In plain words
The poet, of Araṅgam: He made corpses of the asuras whose fault was harming the world, so that their rich blood, thick with fat, welled up unceasingly, spread over the land, bubbled and made waves: the town of that Lord is glorious Araṅgam, where the Kāviri, dragging along from the great hills sandal trees too thick for arms to embrace, comes roaring [as if begging him to accept them] and worships at his feet.