THIS Steer, this Chariot, rushes through the woollen filter, as he goes To war that wins a thousand spoils.
The Dames of Trita with the stones onward impel this Tawny One Indu to Indra for his drink.
Ten active fingers carefully adorn him here; they make him bright And beauteous for the gladdening draught.
He like a falcon settles down amid the families of men. Speeding like lover to his love.
This young exhilarating juice looks downward from its place in heaven, This Soma-drop that pierced the sieve.
Poured for the draught, this tawny juice flows forth, intelligent, crying out, Unto the well-beloved place.
