In plain words
The poet, of Tirumāliruñcōlai: The hill where the King fittingly dwells, who set fire-scattering arrows on the mouth of his long bow, ended the arrogance of speech of the lord of Laṅkā [Rāvaṇa, who said he would bow to no one] and rejoiced, is Tirumāliruñcōlai, the hill that the immortals and their king [Indra] come to and go round, as do the sun and moon circling night and day.