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.