St. Urho

Way up north in Finnish land
There were once grapes galore,
But now because of changing times
Throughout all the long lifetimes
The grapes are there no more.

The vines were rich and twisted much
As though wished they the harvest,
For way back when, the rivers flowed
From mountains where it once had snowed
Those vines had been their highest.

But that did change one season when,
By stars, fate, signs, or phantom,
The grapes no longer could be seen,
And villagers became quite lean:
They had no grapes per annum

The culprit was, as soon found out,
Not famine nor a burglar;
But those who caused such strife and pain
Were ones who would cause much eyestrain,
The tiny, green grasshopper

At first, the people tried their luck
To see if they could catch one,
But whether by some magic tricks,
Or as if they were good antics,
They caught not one but none.

And so for weeks they tried in vain,
And so for weeks the grapes were gone;
And so for weeks the people starved,
And so for weeks the left they carved.
They seemed like an eon.

Like plague the grasshoppers ate away
At all things green that grow.
Then, coming as a saving light,
Ready to battle, ready to fight,
Came the young man, Prince Urho!

Dressed in green and purple robes
With a pitchfork in one hand,
Like Saint George with his dragon
Or Ivan the Grozny with his chaplain,
Sought he to save his homeland.

He had prepared for weeks long past,
Ensuring his success,
By drinking whole milk, curdled and sour
And eating his fish soup every hour;
Surely back they would get their winepress

His preparation was complete
And outside he did go;
The fish and milk inside his neck
Made him loud as a great shipwreck!
So off went Prince Urho.

With a voice loud as seven seas
He to all shouted thus:
“Heinasirkka mene taalta hiiteen!”
“Grasshopper, grasshopper, you are mean!
Go away, go away you must!”

And just like that they went away,
Scared at the booming voice.
Down to the south they hopped and flied;
Across the land, this everyone spied
And went outside to rejoice.

Now that young prince, Urho’s his name,
Like Patrick in the West,
Because with wine he quenched their parch
On the sixteenth day of March
Became a saint, the very best.

If on the fields you focus today
And search land, sand, and sea,
A single grasshopper you will not find,
None of its kind on land or ‘n mind,
‘Cause of Saint Urho’s bravery!