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.