I

Come hither, Maruts, on your chariots charged with lightning, resounding
with beautiful songs, stored with spears, and winged with horses! Fly to
us like birds, with your best food, you mighty ones! They come
gloriously on their red, or, it may be, on their tawny horses which
hasten their chariots. He who holds the axe is brilliant like
gold;--with the tire of the chariot they have struck the earth. On your
bodies there are daggers for beauty; may they stir up our minds as they
stir up the forests. For yourselves, O well-born Maruts, the vigorous
among you shake the stone for distilling Soma. Days went round you and
came back, O hawks, back to this prayer, and to this sacred rite; the
Gotamas making prayer with songs, pushed up the lid of the cloud to
drink. No such hymn was ever known as this which Gotama sounded for you,
O Maruts, when he saw you on golden wheels, wild boars rushing about
with iron tusks. This comforting speech rushes sounding towards you,
like the speech of a suppliant: it rushed freely from our hands as our
speeches are wont to do.

II

Let us now proclaim for the robust host, for the herald of the powerful
Indra, their ancient greatness! O ye strong-voiced Maruts, you heroes,
prove your powers on your march, as with a torch, as with a sword! Like
parents bringing a dainty to their own son, the wild Maruts play
playfully at the sacrifices. The Rudras reach the worshipper with their
protection, strong in themselves, they do not fail the sacrificer. For
him to whom the immortal guardians have given fulness of wealth, and who