Weather magic

The Sun, come out,
from your stony cellar,
from your tinsel chamber!
A keg of milk, a loaf of bread,
two spoonfuls for good measure.
[I will give you.] 

The Sun, come out,
Bring a keg of milk,
The heel of the bread,
And a bowl of flummery!

Sun, come out,
clear the weather,
spend gold,
[come] from the barren chamber,
of copper granber¹,
from the golden paddock,
from the edge of the silver plate.

This last little song was sung to the sun when it shows itself a little in the cloudy weather.

¹ The original word is meaningless but resembles 'granary', adapted to alliteration.

   Dear little rain, my brother,
        kas´ke, kan´ke,
   let me go home dry,
        kas´ke, kan´ke,
just as I came dry from home.
Bring the rain to Russia, 
bring the Sun to this land. 
The rain has a brother in Russia,
the drought has a sister in this land.
I don't have a beater of a dry [shirt]¹
nor a washer of a wet [shirt].
The beater of the dry has gone home,
the washer of the wet is buried.

¹ In the past, laundry was beaten smooth after washing and drying.

Rain, go to Viru County,
Sun, come to our land!
In Viru County men are black,
men are black, women are lazy,
girls sweaty of work.
    
Ottilie-Olga Kõiva: Where did you hear that?
Marie Helimets: I don't know, we sang it ourselves when we tended the herd. I don't think having heard it elsewhere, but some of us sang it. When we were out with the herd, our feet were wet, we splashed also in the brook - and wanted the rain to pass - and in the puddles. And then we sang. I don't know where I heard that.

   Dear little rain, my brother,
      eo,
   dear little rain, my brother,
      eo,
don't get me wet! 
A shower of rain, my kin,
don't get me wet! 
A cloudburst, my cousin, 
don't get me wet, 
don't get - I'm little bird, 
a pretty little herd! 
When I, little bird, am soaked,
a swallow with a wet hair, 
I've no home to dry myself, 
no shelter to warm up.. 
My daddy didn't make me a fence, 
nor my brother rolled a log, 
Under the spruce is my home, 
my house is under an oak leaf. 

Fly by, dear little rain,
    fly by, dear little rain,
go, rain, to Viru County,    
float, shower, to Harju County!
In Viru County they need rain:
men are black, women are lazy,    
girls are dropping of sweat,
boys look like the stumps.    
Go, rain, whip them,
go, rain, flush them!
Come out, dear little Sun,
shake off the bad weather, 
call away the evil weather!
I'll give the Sun a loaf of bread,
to the Sun-boy half a loaf.