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Hymn XXXIX - Tirup Pulambal The Sacred Lament.

I. I praise none but Thee. 

O Thou Whose way Ayan, from flow'ry lotus sprung, knows not, nor Mal ! 
Partner of her whose swelling bosom wears the Gongu flower ! Whose form 
White ash displays ! Owner of blest Arur, begrit with lofty wall ! 
Saving Thy flower-like feet, nought else will I Thy servant ever praise ! (4)

II. To Thee alone I look for help. 

Thou of the braided tuft ! Fire-wielder ! Thou Whose weapon is the dart 
Three-leav'd and gleaming ! Light superne ! Lord of the flock ! The soft, white bull 
Is thine ! O Lord of Perun-turrai girt by spreading groves ! Thy slave 
Am I. Owner, I know in truth no other present help than Thee. (8)


Nor friends, nor kin I seek; no city I desire; no name I crave; 
No learned ones I seek; and henceforth lessons to be conned suffice. 
Thou dancer, in Kuttalam dwelling blissful, Thy resounding feet 
I'll sek, that as the cow yearns for its calf, my longing soul may melt. (12)

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