I LAUD the Heroes Two, these Heaven’s Controllers: singing with songs of praise I call the Aśvins, Fain in a moment, when the mornings break, to part the earth’s ends and the vast expanses.
They move to sacrifice through realms of light, lighting the car that bears them. Over many wide, unmeasured spaces, across the fields and waters, you traverse.
You, mighty ones, ever bear our thoughts away with swift, vigorous horses, That the trouble of man who offers gifts might cease and sleep.
So ye, when ye have yoked your chariots, come to the hymn of the latest singer. Our true and ancient Herald Priest shall bring you, the Youthful, bearing splendor, food, and vigor.
With newest hymn I call those Wonder-Workers, ancient and brilliant, and exceedingly mighty, Bestowing bliss on him who lauds and praises, showering varied bounties on the singer.
So ye, with birds, from the sea and waters bore Bhujyu, son of Tugra, through the regions. Speeding with winged steeds through dustless spaces, from the flood’s bosom they bore him.
Victors, car-borne, ye rent the rock asunder: Bulls, heard the call of the eunuch’s consort. Bounteous, ye filled the cow with milk for Śayu: thus, swift and zealous Ones, ye showed your favor.
Whatever from olden time, Heaven, Earth! exists, a great object of the wrath of gods and mortals, Make that, Ādityas, Vasus, sons of Rudra, an evil brand to one allied with demons.
May he who knows, as Varuṇa and Mitra, air’s realm, appointing both the Kings in season, Against the secret fiend cast forth his weapon, against the lying words that strangers utter.
Come to our home with friendly wheels, for offering; come on your radiant chariot rich in heroes. Strike off, ye Twain, the heads of our attackers who with man’s treacherous attack approach us.
Come hitherward to us with teams of horses, the highest and the middle and the lowest. Bountiful Lords, throw open to the singer doors even of the closed stall of cattle.