yuváṃ śrībhír · darśatā́bhir ābhíḥ śubhé puṣṭím ūhathuḥ sūriyā́yāḥ |
prá vāṃ váyo vápuṣe ánu paptan nákṣad vā́ṇī súṣṭutā dhiṣṇiyā vām ||
6 Ye Twain, with these your glories fair to look on, brought, to win victory, rich gifts for Sūrya. After you flew your birds, marvels of beauty: dear to our hearts! the song, well lauded, reached you.