Blows a third from morn till evening,
When he looks within the furnace,
Looks around the oven-border,
Hoping there, to see an image
Rising from the molten metals. 
From the flames a colt arises,
Golden-maned and silver-headed,
Hoofs are formed of shining copper. 
All rejoice but Ilmarinen
At the wonderful creation;
This the language of the blacksmith;
“Let the bears admire thy graces;
I desire a bride of beauty
Born of many magic metals.” 
Thereupon the wonder-forger
Drives the colt back to the furnace,
Adds a greater mass of silver,
And of gold the rightful measure,
Sets the workmen at the bellows. 
Eagerly the servants labor,
Gloveless, hatless, do the workmen
Fan the flames within the furnace. 
Ilmarinen, the magician,
Works unceasing at his witchcraft,
Moulding well a golden maiden,
Bride of molten gold and silver;
But the workmen fail their master,
Faithlessly they ply the bellows. 
Now the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Fans the flames with magic powers,
Blows one day, and then a second,
Blows a third from morn till even;
Then he looks within his furnace,
Looks around the oven-border,
Trusting there to see a maiden
Coming from the molten metals. 
From the fire a virgin rises,
Golden-haired and silver-headed,
Beautiful in form and feature. 
All are filled with awe and wonder,
But the artist and magician. 
Ilmarinen, metal-worker,
Forges nights and days unceasing,
On the bride of his creation;
Feet he forges for the maiden,
Hands and arms, of gold and silver;
But her feet are not for walking,
Neither can her arms embrace him. 
Ears he forges for the virgin,
But her ears are not for hearing;
Forges her a mouth of beauty,
Eyes he forges bright and sparkling;
But the magic mouth is speechless,
And the eyes are not for seeing. 
Spake the artist, Ilmarinen: 
“This, indeed, a priceless maiden,
Could she only speak in wisdom,
Could she breathe the breath of Ukko!”
Thereupon he lays the virgin
On his silken couch of slumber,
On his downy place of resting. 
Ilmarinen heats his bath-room,
Makes it ready for his service,
Binds together silken brushes,
Brings three cans of crystal water,
Wherewithal to lave the image,
Lave the golden maid of beauty. 
When this task had been completed,
Ilmarinen, hoping, trusting,
Laid his golden bride to slumber,
On his downy couch of resting;
Ordered many silken wrappings,
Ordered bear-skins, three in number,
Ordered seven lambs-wool blankets,
Thus to keep him warm in slumber,
Sleeping by the golden image
Re had forged from magic metals. 
Warm the side of Ilmarinen
That was wrapped in furs and blankets;
Chill the parts beside the maiden,
By his bride of gold and silver;
One side warm, the other lifeless,
Turning into ice from coldness.