Eat the hazel-nut in joyance,
Drink with me the beer delicious,
Eat the dainties that I give thee.” 
This the answer of the maiden
With the tin-pin on her bosom: 
“I have scorn to give thy snow-sledge,
Scorn for thee, thou wicked wizard;
Cold is it beneath thy fur-robes,
And thy sledge is chill and cheerless. 
Thereupon the youth, Kullervo,
Wicked wizard of the Northland,
Drew the maiden to his snow-sledge,
Drew her to a seat beside him,
Quickly in his furs enwrapped her;
And the tin-adorned made answer,
These the accents of the maiden: 
“Loose me from thy magic power,
Let me leave at once thy presence,
Lest I speak in wicked accents,
Lest I say the prayer of evil;
Free me now as I command thee,
Or I’ll tear thy sledge to pieces,
Throw these fur-robes to the north-winds.” 
Straightway wicked Kullerwoinen,
Evil wizard and magician,
Opens all his treasure-boxes,
Shows the maiden gold and silver,
Shows her silken wraps of beauty,
Silken hose with golden borders,
Golden belts with silver buckles,
Jewelry that dims the vision,
Blunts the conscience of the virgin. 
Silver leads one to destruction,
Gold entices from uprightness. 
Kullerwoinen, wicked wizard,
Flatters lovingly the maiden,
One hand on the reins of leather,
One upon the maiden’s shoulder;
Thus they journey through the evening,
Pass the night in merry-making. 
When the day-star led the morning,
When the second day was dawning,
Then the maid addressed Kullervo,
Questioned thus the wicked wizard: 
“Of what tribe art thou descended,
Of what race thy hero-father? 
Tell thy lineage and kindred.`
This, Kullervo’s truthful answer: 
“Am not from a mighty nation,
Not the greatest, nor the smallest,
But my lineage is worthy: 
Am Kalervo’s son of folly,
Am a child of contradictions,
Hapless son of cold misfortune. 
Tell me of thy race of heroes,
Tell thine origin and kindred.” 
This the answer of the maiden: 
“Came not from a race primeval,
Not the largest, nor the smallest,
But my lineage is worthy;
Am Kalervo’s wretched daughter,
Am his long-lost child of error,
Am a maid of contradictions,
Hapless daughter of misfortune. 
“When a child I lived in plenty
In the dwellings of my mother;
To the woods I went for berries,
Went for raspberries to uplands,
Gathered strawberries on mountains,
Gathered one day then a second;
But, alas! upon the third day,
Could not find the pathway homeward,
Forestward the highways led me,
All the footpaths, to the woodlands. 
Long I sat in bitter weeping,
Wept one day and then a second,
Wept the third from morn till even. 
Then I climbed a. lofty mountain,
There I called in wailing accents,
And the woodlands gave this answer,
Thus the distant hills re-echoed: