Valmiki Ramayana 4.40.18

4.40.18

sā candanavanair divyaiḥ pracchannā dvīpa śālinī
kānteva yuvatiḥ kāntaṃ samudram avagāhate

Search well his forests where the breeze
Blows fragrant from the sandal trees.
Then will you see Káverí's stream
Whose pleasant waters glance and gleam,
And to the lovely banks entice
The sportive maids of Paradise.
High on the top of Malaya's hill,
In holy musing, calm and still,
Sits, radiant as the Lord of Light,
Agastya, noblest anchorite.
Soon as that lofty-thoughted lord
His high permission shall accord,
Pass Támraparní's flood whose isles
Are loved by basking crocodiles.
The sandal woods that fringe her side
Those islets and her waters hide;
While, like an amorous matron, she
Speeds to her own dear lord the sea.
Thence hasting on your way behold
The Pándyas' gates of pearl and gold.
Then, with your task maturely planned,
On ocean's shore your feet will stand.
Where, by Agastya's high decree,
Mahendra, planted in the sea,
With tinted peaks against the tide
Rises in solitary pride,
And glorious in his golden glow
Spurns back the waves that beat below.
Fair mountain, bright with creepers' bloom
And every tint that trees assume,
Where Yaksha, God, and heavenly maid
Meet wandering in the lovely shade,
At changing moon and solemn tide
By Indra's presence glorified.
One hundred leagues in fair extent
An island fronts the continent:
No man may tread its glitering shore
With utmost heed that isle explore,
For the fair country owns the sway
Of Rávan whom we burn to day.