Pääsi nuori Joukahainen, pääsi leuan liettehestä,
parran paikasta pahasta, hevonen kosken kivestä,
reki rannalta haosta, ruoska rannan ruokosesta.

Kohoeli korjahansa, reutoihe rekosehensa;
läksi mielellä pahalla, syämellä synkeällä
luoksi armahan emonsa, tykö valtavanhempansa.

Ajoa karittelevi. Ajoi kummasti kotihin:
rikki riihe'en rekensä, aisat poikki portahasen.

Alkoi äiti arvaella, isonen sanan sanovi:
"Suottapa rikoit rekesi, tahallasi aisan taitoit!
Mitäpä kummasti kuletki, tulet tuhmasti kotihin?"

Tuossa nuori Joukahainen itkeä vetistelevi
alla päin, pahoilla mielin, kaiken kallella kypärin
sekä huulin hyypynyisin, nenän suulle langennuisen.

Emo ennätti kysyä, vaivan nähnyt vaaitella:
"Mitä itket, poikueni, nuorna saamani, nureksit,
olet huulin hyypynyisin, nenän suulle langennuisen?"

Sanoi nuori Joukahainen: "Oi on maammo, kantajani!
Jo on syytä syntynynnä, taikoja tapahtununna,
syytä kyllin itkeäni, taikoja nureksiani!
Tuot' itken tämän ikäni, puhki polveni murehin:
annoin Aino siskoseni, lupasin emoni lapsen
Väinämöiselle varaksi, laulajalle puolisoksi,
turvaksi tutisevalle, suojaksi sopenkululle."

Emo kahta kämmentänsä hykersi molempiansa;
sanan virkkoi, noin nimesi: "Elä itke, poikueni!
Ei ole itkettäviä, suuresti surettavia:
tuota toivoin tuon ikäni, puhki polveni halasin
sukuhuni suurta miestä, rotuhuni rohkeata,
vävykseni Väinämöistä, laulajata langokseni."

Sisar nuoren Joukahaisen itse itkullen apeutui.
Itki päivän, itki toisen poikkipuolin portahalla;
itki suuresta surusta, apeasta miel'alasta.

Sai emo sanelemahan: "Mitä itket, Ainoseni,
kun olet saava suuren sulhon, miehen korkean kotihin
ikkunoillen istujaksi, lautsoille lavertajaksi?"

Tuon tytär sanoiksi virkki: "Oi emoni, kantajani!
Itkenpä minä jotaki: itken kassan kauneutta,
tukan nuoren tuuheutta, hivuksien hienoutta,
jos ne piennä peitetähän, katetahan kasvavana.

"Tuotapa ikäni itken, tuota päivän armautta,
suloutta kuun komean, ihanuutta ilman kaiken,
jos oisi nuorna jättäminen, lapsena unohtaminen
veikon veistotanterille, ison ikkunan aloille."

Sanovi emo tytölle, lausui vanhin lapsellensa:
"Mene, huima, huolinesi, epäkelpo, itkuinesi!
Ei ole syytä synkistyä, aihetta apeutua.
Paistavi Jumalan päivä muuallaki maailmassa,
ei isosi ikkunoilla, veikkosi veräjän suulla.
Myös on marjoja mäellä, ahomailla mansikoita
poimia sinun poloisen ilmassa etempänäki,
ei aina ison ahoilla, veikon viertokankahilla."

- Kalevala, III runo

As the magic spell is broken,
Youkahainen, sad, but wiser,
Drags his feet from out the quicksand,
Lifts his beard from out the water,
From the rocks leads forth his courser,
Brings his sledge back from the rushes,
Calls his whip back from the ocean,
Sets his golden sledge in order,
Throws himself upon the cross-bench,
Snaps his whip and hies him homeward,
Hastens homeward, heavy-hearted,
Sad indeed to meet his mother,
Aino's mother, gray and aged.
Careless thus be hastens homeward,
Nears his home with noise and bustle,
Reckless drives against the pent-house,
Breaks the shafts against the portals,
Breaks his handsome sledge in pieces.

Then his mother, quickly guessing,
Would have chided him for rashness,
But the father interrupted:
"Wherefore dost thou break thy snow-sledge,
Wherefore dash thy thills in fragments,
Wherefore comest home so strangely,
Why this rude and wild behavior?"

Now alas! poor Youkahainen,
Cap awry upon his forehead,
Falls to weeping, broken-hearted,
Head depressed and mind dejected,
Eyes and lips expressing sadness,
Answers not his anxious father.

Then the mother quickly asked him,
Sought to find his cause for sorrow:
"Tell me, first-born, why thou weepest,
Why thou weepest, heavy-hearted,
Why thy mind is so dejected,
Why thine eyes express such sadness."
Youkahainen then made answer:
"Golden mother, ever faithful,
Cause there is to me sufficient,
Cause enough in what has happened,
Bitter cause for this my sorrow,
Cause for bitter tears and murmurs:
All my days will pass unhappy,
Since, O mother of my being,
I have promised beauteous Aino,
Aino, thy beloved daughter,
Aino, my devoted sister,
To decrepit Wainamoinen,
Bride to be to him forever,
Roof above him, prop beneath him,
Fair companion at his fire-side."

Joyful then arose the mother,
Clapped her hands in glee together,
Thus addressing Youkahainen:
"Weep no more, my son beloved,
Thou hast naught to cause thy weeping,
Hast no reason for thy sorrow,
Often I this hope have cherished;
Many years have I been praying
That this mighty bard and hero,
Wise and valiant Wainamoinen,
Spouse should be to beauteous Aino,
Son-in-law to me, her mother."

But the fair and lovely maiden,
Sister dear of Youkahainen,
Straightway fell to bitter weeping,
On the threshold wept and lingered,
Wept all day and all the night long,
Wept a second, then a third day,
Wept because a bitter sorrow
On her youthful heart had fallen.
Then the gray-haired mother asked her:
"Why this weeping, lovely Aino?
Thou hast found a noble suitor,
Thou wilt rule his spacious dwelling,
At his window sit and rest thee,
Rinse betimes his golden platters,
Walk a queen within his dwelling."
Thus replied the tearful Aino:
"Mother dear, and all-forgiving,
Cause enough for this my sorrow,
Cause enough for bitter weeping:
I must loose my sunny tresses,
Tresses beautiful and golden,
Cannot deck my hair with jewels,
Cannot bind my head with ribbons,
All to be hereafter hidden
Underneath the linen bonnet
That the wife. must wear forever;
Weep at morning, weep at evening,
Weep alas! for waning beauty,
Childhood vanished, youth departed,
Silver sunshine, golden moonlight,
Hope and pleasure of my childhood,
Taken from me now forever,
And so soon to be forgotten
At the tool-bench of my brother,
At the window of my sister,
In the cottage of my father."

Spake again the gray-haired mother
To her wailing daughter Aino:
"Cease thy sorrow, foolish maiden,
By thy tears thou art ungrateful,
Reason none for thy repining,
Not the slightest cause for weeping;
Everywhere the silver sunshine
Falls as bright on other households;
Not alone the moonlight glimmers
Through thy father's open windows,
On the work-bench of thy brother;
Flowers bloom in every meadow,
Berries grow on every mountain;
Thou canst go thyself and find them,
All the day long go and find them;
Not alone thy brother's meadows
Grow the beauteous vines and flowers;
Not alone thy father's mountains
Yield the ripe, nutritious berries;
Flowers bloom in other meadows,
Berries grow on other mountains,
There as here, my lovely Aino."

- Kalevala, 3rd Poem
translated by John Martin Crawford