In plain words
The poet, of Tirumāliruñcōlai: The hill of our handsome-shouldered Rāma, who for the sake of her of the golden earrings [Sītā] spread out his arrows and impaled the race of rākṣasas on them as on stakes, is lovely Māliruñcōlai, where the people of all the wide earth come crowding round and bathe in great throngs in the clear streams that wash down gold.