To our hero in his absence. 
Hast thou gone without adventure
To the dark fields of Pohyola,
Searching for the Maid of Beauty? 
Didst thou scale the hostile ramparts,
Didst thou take the virgin’s mansion,
Passing o’er her mother’s threshold,
Visiting the halls of Louhi? 
“But I know without the asking,
See the answer to my question: 
Comest from the North a victor,
On thy journey well contented;
Thou hast brought the Northland daughter,
Thou hast razed the hostile portals,
Thou hast stormed the forts of Louhi,
Stormed the mighty walls opposing,
On thy journey to Pohyola,
To the village of the father. 
In thy care the bride is sitting,
In thine arms, the Rainbow-maiden,
At thy side, the pride of Northland,
Mated to the highly-gifted. 
Who has told the cruel story,
Who the worst of news has scattered,
That thy suit was unsuccessful,
That in vain thy steed had journeyed? 
Not in vain has been thy wooing,
Not in vain thy steed has travelled
To the dismal homes of Lapland;
He has journeyed heavy laden,
Shaken mane, and tail, and forelock,
Dripping foam from lips and nostrils,
Through the bringing of the maiden,
With the burden of the husband. 
“Come, thou beauty, from the snow-sledge,
Come, descend thou from the cross-bench,
Do not linger for assistance,
Do not tarry to be carried;
If too young the one that lifts thee,
If too proud the one in waiting,
Rise thou, graceful, like a young bird,
Hither glide along the pathway,
On the tan-bark scarlet- colored,
That the herds of kine have evened,
That the gentle lambs have trodden,
Smoothened by the tails of horses. 
Haste thou here with gentle footsteps,
Through the pathway smooth and tidy,
On the tiles of even surface,
On thy second father’s court-yard,
To thy second mother’s dwelling,
To thy brother’s place of resting,
To thy sister’s silent chambers. 
Place thy foot within these portals,
Step across this waiting threshold,
Enter thou these halls of joyance,
Underneath these painted rafters,
Underneath this roof of ages. 
During all the winter evenings,
Through the summer gone forever,
Sang the tiling made of ivory,
Wishing thou wouldst walk upon it;
Often sang the golden ceiling,
Hoping thou wouldst walk beneath it,
And the windows often whistled,
Asking thee to sit beside them;
Even on this merry morning,
Even on the recent evening,
Sat the aged at their windows,
On the sea-shore ran the children,
Near the walls the maidens waited,
Ran the boys upon the highway,
There to watch the young bride’s coming,
Coming with her hero-husband. 
“Hail, ye courtiers of Wainola,
With the heroes of the fathers,
Hail to thee, Wainola’s hamlet,
Hail, ye halls with heroes peopled,
Hail, ye rooms with all your inmates,