“I should like to carve the Fire-fish,
I should like this pike to handle,
If I had the knife of good-luck.” 
Quick a knife falls from the heavens,
From the clouds a magic fish-knife,
Silver-edged and golden-headed,
To the girdle of the Sun-child;
Quick he grasps the copper handle,
Quick the hero carves the Fire-pike,
Finds therein the tortured lake-trout;
Carves the lake-trout thus discovered. 
Finds therein the fated whiting;
Carves the whiting, finds a blue-ball
In the third cave of his body. 
He, the blue-ball quick unwinding,
Finds within a ball of scarlet;
Carefully removes the cover,
Finds the ball of fire within it,
Finds the flame from heaven fallen,
From the heights of the seventh heaven,
Through nine regions of the ether. 
Wainamoinen long reflected
How to get the magic fire-ball
To Wainola’s fireless hearth-stones,
To his cold and cheerless dwellings. 
Quick he snatched the fire of heaven
From the fingers of the Sun-child. 
Wainamoinen’s beard it singes,
Burns the brow of Ilmarinen,
Burns the fingers of the blacksmith. 
Rolling forth it hastens westward,
Hastens to the Alue shore-lines,
Burns the juniper and alder,
Burns the and heath and meadow,
Rises to the lofty linden,
Burns the firs upon the mountains;
Hastens onward, onward, onward,
Burns the islands of the Northland,
Burns the Sawa fields and forests,
Burns the dry lands of Karyala. 
Straightway ancient Wainamoinen
Hastens through the fields and fenlands,
Tracks the ranger to the glen-wood,
Finds the Fire-child in an elm-tree,
Sleeping in a bed of fungus. 
Thereupon wise Wainamoinen
Wakes the child and speaks these measures: 
“Wicked fire that God created,
Flame of Ukko from the heavens,
Thou hast gone in vain to sea-caves,
To the lakes without a reason;
Better go thou to my village,
To the hearth-stones of my people;
Hide thyself within my chimneys,
In mine ashes sleep and linger. 
In the day-time I will use thee
To devour the blocks of birch-wood;
In the evening I will hide thee
Underneath the golden circle.” 
Then he took the willing Panu,
Took the willing fire of Ukko,
Laid it in a box of tinder,
In the punk-wood of a birch-tree,
In a vessel forged from copper;
Carried it with care and pleasure
To the fog-point in the waters,
To the island forest covered. 
Thus returned the fire to Northland,
To the chambers of Wainola,
To the hearths of Kalevala. 
Ilmarinen, famous blacksmith,
Hastened to the deep-sea’s margin,
Sat upon the rock of torture,
Feeling pain the flame had given,
Laved his wounds with briny water,
Thus to still the Fire-child’s fury,
Thus to end his persecutions. 
Long reflecting, Ilmarinen
Thus addressed the flame of Ukko: 
“Evil Panu from the, heavens,