With the weapon of his forging;
But he broke his sword in pieces,
Did not harm the water-monster. 
Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
Thus addresses his companions
“Poor apologies for heroes! 
When occasion calls for victors,
When we need some great magician,
Need a hero filled with valor,
Then the arm that comes is feeble,
And the mind insane or witless,
Strength and reason gone to others!”
Straightway ancient Wainamoinen,
Miracle of strength and wisdom,
Draws his fire-sword from his girdle,
Wields the mighty blade of magic,
Strikes the waters as the lightning,
Strikes the pike beneath the vessel,
And impales, the mighty monster;
Raises him above the surface,
In the air the pike he circles,
Cuts the monster into pieces;
To the water falls the pike-tail,
To the ship the head and body;
Easily the ship moves onward. 
Wainamoinen, old and faithful,
To the shore directs his vessel,
On the strand the boat he anchors,
Looks in every nook and corner
For the fragments of the monster;
Gathers well the parts together,
Speaks these words to those about him: 
“Let the oldest of the heroes
Slice for me the pike of Northland,
Slice the fish to fitting morsels.” 
Answered all the men and heroes,
And the maidens spake, assenting: 
“Worthier the catcher’s fingers,
Wainamoinen’s hands are sacred!”
Thereupon the wise magician
Drew a fish-knife from his girdle,
Sliced the pike to fitting morsels,
Spake again to those about him: 
“Let the youngest of the maidens
Cook for me the pike of Northland,
Set for me a goodly dinner!”
All the maidens quick responded,
All the virgins vied in cooking;
Neither could outdo the other,
Thus the pike was rendered toothsome. 
Feasted all the old magicians,
Feasted all the younger heroes,
Feasted all the men and maidens;
On the rocks were left the fish-bones,
Only relics of their feasting. 
Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
Looked upon the pile of fragments,
On the fish-bones looked and pondered,
Spake these words in meditation: 
“Wondrous things might be constructed
From the relies of this monster,
Were they in the blacksmith’s furnace,
In the hands of the magician,
In the hands of Ilmarinen.” 
Spake the blacksmith of Wainola: 
“Nothing fine can be constructed
From the bones and teeth of fishes
By the skillful forger-artist,
By the hands of the magician.” 
These the words of Wainamoinen: 
“Something wondrous might be builded
From these jaws, and teeth, and fish-bones;
Might a magic harp be fashioned,
Could an artist be discovered
That could shape them to my wishes.” 
But he found no fish-bone artist
That could shape the harp of joyance
From the relies of their feasting,
From the jaw-bones of the monster,
To the will of the magician.