“Truly they lie, they talk utter nonsense  
Who say that music reckon that the kantele  
Was fashioned by God  
Out of a great pike’s shoulders  
From a water-dog’s hooked bones:  
It was made from grief
 
It’s belly out of hard days  
Its sound board from endless woes  
Its strings gathered from torments  
And it pegs from other ills  
Truly they lie, they talk utter nonsense
 
So it will not play, will not rejoice at all  
Music will not play to please  
Give off the right sort of joy  
For it was fashioned from cares  
Mouldered from sorrow”