The Colas c11.35

c11.35

The pleasant Tamil lands possess
For boundary the ocean wide.
The heaven, where tempests loud sway not,
Upon their brow rests as a crown.
Fertile the soil they till, and wide.
Three kings with mighty hosts this land
Divide; but of the three; whose drums
Sound for the battle’s angry strife,
Thou art the chief, O mighty one!
Though the resplendent sun in diverse quarters rise;
And though the silvery planet to the south decline;
Thy land shall flourish, where through channels deep,
Kāvēri flows with bright refreshing stream,
Along whose banks the sweet cane’s white flowers wave
Like pennon’d spears uprising from the plain.
Let me speak out to this rich country’s king!
Be easy of access at fitting time, as though
The lord of justice sat to hear, and right decree.
Such kings have rain on their dominions at their will!
The clouds thick gather round the sun, and rest
In vault of heaven:—So let thy canopy
Of state challenge the sky, and spread around
Not gloom, but peaceful shade. Let all thy victories
Be the toiling ploughman’s gain.
Kings get the blame, whether rains fail, or copious flow,
And lack the praise: such is the usage of the world.
If thou hast marked and known this well,
Reject the wily counsels of malicious men.
Lighten the load of those who till the soil.
The dwellers in the land protect. If thou do this
Thy stubborn foes shall lowly bend beneath thy feet.