Väinämöinen,
Creator of the World

There was the scaup-duck, straight-winged bird.
It flew, glided
over the wide open sea,
over the broad ocean.
It searched for a place for a nest.
It found no place for a nest.

There was old Väinämöinen
in the middle of the navel of the sea.
He raised his knee from the ocean,
his limb from the sea
for a green hummock,
for fresh turf.

There was the scaup-duck, straight-winged bird.
It flew, glided;
it saw the hummock in the sea.
It cast a copper nest,
laid a golden egg,
on the top of Väinämöinen's knee.

It brooded and rubbed
on the top of Väinämöinen's knee.
Old Väinämöinen
thought his knee was a-fire,
his limb burning,
his skin scorched.

Shifted his knee,
shook his limb:
the nest rolled into the sea,
scraped over the shoals,
the copper nest broke into pieces,
the golden egg to fragments.

Staunch old Väinämöinen
himself said in these words,
“I make from the lower shell
the earth below,
I make from the upper shell
the heaven above!

“I make from the white in the egg
the sun to shine,
I make from the yolk in the egg
the moon to beam above,
I make from the mottled bits in the egg
the stars for the heavens!”

*