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1. THE
gold-hued juice, poured out upon the filter, is started like a car sent forth
to conquer.
He hath gained song and vigour
while they cleansed him, and hath rejoiced the Gods with entertainments.
2 He who
beholdeth man hath reached the filter: bearing his name, the Sage hath sought
his dwelling.
The Rsis came to him, seven
holy singers, when in the bowls he settled as Invoker.
3 Shared by
all Gods, mobt wise, propitious, Soma goes, while they cleanse him, to his
constant station.
Let him rejoice in all his
lofty wisdom to the Five Tribes the Sage attains with labour.
4 In thy
mysterious place, O Pavamana Soma, are all the Gods, the Thrice-Eleven.
Ten on the fleecy height, themselves,
self-prompted, and seven fresh rivers, brighten and adorn thee.
5 Now let this
be the truth of Pavamana, there where all singers gather them together,
That he hath given us room and
made the daylight, hath holpen Manu and repelled the Dasyu.
6 As the
priest seeks the station rich in cattle, like a true King who goes to great
assemblies,
Soma hath sought the beakers
while they cleansed him, and like a wild bull, in the wood hath settled.
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