I tell no tale of flight across the waste and waters. Of death struck beasts who fell a prey to creeping things that love the night. Of famine-threatened creatures pining sore for homes of plenty left, alas! too far to turn again to home for help they needed.
I won't recount stories of journeys across barren lands and treacherous seas. Nor will I speak of animals felled by deadly predators lurking in the darkness. I'll spare you tales of starving creatures, longing desperately for the abundant homes they left behind—now too distant to return to for the aid they so desperately need.
Of how at last the river, long and serpent-wise that spews its clear, sweet waters in the sea, that giveth life to banks all decked with green which feeds the multitudes, was made from straggling brook by hands of men who rent the toughened sod and formed a channel broad and deep.
At last, the long, winding river that pours its pure, fresh water into the sea was created. This river, which gives life to lush green banks and sustains countless people, was transformed from a meandering stream. It was the work of determined individuals who tore up the hard earth to carve out a wide and deep channel.
Upon its banks their tents were pitched. The city, populous at first, was built in mind, then took it shape from hands of skilful workers.
They set up camp along the riverbank. In their minds, they envisioned a bustling city. Soon, skilled craftsmen brought this vision to life, building the city with their own hands.
Streets which cross and wind were but the fancy of the crafty one who held the keys which locked the nation's useless horde, for many years but useless—useless, as they sought no more their ancient home where gold in grains were held for merchandise.
Winding, intersecting streets were merely the invention of the cunning keeper who held the keys to the nation's idle treasure. This wealth had long been useless, as people no longer sought their ancestral lands where gold dust was once traded as currency.
He argued: “Streets that broadly lie invite the hordes which soon will gather from afar for spoil when known becomes our hiding place. But serpent winding way will show each face to him who peereth from his window low or high. Condensed be our city. All who dwell therein be known. No spy who seeketh word of Kling—our monarch, Kling, the great, or I, who bartered fame adown the centuries long for greed of gold, now worthless, lives to cast an eye to gods.
He argued: "Wide, straight streets invite invading hordes once our hideout is discovered. But winding roads allow us to see every face from our windows, high or low. Let our city be compact, with all residents known. No spy seeking information about King Kling—our great ruler—or myself, who traded fame across centuries for now-worthless gold, will survive to report back to their masters."
“He dieth at a stroke who seeketh our land nor liveth to plead to ear.”
"Anyone who tries to take our land dies instantly, without a chance to argue their case."
The temples founded none might hope for life who deviated from the teachings of the priests. The leeches' skill was tempered to conditions of the land, and teachers taught as seemed good to him who lauded Kling, yet ruled him heart and soul!
No one could expect to survive if they strayed from the priests' teachings in the temples. The healers' abilities were adapted to the local environment, and instructors taught according to the wishes of the one who praised Kling, yet paradoxically controlled him completely.
They passed—those plotters. In their place strange creatures sprung, the growth of mind impressed with greed and fear and solitude of steppes; yet round the base of that vast temple builded first they clung, athirst for learning.
The schemers faded away. In their wake, odd beings emerged—products of minds shaped by avarice, dread, and the isolation of vast plains. Yet these newcomers gathered at the foundation of that immense, ancient temple, eager for knowledge.
Thus each mind was shaped according to a law formed from stern need and inclination of a brain that grasped all law and made it fit caprice.
So each mind was shaped by a law. That law was formed from stern need and from the inclination of a brain that grasped all law and made it suit its whims.
A nation vast there sprung where but a group of wanderers first had cast their tents, yet still a people like and like as kin. For following certain details warps the will, and trendeth to one point a thousand wills bent to the stronger mood of him who seeks the law as whip to lash to purpose every soul within his reach.
A vast nation sprang up there, where at first only a group of wanderers had pitched their tents. Yet they were still a people alike, and alike as kin. For following certain details warps the will. It turns a thousand wills toward one point, bent to the stronger mood of the one who uses the law as a whip to drive every soul within his reach to his purpose.
Akin; yet not akin, they grew with certain bonds unbroken. Mark of Time rests on the central point where wisely built the One who keeps stern council.
Akin, yet not akin, they grew with certain bonds unbroken. The mark of Time rests on the central point where the One who keeps stern council built wisely.
Shape the mind to one example it may grow unchanged and pass its unchanged moods to them that follow. All seek a symbol of some higher mind and bow submissive to a stronger will, and shape their moods to fit the mood of one who wills submission. They grew apace, possessed wise minds and drank the crafty poise of him, their teacher, in the dawn of race; for crafty he and thus adown the line ran guile.
Shape the mind to one example, and it may grow unchanged and pass its unchanged moods to those who follow. All seek a symbol of some higher mind. They bow in submission to a stronger will and shape their moods to fit the mood of one who wills submission. They grew quickly and had wise minds. They drank in the crafty poise of him, their teacher, at the dawn of their race. For he was crafty, and so guile ran down the line.
And later, when the land did teem with people who forgot the source of their great nation, seemingly, war was proclaimed aloud and tribe met tribe and slaughter fouled the land.
And later, when the land teemed with people who had forgotten, it seemed, the source of their great nation, war was proclaimed aloud. Tribe met tribe, and slaughter fouled the land.
In history the race held the place of hybrid. Atlantian sires, but other races mixed their puny blood through mothers—slaves, the weaklings of the world in that new age. Still, training brought to bear on sons made men of strength surpassed by none in early age, and well were grown the hordes that peopled steppes.
In history this race held the place of a hybrid. Their sires were Atlantian, but other races mixed their puny blood in through the mothers. These mothers were slaves, the weaklings of the world in that new age. Still, the training brought to bear on the sons made men of a strength surpassed by none in that early age. And the hordes that peopled the steppes grew strong.
The cities lesser growth in man form knew; for air and water, food which builds the brain and bulk, were there but poison for the child to thrive on. Mind indeed was fed, but body strength seemed lost to growth of mind. The law which worketh out its will that one may thrive but at the others’ loss.
Cities saw slower human growth in the past. The air, water, and food that typically nourish the brain and body were more like poison to children there. While minds were nourished, physical development seemed to suffer at the expense of mental growth. This reflects the principle that one aspect often thrives at the cost of another.
Atlantis, thou art lost, thy people of pure blood but represented in my land by those who pour o’er tomes and sigh for glories passed. In that land the hybrid creeps to leash and nothing knows, perchance, of that great island's loss where, in the dim past age, his sires far out in line had dwelt.
Atlantis, you are lost. Your people of pure blood are represented in my land only by those who pore over old volumes and sigh for glories gone. In that land the hybrid creeps to the leash and knows nothing, perhaps, of the loss of that great island. There, in the dim past age, his ancestors far back in the line had lived.
Ah, yellow slant of eye, the hordes we see, but glorious in their youth in that past day, when swarthy-browed the plunderers bold first set their feet on sands that teem with men who shrink from new conditions; bravery of soul of order that will suffer, yet not draw the sword on foe.
Ah, the hordes we see, with yellow, slanted eyes! Yet they were glorious in their youth, in that past day when the bold, swarthy-browed plunderers first set foot on these sands. Those sands now teem with men who shrink from new conditions. Theirs is a bravery of soul of the kind that will suffer, yet will not draw the sword on a foe.
Atlantis knew but bravery in war. The sons of Yucatan have grown a peaceful tribe. Atlantis spake for peace in early age. With both, the mind was all supreme and speech and craft held sway above the sword. The drop which lingereth yet of kinship giveth proof—the gift of barter—of concealment—truth to vows if they perchance are made according to conditions naught shall break.
Atlantis was known only for its courage in battle. The people of Yucatan have become a peaceful society. Atlantis advocated for peace in its early days. Both civilizations valued intellect above all, with diplomacy and skill outweighing military might. The remaining traces of their shared heritage provide evidence—their talent for trade, discretion, and unwavering loyalty to promises made under unbreakable conditions.
In tomes ye read of one who sought that land in that dim age so far agone it seems but as a vision firmly set in midst of actual life. This one made mention of a fruitful isle that sunk, and struck with terror—so tradition planteth in his breast—the ruler willed the stranger die by stealth lest he create a thirst for knowledge strong of other lands.
In ancient books, we read of someone who searched for a land in a time so long ago it seems like a dream set against real life. This person spoke of a bountiful island that sank beneath the waves. Terrified by this tale, as tradition tells us, the ruler secretly ordered the stranger's death, fearing he might spark a dangerous curiosity about other lands.
"We live and die," spake he—the ruler—"in bonds of country. Cursed be the bones that lie in alien soil. Unrest shall seize the soul which feels its husk a part of any land save of its birth. Ah, people of this earth! thy ways and moods shall change to fit the planes on which ye trend; yet ever are there gleams of that far spot amid the higher scenes ye yet shall know. A memory of the Earth home.
"We live and die," said the ruler, "tied to our homeland. Cursed are those buried in foreign soil. Unease haunts the soul whose body rests anywhere but its birthplace. Oh, people of this world! Your ways and moods will adapt to new landscapes, yet glimpses of your origins will always shine through, even in the loftier realms you'll encounter. A lingering memory of Earth, your first home."