Even him, eternal, like a bull who rushes down, men's Conqueror, bounteous like a cow; Him who is cause of both, of enmity and peace, to both sides most munificent.
Those skilled in song, O Maghavan among these men o’ercome with might the foeman's songs. Come hither, bring us strength in many a varied form most near that it may succour us.
O Caster of the Stone, I would not sell thee for a mighty price, Not for a thousand, Thunderer! nor ten thousand, nor a hundred, Lord of countless wealth!
Where art thou? Whither art thou gone? For many a place attracts thy mind. Haste, Warrior, Fort-destroyer, Lord of battle's din, haste, holy songs have sounded forth.
Sing out the psalm to him who breaks down castles for his faithful friend, Verses to bring the Thunderer to destroy the forts and sit on Kaṇva's sacred grass.
The Horses which are thine in tens, in hundreds, yea, in thousands thine, Even those vigorous Steeds, fleet-footed in the course, with those come quickly near to us.
Press out the Soma with the stones, and in the waters wash it clean. The men investing it with raiment made of milk shall milk it forth from out the stems.
Whether thou come from earth or from the lustre of the lofty heaven, Wax stronger in thy body through my song of praise: fill full all creatures, O most Wise.
For India press the Soma out, most gladdening and most excellent. May Śakra make it swell sent forth with every prayer and asking, as it were, for strength.
Let me not, still beseeching thee with earnest song at Soma rites, Anger thee like some wild beast. Who would not beseech him who hath power to grant his prayer?
The draught made swift with rapturous joy, effectual with its mighty strength, All-conquering, distilling transport, let him drink: for he in ecstasy gives us gifts.
Where bliss is not, may he, All-praised, God whom the pious glorify, Bestow great wealth upon the mortal worshipper who sheds the juice and praises him.
Yoked to thy chariot wrought of gold, may thy two Bays with peacock tails, Convey thee hither, Steeds with their white backs, to quaff sweet juice that makes us eloquent.
So drink, thou Lover of the Song, as the first drinker, of this juice. This the outpouring of the savoury sap prepared is good and meet to gladden thee.
Śuṣṇa's quick moving castle thou hast crushed to pieces with thy bolts. Thou, Indra, from of old, hast followed after light, since we have had thee to invoke.
When to the car, by faith, I yoked the horses longing for the way- For skilled is Yadu's son in dealing precious wealth, he who is rich in herds of kine.
Playoga's son Āsaṅga, by ten thousand, O Agni, hath surpassed the rest in giving. For me ten bright-hued oxen have come forward like lotus-stalks from out a lake upstanding.
What time her husband's perfect restoration to his lost strength and manhood was apparent, His consort Śaśvatī with joy addressed him, Now art thou well, my lord, and shalt be happy.