Caught and brought him to his furnace,
That the spears, and swords, and axes,
Might be forged and duly hammered. 
In the swamps ran blackened waters,
From the heath the bears came ambling,
And the wolves ran through the marshes. 
Iron then made his appearance,
Where the feet of wolves had trodden,
Where the paws of bears had trampled. 
“Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Came to earth to work the metal;
He was born upon the Coal-mount,
Skilled and nurtured in the coal-fields;
In one hand, a copper hammer,
In the other, tongs of iron;
In the night was born the blacksmith,
In the morn he built his smithy,
Sought with care a favored hillock,
Where the winds might fill his bellows;
Found a hillock in the swamp-lands,
Where the iron hid abundant;
There he built his smelting furnace,
There he laid his leathern bellows,
Hastened where the wolves had travelled,
Followed where the bears had trampled,
Found the iron’s young formations,
In the wolf-tracks of the marshes,
In the foot-prints of the gray-bear. 
“Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
’Thus addressed the sleeping iron: 
Thou most useful of the metals,
Thou art sleeping in the marshes,
Thou art hid in low conditions,
Where the wolf treads in the swamp-lands,
Where the bear sleeps in the thickets. 
Hast thou thought and well considered,
What would be thy future station,
Should I place thee in the furnace,
Thus to make thee free and useful?’
“Then was Iron sorely frightened,
Much distressed and filled with horror,
When of Fire he heard the mention,
Mention of his fell destroyer. 
“Then again speaks Ilmarinen,
Thus the smith addresses Iron: 
’Be not frightened, useful metal,
Surely Fire will not consume thee,
Will not burn his youngest brother,
Will not harm his nearest kindred. 
Come thou to my room and furnace,
Where the fire is freely burning,
Thou wilt live, and grow, and prosper,
Wilt become the swords of heroes,
Buckles for the belts of women.’ 
“Ere arose the star of evening,
Iron ore had left the marshes,
From the water-beds had risen,
Had been carried to the furnace,
In the fire the smith had laid it,
Laid it in his smelting furnace. 
Ilmarinen starts the bellows,
Gives three motions of the handle,
And the iron flows in streamlets
From the forge of the magician,
Soon becomes like baker’s leaven,
Soft as dough for bread of barley. 
Then out-screamed the metal, Iron: 
’Wondrous blacksmith, Ilmarinen,
Take, O take me from thy furnace,
From this fire and cruel torture.’ 
“Ilmarinen thus made answer: 
’I will take thee from my furnace,
’Thou art but a little frightened,
Thou shalt be a mighty power,
Thou shalt slay the best of heroes,
Thou shalt wound thy dearest brother.’ 
“Straightway Iron made this promise,