Classic Poem

You are descended from the lord whose steadfast rule was never
to run away, that man of eminence who seized gold from the ornaments
on the foreheads of enemy elephants and then made the foreheads
of bards glow, adorning them with golden lotuses that do not fade!
Lord of Mullur, where the waterfalls roar like drums of war
and a small forest seems to be sleeping through nights with its
dense darkness, though the Brahmin Kapilar, he of purest knowledge
among all the people of the world, already has sung about you
so that your wide-spreading fame will endure, so that you will become
ever more prosperous along with your family that can never be destroyed,
and there is really no room any more for bards who have come to you
in their need—nevertheless on the instant we sing your praises!
And therefore we are like boats in the western ocean that belong
to some lord other then Ceran who commands his raging armies
and runs his ships that carry gold so that no other vessels dare
to travel those waters! Spurred by our need and invited by
your glory, we take on the task of singing about your virtues,
beginning with your generosity. You who attack as the drums
resound like the thunder that destroys snakes with their fangs
like thorns, you who demolish bitter onslaughts while kings
die on the field of battle together with their finest elephants,
you who repel the assaults of enemies
who won't join you, lord of the land that holds the lovely Pennai River!