On the serpents of the Northland;
With my heel I’ll crush the monsters,
Stamp the horrid things to atoms;
I will banish them from Pohya,
Drive them to Manala’s kingdom,
Step within Pohyola’s mansion,
Walk the halls of Sariola!”
Lemminkainen’s mother answered: 
“Do not go, my son beloved,
To the firesides of Pohyola,
Through the Northland fields and fallows;
There are warriors with broadswords,
Heroes clad in mail of copper,
Are on beer intoxicated,
By the beer are much embittered;
They will charm thee, hapless creature,
On the tips of swords of magic;
Greater heroes have been conjured,
Stronger ones have been outwitted.” 
Spake the reckless Lemminkainen: 
“Formerly thy son resided
In the hamlets of Pohyola;
Laplanders cannot enchant me,
Nor the Turyalanders harm me
I the, Laplander will conjure,
Charm him with my magic powers,
Sing his shoulders wide asunder,
In his chin I’ll sing a fissure,
Sing his collar-bone to pieces,
Sing his breast to thousand fragments.” 
Lemminkainen’s mother answered: 
“Foolish son, ungrateful wizard,
Boasting of thy former visit,
Boasting of thy fatal journey! 
Once in Northland thou wert living,
In the homesteads of Pohyola;
There thou tried to swim the whirlpool,
Tasted there the dog-tongue waters,
Floated down the fatal current,
Sank beneath its angry billows;
Thou hast seen Tuoni’s river,
Thou hast measured Mana’s waters,
There to-day thou wouldst be sleeping,
Had it not been for thy mother! 
What I tell thee well remember,
Shouldst thou gain Pohyola’s chambers,
Filled with stakes thou’lt find the court-yard,
These to hold the heads of heroes;
There thy head will rest forever,
Shouldst thou go to Sariola.” 
Spake the warlike Lemminkainen: 
“Fools indeed may heed thy counsel,
Cowards too may give attention;
Those of seven conquest-summers
Cannot heed such weak advising. 
Bring to me my battle-armor. 
Bring my magic mail of copper,
Bring me too my father’s broadsword,
Keep the old man’s blade from rusting;
Long it has been cold and idle,
Long has lain in secret places,
Long and constantly been weeping,
Long been asking for a bearer.” 
Then he took his mail of copper,
Took his ancient battle-armor,
Took his father’s sword of magic,
Tried its point against the oak-wood,
Tried its edge upon the sorb-tree;
In his hand the blade was bended,
Like the limber boughs of willow,
Like the juniper in summer. 
Spake the hero, Lemminkainen: 
“There is none in Pohya’s hamlets,
In the courts of Sariola,
That with me can measure broadswords,
That can meet this blade ancestral.” 
From the nail he took a cross-bow,
Took the strongest from the rafters,
Spake these words in meditation: 
“I shall recognize as worthy,
Recognize that one a hero