XX Soma Pavamana

1. O Soma, for the feast of Gods, river-like he hath swelled with surge,

Sweet with the liquor of the stalk, as one who wakes, into the vat that drops with meath.

2. Like a dear son how must be decked, the bright and shining one hath clad him in his robe.

Men skilful at their work drive him forth, like a car, into the rivers from their hands.