In plain words
The poet, of Tirumāliruñcōlai: The hill of the Father, who took to heart all the anguish of Pāñcālī [Draupadī], wife of the Pāṇḍavas, and then laid it on the wives of the Hundred, is ancient Māliruñcōlai, the hill of springs, where swarms of bees fitted for song sing their melodies and drink the honey.