Mansi, Mansi, Mansi

The elder sister, Kaltesh the Golden,
Goes to the courtyard, lets down her braids -
Through one mouth, seven Obs flow,
Through one mouth, seven seas rise.
From her braids, the day does dawn,
From her braids rises the moon.
In a birch-tree behind the house -
Golden her leaves, her branches of gold -
Sit seven cuckoos with golden wings,
Golden their tails;
Seven days they sing,
Seven nights they sing.
There is no end of joy
Neither by night nor day;
Such is their song - like to
Silver coins falling from their mouths;
Such is their song - like to
Gold coins falling from their mouths.
Everywhere in the world
Poorly shod, poorly garbed people
All live through their song
Survive till our day.