the ever-youthful heroes.  Let us then follow with our praises and our prayers each host of yours, each troop, each company.  To what well-born generous worshipper have the Maruts gone to-day on that march, on which you bring to kith and kin the never-failing seed of corn?  Give us that for which we ask you, wealth and everlasting happiness!  Let us safely pass through our revilers, leaving behind the unspeakable and the enemies.  Let us be with you when in the morning you shower down health, wealth, water, and medicine, O Maruts!  That mortal, O men, O Maruts, whom you protect, may well be always beloved by the gods, and rich in valiant offspring.  May we be such!  Praise the liberal Maruts, and may they delight on the path of this man here who praises them, like cows in fodder.  When they go, call after them as for old friends, praise them who love you, with your song!

XX

You have fashioned this speech for the brilliant Marut-host which shakes the mountains:  celebrate then the great manhood in honor of that host who praises the warm milk of the sacrifice, and sacrifices on the height of heaven, whose glory is brilliant.  O Maruts, your powerful men came forth searching for water, invigorating, harnessing their horses, swarming around.  When they aim with the lightning, Trita shouts, and the waters murmur, running around on their course.  These Maruts are men brilliant with lightning, they shoot with thunderbolts, they blaze with the wind, they shake the mountains, and suddenly, when wishing to give water, they whirl the hail; they have thundering strength, they are robust, they are ever-powerful.  When you drive forth the nights, O Rudras, the days, O powerful men, the sky, the mists, ye shakers, the plains, like ships, and the strongholds, O Maruts, you suffer nowhere.  That strength of yours, O Maruts, that greatness extended as far as the sun extends its daily course, when you, like your deer on their march, went down to the western mountain with untouched splendor.  Your host, O Maruts, shone forth when, O sages, you strip, like a caterpillar, the waving tree.  Conduct then, O friends, our service to a good end, as the eye conducts the man in walking.  That man, O Maruts, is not overpowered, he is not killed, he does not fail, he does not shake, he does not drop, his goods do not perish, nor his protections, if you lead him rightly, whether he be a seer or a king.  The men with their steeds, like conquerors of clans, like Aryaman, the Maruts, carrying waterskins, fill the well; when the strong ones roar, they moisten the earth with the juice of sweetness.  When the Maruts come forth this earth bows, the heaven bows, the paths in the sky bow, and the cloud-mountains with their quickening rain.  When you rejoice at sunrise, O Maruts, toiling together, men of sunlight, men of heaven, your horses never tire in running, and you quickly reach the end of your journey.  On your shoulders are the spears, on your feet rings,