LET these speak loudly forth; let us speak out aloud: to the loud speaking Pressing-stones address the speech; When, rich with Soma juice, Stones of the mountain, ye, united, swift to Indra bring the sound of praise.
They speak out like a hundred, like a thousand men: they cry aloud to us with their green-tinted mouths, While, pious Stones, they ply their task with piety, and, even before the Hotar, taste the offered food.
Loudly they speak, for they have found the savoury meath: they make a humming sound over the meat prepared.
As they devour the branch of the Red-coloured Tree, these, the well-pastured Bulls, have uttered bellowings.
They cry aloud, with stron exhilarating drink, calling on Indra now, for they have found the meath. Bold, with the sisters they have danced, embraced by them, making the Earth reecho with their ringing sound.
The Eagles have sent forth their cry aloft in Heaven; in the sky's vault the dark impetuous ones have danced. Then downward to the nether stone's fixt place they sink, and, splendid as the Sun, effuse their copious stream.
Like strong ones drawing, they have put forth all their strength: the Bulls, harnessed together, bear the chariot-poles. When they have bellowed, panting, swallowing their food, the sound of their loud snorting is like that of steeds.
To these who have ten workers and a tenfold girth, to these who have ten yoke-straps and ten binding thongs, to these who bear ten reins, the eternal, sing ye praise, to these who bear ten car-poles, ten when they are yoked.
These Stones with ten conductors, rapid in their course, with lovely revolution travel round and round. They have been first to drink the flowing Soma juice, first to enjoy the milky fluid of the stalk.
These Soma-eaters kiss Indra's Bay-coloured Steeds: draining. the stalk they sit upon the ox's hide. Indra, when he hath drunk Soma-meath drawn by them, waxes in strength, is famed, is mighty as a Bull.
Strong is your stalk; ye, verily, never shall be harmed; ye have refreshment, ye are ever satisfied. Fair are ye, as it were, through splendour of his wealth, his in whose offering, O Stones, ye find delight.
Bored deep, but not pierced through with holes, are ye, O Stones, not loosened, never weary, and exempt from death, Eternal, undiseased, moving in sundry ways, unthirsting, full of fatness, void of all desire.
Your fathers, verily, stand firm from age to age: they, loving rest, are not dissevered from their seat. Untouched by time, ne’er lacking green plants and green trees, they with their voice have caused the heavens and Earth to hear.
This, this the Stones proclaim, what time they are disjoined, and when with ringing sounds they move and drink the balm. Like tillers of the ground when they are sowing seed, they mix the Soma, nor, devouring, minish it.
They have raised high their voice for juice, for offering, striking the Mother Earth as though they danced thereon. So loose thou too his thought who hath effused the sap, and let the Stones which we are honouring be disjoined.