In plain words
Dēvakī, lamenting to Kaṇṇaṉ: That you held a hill [Gōvardhana] over them as an umbrella, linked the lovely round dance, danced the pot dance, struck down the wood-apple with a calf, trod on the head of Kāḷiyaṉ with your foot, and the rest: of all those fine sports of your childhood, full of victory, I, your servant, was not granted to see even one there, to cool my heart within. If there is a way to see them now, grant it to me.