We long for wealth, for riches; cows and herds are not counted in hundreds. The unmanly ones in sacrifice scatter like lightning; the singers do not imagine my delight.

(Purūravā). The arrow is not to be cast from the quiver for glory. I am no longer the impetuousdespoiler of the cattle (of the enemy), nor of their hundred-fold (riches). My prowess having lost its strength, (mymight) no longer flashes forth; (my warriors) the terrifiers (of the foe) hear not my shout in battle.

Like a shaft sent for glory from the quiver, or swift-steed winning cattle winning hundreds. The lightning seemed to flash, as cowards planned it. The minstrels bleated like a lamb in trouble.