess;
To the herd he speaks as follows,
As they journey on together: 
“Tear and kill the wicked hostess,
Tear her guilty flesh in pieces,
When she comes to view her cattle,
When she stoops to do her milking!”
Then the wizard, Kullerwoinen,
From an ox-bone makes a bugle,
Makes it from Tuonikki’s cow-horn,
Makes a flute from Kiryo’s shin-bone,
Plays a song upon his bugle,
Plays upon his flute of magic,
Thrice upon the home-land hill-tops,
Six times near the coming gate-ways. 
Ilmarinen’s wife and hostess
Long had waited for the coming
Of her herd with Kullerwoinen,
Waited for the milk at evening,
Waited for the new-made butter,
Heard the footsteps in the cow-path,
On the heath she beard the bustle,
Spake these joyous words of welcome: 
“Be thou praised, O gracious Ukko,
That my herd is home returning! 
But I hear a bugle sounding,
’Tis the playing of my herdsman,
Playing on a magic cow-horn,
Bursting all our ears with music!”
Kullerwoinen, drawing nearer,
To the hostess spake as follows: 
“Found the bugle in the woodlands,
And the flute among the rushes;
All thy herd are in the passage,
All thy cows within the hurdles,
This the time to build the camp-fire,
This the time to do the milking!”
Ilmarinen’s wife, the hostess,
Thus addressed an aged servant: