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Beautiful are the Blue Hills, and Their beauty gladdens the heart. Verily this is the garden of the gods, and gods And sages love to roam here. Everywhere the eye meets expanses of green grass. Birds sing sweetly from every bush. The pine odours fill the air. Lovely drives sweep round limpid lakes. In the masses of clouds that love to haunt the gardens on the hill slopes, fish-eyed damsels flit about like lightnings. Wheels that speed under tread, cars that mock the powers of magic, and swift horses that race, move along in beauty. On ridges and in valleys, in lakes and in forests, and in pots and in glass houses, flowers grow everywhere in profusion. So the quivers of the god of love are inexhaustible here. May Siva, the Destroyer of the Puras, shower choice blessings on Appala Kondayamba Devi, who is kind to her servants.