O HEROES lordliest of all, who are ye that have singly come Forth from a region most remote?
Where are your horses, where the reins? How came ye? how had ye the power? Rein was on nose and seat on back.
The whip is laid upon the flank. The heroes stretch their thighs apart, Like women when the babe is born.
Go ye, O Heroes, far away, ye bridegrooms with a lovely Spouse That ye may warm you at the fire.
May she gain cattle for her meed, hundreds of sheep and steeds and kine, Who threw embracing arms around the hero whom gyavaiva praised.
Yea, many a woman is more firm and better than the man who turns Away from Gods, andoffers not.
She who discerns the weak and worn, the man who thirsts and is in want She sets her mind upon the Gods.
And yet full many a one, unpraised, mean niggard, is entitled man: Only in weregild is he such.
And she, the young, the joyous-spirited, divulged the path to Śyāva, yea, to me. Two red steeds carried me to Purumīlha's side, that sage of far-extended fame,
Him who, like Vaidadasvi, like Taranta, hath bestowed on me A hundred cows in liberal gift.
They who are borne by rapid steeds, drinking the meath that gives delight, They have attained high glories here.
They by whose splendour both the worlds are over-spread they shine on cars As the gold gleams above in heaven.
That Marut band is ever young, borne on bright cars, unblamable, Moving to victory, checked by none.
Who knoweth, verily, of these where the All-shakers take delight, Born, spotless, after sacred Law?
Guides are ye, lovers of the song to mortal man through holy hymn, And hearers when he cries for help.
Do ye, destroyers of the foe, worshipful and exceeding bright, Send down the treasures that we crave.
OUrmya, bear thou far away to Darbhya this my hymn of praise, Songs, Goddess, as if chariot-borne.
From me to Rathaviti say, when he hath pressed the Soma juice, The wish I had departeth not.
This wealthy Rathaviti dwells among the people rich in kine, Among the mountains, far withdrawn.
