In the ears of our Creator. 
Thrice to Otso was it granted,
In the circuit of the summer,
To approach the land of cow-bells,
Where the herdsmen’s voices echo;
But to thee it was not granted,
Otso never had permission
To attempt a wicked action,
To begin a work of evil. 
Should the blinding thing of malice
Come upon thee in thy roamings,
Should thy bloody teeth feel hunger,
Throw thy malice to the mountains,
And thy hunger to the pine-trees,
Sink thy teeth within the aspens,
In the dead limbs of the birches,
Prune the dry stalks from the willows. 
Should thy hunger still impel thee,
Go thou to the berry-mountain,
Eat the fungus of the forest,
Feed thy hunger on the ant-hills,
Eat the red roots of the bear-tree,
Metsola’s rich cakes of honey,
Not the grass my herd would feed on. 
Or if Metsola’s rich honey
Should ferment before the eating,
On the hills of golden color,
On the mountains filled with silver,
There is other food for hunger,
Other drink for thirsting Otso,
Everlasting will the food be,
And the drink be never wanting. 
“Let us now agree in honor,
And conclude a lasting treaty
That our lives may end in pleasure,
May be, merry in the summer,
Both enjoy the woods in common,
Though our food must be distinctive
Shouldst thou still desire to fight me,
Let our contests be in winter,
Let our wars be, on the snow-fields. 
Swamps will thaw in days of summer,
Warm, the water in the rivers. 
Therefore shouldst thou break this treaty,
Shouldst thou come where golden cattle
Roam these woodland hills and valleys,
We will slay thee with our cross-bows;
Should our arrow-men be absent,
We have here some archer-women,
And among them is the hostess,
That can use the fatal weapon,
That can bring thee to destruction,
Thus will end the days of trouble
That thou bringest to our people,
And against the will of Ukko. 
“Ukko, ruler in the heavens,
Lend an ear to my entreaty,
Metamorphose all my cattle,
Through the mighty force of magic,
Into stumps and stones convert them,
If the enemy should wander,
Near my herd in days of summer. 
“If I had been born an Otso,
I would never stride and amble
At the feet of aged women;
Elsewhere there are hills and valleys,
Farther on are honey-pastures,
Where the lazy bear may wander,
Where the indolent may linger;
Sneak away to yonder mountain,
That thy tender flesh may lessen,
In the blue-glen’s deep recesses,
In the bear-dens of the forest,
Thou canst move through fields of acorns,
Through the sand and ocean-pebbles,
There for thee is tracked a pathway,
Through the woodlands on the sea-coast,
To the Northland’s farthest limits,
To the dismal plains of Lapland,
There ’tis well for thee to lumber,
There to live will be a pleasure.