Sukta 41

आ तू न इन्द्र मद्र्यग्घुवानः सोमपीतये। हरिभ्यां याह्यद्रिवः॥

ā tū na indra madryagghuvānaḥ somapītaye | haribhyāṁ yāhyadrivaḥ ||

INVOKED to drink the Soma juice, come with thy Bay Steeds, Thunder-armed Come, Indra, hitherward to me.

सत्तो होता न ऋत्वियस्तिस्तिरे बर्हिरानुषक्। अयुज्रन्प्रातरद्रयः॥

satto hotā na ṛtviyastistire barhirānuṣak | ayujranprātaradrayaḥ ||

Our priest is seated, true to time; the grass is regularly strewn; The pressing-stones were set at morn.

इमा ब्रह्म ब्रह्मवाहः क्रियन्त आ बर्हिः सीद। वीहि शूर पुरोळाशम्॥

imā brahma brahmavāhaḥ kriyanta ā barhiḥ sīda | vīhi śūra puroḻāśam ||

These prayers, O thou who hearest prayer are offered: seat thee on the grass. Hero, enjoy the offered cake.

रारन्धि सवनेषु ण एषु स्तोमेषु वृत्रहन्। उक्थेष्विन्द्र गिर्वणः॥

rārandhi savaneṣu ṇa eṣu stomeṣu vṛtrahan | uktheṣvindra girvaṇaḥ ||

O Vrtra-slayer, be thou pleased with these libations, with these hymns, Song-loving Indra, with our lauds.

मतयः सोमपामुरुं रिहन्ति शवसस्पतिम्। इन्द्रं वत्सं न मातरः॥

matayaḥ somapāmuruṁ rihanti śavasaspatim | indraṁ vatsaṁ na mātaraḥ ||

Our hymns caress the Lord of Strength, vast, drinker of the Soma's juice, Indra, as mother-cows their calf.

स मन्दस्वा ह्यन्धसो राधसे तन्वा महे। न स्तोतारं निदे करः॥

sa mandasvā hyandhaso rādhase tanvā mahe | na stotāraṁ nide karaḥ ||

Delight thee with the juice we pour for thine own great munificence: Yield not thy singer to reproach.

वयमिन्द्र त्वायवो हविष्मन्तो जरामहे। उत त्वमस्मयुर्वसो॥

vayamindra tvāyavo haviṣmanto jarāmahe | uta tvamasmayurvaso ||

We, Indra, dearly loving thee, bearing oblation, sing thee hymns Thou, Vasu, dearly lovest us.

मारे अस्मद्वि मुमुचो हरिप्रियार्वाङ्याहि। इन्द्र स्वधावो मत्स्वेह॥

māre asmadvi mumuco haripriyārvāṅyāhi | indra svadhāvo matsveha ||

O thou to whom thy Bays are dear, loose not thy Horses far from us: Here glad thee, Indra, Lord divine.

अर्वाञ्चं त्वा सुखे रथे वहतामिन्द्र केशिना। घृतस्नू बर्हिरासदे॥

arvāñcaṁ tvā sukhe rathe vahatāmindra keśinā | ghṛtasnū barhirāsade ||

May long-maned Coursers, dropping oil, bring thee on swift car hitherward, Indra, to seat thee on the grass.