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,
ā€œI make from the lower shell
the earth below,
I make from the upper shell
the heaven above!

ā€œI 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!ā€

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