The poet moveth round and forth, borne upon the swell of the river, bringing the deed that many long to see fulfilled.

When the hands, those fivefold kin, eager in their task, do ready the steadfast one with their song— Then did all the gods take joy in his rushing strength, when he, the stormful one, arrayed himself in kine as in raiment.

Brimming over, he burst forth, leaving the stalks of his flesh behind, and in this place did he clash with his yoke-fellow.

As a fair youth made comely by the daughters’ daughters of Vivasvant, so is he adorned, wrapping the kine about him like a cloak.

With longing for kine, he strayeth sideways along the fine-wrought fleece; he lifteth his voice, the cry he knoweth as his own.

The fingers have drawn nigh and tended him, the lord of draught, bright with cheer; they have laid hold upon the loins of the prize-gaining steed.

Ever clasping all blessings of Heaven and Earth, O Soma, come seeking us, and set forth on thy way.