On the echoing cape, near the sacred grove, On the lake, lived the Giant, Lyut. A mighty one, great and good And a mighty hunter was he. The beard of Lyut had seven tips. An hundred foxes made his head-gear. The garments of Lyut were of gray wolf. The ax of Lyut was of red flint. The spear of Lyut was of white flint. The arrows of Lyut were black, never-failing. Beyond the lake lived the brethren of Lyut. And on the mountain site Lyut built his dwelling. From the echoing cape he called his brothers— Even in a whisper.
To his brother beyond the lake, he handed his ax. With his brother, beyond the lake, Lyut hunted. With his brother beyond the lake, Lyut cast his nets. With his brother beyond the lake, he brewed his ale. He boiled his tar and fetched his forage. He lit his bonfires and danced merrily with his sister.
Then Lyut went strolling beyond the lake.
Ill-starred was his stride—he sank.
Lyut, the Giant, sank even up to his chest. Badly he fared.
His dog followed him and sank.
Who can call the brethren of Lyut?
For a day’s distance, there is no one in sight.
The lake splashes. The wind murmurs.
Death itself walks over the ridge.
Lyut raised his eyes to the clouds—
Cargoose flew by. The giant called,
“Do you see me in the lake?”
“I see-ee,” came the answer.
“Tell my brethren—I drow-w-w-n! I drow-w-wn!”
Far flies the cargoose.
Resoundingly echoes its call: “I drow-w-w-n! I drow-w-wn!”
The cargoose knows not that it proclaims misfortune—
The lake holds no evil for it.
The lake is kind.
Only in the wood the cargoose fares badly, and in the fields.
The brethren are laughing.
They do not hear the cargoose.
They have caught an elk in the marshes.
Finally the brethren of Lyut arrive
But Lyut has perished.
A long mound is built—and a round one for his dog.
Of sorrow dies the sister of Lyut.
The giants throw bars into the lake.
They bury their axes beneath the roots of trees.
The giants abandon our land.
But the cargoose lives on the lake since those ancient days.
A foolish bird. But a prophet bird. It confuses the call of the giant
In fair weather it calls, “I drow-w-w-n! I drow-w-w-n!” As if drowning, it flutters its wings. In foul weather, it calls—”Ho, ho—ho, ho!” Over the water, it flies and screams, “See-ee-ee! I see-ee-ee-”
People remember the lake of Lyut.
People remember the long mounds.
The long mounds of giants.
And the length of the mounds is nine scores of cubits.
The shores of the lake remember the giants.
The trunks of the oaks remember the giants.
The giants carried the stones to the mounds.
The people remember how the giants departed.
From ancient time it was even so. I so affirm!