Sukta 63

क्व त्या वल्गू पुरुहूताद्य दूतो न स्तोमोऽविदन्नमस्वान्। आ यो अर्वाङ्नासत्या ववर्त प्रेष्ठा ह्यसथो अस्य मन्मन्॥

kva tyā valgū puruhūtādya dūto na stomo'vidannamasvān | ā yo arvāṅnāsatyā vavarta preṣṭhā hyasatho asya manman ||

WHERE hath the hymn with reverence, like an envoy, found both fair Gods to-day, invoked of many- Hymn that hath brought the two Nasatyas hither? To this man's thought be ye, both Gods, most friendly.

अरं मे गन्तं हवनायास्मै गृणाना यथा पिबाथो अन्धः। परि ह त्यद्वर्तिर्याथो रिषो न यत्परो नान्तरस्तुतुर्यात्॥

araṁ me gantaṁ havanāyāsmai gṛṇānā yathā pibātho andhaḥ | pari ha tyadvartiryātho riṣo na yatparo nāntarastuturyāt ||

Come readily to this mine invocation, lauded with songs, that ye may drink the juices. Compass this house to keep it from the foeman, that none may force it, either near or distant.

अकारि वामन्धसो वरीमन्नस्तारि बर्हिः सुप्रायणतमम्। उत्तानहस्तो युवयुर्ववन्दा वां नक्षन्तो अद्रय आञ्जन्॥

akāri vāmandhaso varīmannastāri barhiḥ suprāyaṇatamam | uttānahasto yuvayurvavandā vāṁ nakṣanto adraya āñjan ||

Juice in wide room hath been prepared to feast you: for you the grass is strewn, most soft to tread on. With lifted hands your servant hath adored you. Yearningfor you the press-stones shed the liquid.

ऊर्ध्वो वामग्निरध्वरेष्वस्थात्प्र रातिरेति जूर्णिनी घृताची। प्र होता गूर्तमना उराणोऽयुक्त यो नासत्या हवीमन्॥

ūrdhvo vāmagniradhvareṣvasthātpra rātireti jūrṇinī ghṛtācī | pra hotā gūrtamanā urāṇo'yukta yo nāsatyā havīman ||

Agni uplifts him at your sacrifices: forth goes the oblation dropping oil and glowing. Up stands the grateful-minded priest, elected, appointed to invoke the two Nasatyas.

अधि श्रिये दुहिता सूर्यस्य रथं तस्थौ पुरुभुजा शतोतिम्। प्र मायाभिर्मायिना भूतमत्र नरा नृतू जनिमन्यज्ञियानाम्॥

adhi śriye duhitā sūryasya rathaṁ tasthau purubhujā śatotim | pra māyābhirmāyinā bhūtamatra narā nṛtū janimanyajñiyānām ||

Lords of great wealth! for glory, Surya's Daughter mounted your car that brings a hundred succours. Famed for your magic arts were ye, magicians! amid the race of Gods, ye dancing Heroes!

युवं श्रीभिर्दर्शताभिराभिः शुभे पुष्टिमूहथुः सूर्यायाः। प्र वां वयो वपुषेऽनु पप्तन्नक्षद्वाणी सुष्टुता धिष्ण्या वाम्॥

yuvaṁ śrībhirdarśatābhirābhiḥ śubhe puṣṭimūhathuḥ sūryāyāḥ | pra vāṁ vayo vapuṣe'nu paptannakṣadvāṇī suṣṭutā dhiṣṇyā vām ||

Ye Twain, with these your glories fair to look on, brought, to win victory, rich gifts for Surya. After you flew your birds, marvels of beauty: dear to our hearts! the song, well lauded, reached you.

आ वां वयोऽश्वासो वहिष्ठा अभि प्रयो नासत्या वहन्तु। प्र वां रथो मनोजवा असर्जीषः पृक्ष इषिधो अनु पूर्वीः॥

ā vāṁ vayo'śvāso vahiṣṭhā abhi prayo nāsatyā vahantu | pra vāṁ ratho manojavā asarjīṣaḥ pṛkṣa iṣidho anu pūrvīḥ ||

May your winged coursers, best to draw. Nasatyas! convey you to the object of your wishes. Swift as the thought, your car hath been sent onward to food of many a sort and dainty viands.

पुरु हि वां पुरुभुजा देष्णं धेनुं न इषं पिन्वतमसक्राम्। स्तुतश्च वां माध्वी सुष्टुतिश्च रसाश्च ये वामनु रातिमग्मन्॥

puru hi vāṁ purubhujā deṣṇaṁ dhenuṁ na iṣaṁ pinvatamasakrām | stutaśca vāṁ mādhvī suṣṭutiśca rasāśca ye vāmanu rātimagman ||

Lords of great wealth, manifold is your bounty: ye filled our cow with food that never faileth. Lovers of sweetness! yours are praise and singers, and poured libations which have sought your favour.

उत म ऋज्रे पुरयस्य रघ्वी सुमीळ्हे शतं पेरुके च पक्वा। शाण्डो दाद्धिरणिनः स्मद्दिष्टीन्दश वशासो अभिषाच ऋष्वान्॥

uta ma ṛjre purayasya raghvī sumīḻhe śataṁ peruke ca pakvā | śāṇḍo dāddhiraṇinaḥ smaddiṣṭīndaśa vaśāso abhiṣāca ṛṣvān ||

Mine were two mares of Puraya, brown, swift-footed; a hundred with Sumidha, food with Peruk Sanda gave ten gold-decked and well-trained horses, tame and obedient and of lofty stature.

सं वां शता नासत्या सहस्राश्वानां पुरुपन्था गिरे दात्। भरद्वाजाय वीर नू गिरे दाद्धता रक्षांसि पुरुदंससा स्युः॥

saṁ vāṁ śatā nāsatyā sahasrāśvānāṁ purupanthā gire dāt | bharadvājāya vīra nū gire dāddhatā rakṣāṁsi purudaṁsasā syuḥ ||

Nasatyas! Purupanthas offered hundreds, thousands of steeds to him who sang your praises, Gave, Heroes! to the singer Bharadvaja. Ye-Wonder-Workers, let the fiends be slaughtered.

आ वां सुम्ने वरिमन्सूरिभिः ष्याम्॥

ā vāṁ sumne varimansūribhiḥ ṣyām ||

May I with princes share your bliss in freedom.