The tawny draught, that living herb, is pressed and surgeth round the straining-cloth as a war-car urged to glory. While he is cleansed he sendeth forth a clarion cry for Indra, and with sweet libations rendereth grateful recompense to all the gods.

With eye upon mankind he hasteneth hither, winning the name of “Poet” within the filter’s womb; he taketh his place in the beakers as a Hotar on his sacred settle, and the seven seers, all flame of spirit, draw nigh unto him.

That most sagacious Pathfinder, portion of every god, goeth, as he is purified, unto the seat that is his own. He reclineth amid all songs; firm of will, he ordereth himself throughout the hosts of the fivefold folk.

Self-cleansing Soma, within thy hidden heart abide the thrice-eleven deities. The ten deft fingers, each in its proper might, and the seven rushing streams do tend thee upon the fleece of the sheep.

So standeth it, by all the minstrel throng agreed, concerning thee, O self-purifying one: thou madest the radiance of day and the broad expanse, thou gavest furtherance unto Manu, yet didst hem the Dasyu in narrow bounds.

Rounding the altar seats even as a Hotar passeth about the victims, moving to councils like a rightful king, Soma, now refined, hath reached the sacred vats and setteth himself therein as a wild bull amid the forest-wooden bowls.