In plain words
The poet, of the hill Gōvardhana: The hill my Father lifted, the discus shining in his hand, when the gentle cowherd women with lovely kohl-lined wide eyes, the cattle-keeping cowherds and the herds cried out and begged, "Accept us and take us as your charge": that hill, where the broad-shouldered hill men, seeing the eyes of their own women who have taken refuge in them, cry "Look, a herd of deer grazing our fields!" and bend their bows, is Gōvardhana, the victorious umbrella.