EVEN to him, swift, strong, and high, I bring my song of praise as dainty viands, My thought to him resistless, praise-deserving, prayers offered most especially to Indra.
Praise, like oblation, I present, and utter aloud my song, my fair hymn to the Victor. For Indra, who is Lord of old, the singers have decked their lauds with heart and mind and spirit.
To him then with my lips mine adoration, winning heaven’s light, most excellent, I offer, To magnify with songs of invocation and with fair hymns the Lord, most bounteous Giver.
Even for him I frame a laud, as fashions the wright a chariot for the man who needs it— Praises to him who gladly hears our praises, a hymn well-formed, all-moving, to wise Indra.
So with my tongue I deck, to please that Indra, my hymn, as ’twere a horse, through love of glory, To reverence the Hero, bounteous Giver, famed far and wide, destroyer of the castles.
Even for him hath Tvaṣṭar forged the thunder, most deftly wrought, celestial, for the battle— Wherewith he reached the vital parts of Vṛtra, striking-the vast, the mighty with the striker.
As soon as, at libations of his mother, great Viṣṇu had drunk up the draught, he plundered. The dainty cates, the cooked mess; but One stronger transfixed the wild boar, shooting through the mountain.
To him, to Indra, when he slew the Dragon, the Dames, too, Consorts of the Gods, wove praises. The mighty heaven and earth hath he encompassed: thy greatness heaven and earth, combined, exceed not.
Yea, of a truth, his magnitude surpasseth the magnitude of earth, mid-air, and heaven. Indra, approved by all men, self-resplendent, waxed in his home, loud-voiced and strong for battle.
Through his own strength Indra with bolt of thunder cut piece-meal Vṛtra, drier up of waters. He let the floods go free, like cows imprisoned, for glory, with a heart inclined to bounty.
The rivers played, through his impetuous splendour, since with his bolt