To the forest-beds to suffer,
To the Pohya-plains to perish,
In the home-land of the ravens,
Fitting food for crows and eagles. 
Often do the Northland vultures
Hither come to feed their fledgelings;
Hither bring the birds of heaven
Bits of flesh and blood of heroes;
Often do the beaks of ravens
Tear the flesh of kindred corpses,
Often do the eagle’s talons
Carry bones and trembling vitals,
Such as ours, to feed their nestlings,
In their rocky homes and ledges. 
“Oh! my mother can but wonder,
Never can divine the answer,
Where her reckless son is roaming,
Where her hero’s blood is flowing,
Whether in the swamps and lowlands
Whether in the heat of battle,
Or upon the waves of the ocean,
Or upon the hop-feld mountains,
Or along some forest by-way. 
Nothing can her mind discover
Of the frailest of her heroes,
Only think that he has perished. 
Thus the hoary-headed mother
Weeps and murmurs in her chambers: 
’Where is now my son beloved,
In the kingdom of Manala? 
Sow thy crops, thou dread Tuoni,
Harrow well the fields of Kalma! 
Now the bow receives its respite
From the fingers of my Tiera;
Bow and arrow now are useless,
Now the merry birds can fatten
In the fields, and fens, and forests;
Bears may live in dens of freedom,
On the fields may sport the elk-herds.’”
Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: 
“Thus it is, mine aged mother,
Thou that gavest me existence! 
Thou hast reared thy broods of chickens,
Hatched and reared thy flights of white-swans
All of them the winds have scattered,
Or the evil Lempo frightened;
One flew hither, and one thither,
And a third one, lost forever! 
Think thou of our former pleasures,
Of our better days together,
When I wandered like the flowers,
Like the berry in the meadows. 
Many saw my form majestic,
Many thought me well-proportioned. 
Now is not as then with Ahti,
Into evil days have fallen,
Since I see but storms and darkness! 
Then my eyes beheld but sunshine,
Then we did not weep and murmur,
Did not fill our hearts with sorrow,
When the maids in joy were singing,
When the virgins twined their tresses;
Then the women joined in joyance,
Whether brides were happy-wedded,
Whether bridegrooms choose discreetly,
Whether they were wise or unwise. 
“But we must not grow disheartened,
Let the Island-maidens cheer us;
Here we are not yet enchanted,
Not bewitched by magic singing,
On the paths not left to perish,
Sink and perish on our journey. 
Full of youth we should not suffer,
Strong, we should not die unworthy,
Whom the wizards have enchanted,
Have bewitched with songs of magic;
Sorcerers may charm and conquer,
Bury them within their dungeons,
Hide them spell-bound in their cabins. 
Let the wizards charm each other,