Selestor's Men of Atlantis, by Clara Iza von Ravn, , at sacred-texts.com
The death of Prince Osiris’ bride—Albirothisis.
Osiris sought that farther border from the fear of swift and stern pursuit.
A thousand galleys did comprise Atlantis’ fleet; and so had he no hope to reach that land to which their thoughts had turned if so the king directed men to follow, barge on barge and barque with barque.
The fleet could overtake through force of oar, for rested twelve while twelve did furious ply the long day through, and when the night had set they also plied, nor lacked a light to so direct their stroke, that distance, too, was gained.
In that past age, as now, the cage that swung at prow did hold a fearsome bird which shot forth from its eyes a light that mocked the stars. Full half a mile it showed the pathway of the sea. And "farther still! still farther!" was the loud command of him, Aamhotep, when the Nile bore refugees upon its breast. "Still up and up."
The desert passed, the plains which later hid their city's wealth. For storms of sand have filled the arches broad and hid the dome, the wall of brittle spar, the pride of King Osiris. It lieth deep where sands still drift.
The strength of numbers stemmed the cataract. Philae was reached—a point of rock-set land. "We tarry," spake the king, "for she doth feel the stress of flight—our queen."
And so they bode a space where barren rocks
mocked hunger. Bode till she had passed—the loved one, virgin wife of him, the king.
Alas! I see the picture as ’twas drawn for me. Slaves were so stilled at thought of sorrow smiting, that no voice rose in a wail. The night breeze flapped the standards borne at prow of anchored galleys, barques.
The galley-slave lay still with eyes fixed on the stars and thought, perchance, beyond was rest from toil.
She lay—the loved, the beautiful, the blessed, her beauty fading as the rose leaf dies; the film slow creeping o’er her jet black eyes, her hands all listless lying clasped in her lord's. "I go," she murmured. “Go from hence. But thou, beloved, shalt dwell long years upon this ball called Earth. Long years where palms wave moodily above the spot where rests the urn that doth contain my ashes.
“One shall come at last and thou shalt her behold and dream thou lovest; what care I? for in that higher world I shall be crowned queen and still be thine. She is of earth for thee, I for Eternity.
“Down near the rapids where the slaves tugged long upon the chain of galley let me sleep—’neath carven shape—to meet the eye of man long centuries hence. Let sleep the semblance. I shall watch the night fold wings above the spot, and smile and keep close vigil over thee, my loved, my lord, when in a casket clasped with golden bands the all shall lie in ashes that thy earth-mind deemest that thou lovest. ’Tis not so; the state and semblance of a queen may live on earth, but I am of the stars!
“I go to keep the watch of one who wanders from her earthly home to claim her heritage, in courts of ether built, where One holds sway in mind and love and all the senses. There shall come a day, far distant, when thou, too, shalt claim thy heritage—
that of a throne less than the builded pile where One, whose face we may not see, abideth.
“Down where the cataract doth lull the sense of vastness and of loneliness thou, too, shalt rest—thy mortal part—thine ashes by my urn, for Earth hath, too, her heritage and claims her children. Brittle toys they seem beside the splendor drawn from Light and Life, from whom the soul descendeth.
“Let my husk—the mortal part—be born upon the barge thou calledst ours in that day we two were wed. That barge a gift from him—my father in the island home.
“Down, down the river sweepeth. I shall be no more of earth. Mourn not. The stars at night shall speak to thee of me, and He—the One whom lesser gods would thrust from out the temple home, holds safely.
“Mourn never thou for me, oh Lord, so loved the day seems night when from my side thou strayest!
“One shall come at last who in thy arms shall lie and down the line of history be absolved from sin, but her thou lovest never, for the tie of soul to soul is held between us, born on heights where Nature readeth Law at first, breathed from the lips of Majesty, the king God of the gods.”
She passed. A fitting splendor marked the day they piled the wood, the spice on carven throne, and over all was cast a moulten mass which caught the flames that leaped unto the clouds and bore the soul from husk, they then believed.
Her ashes in the urn of golden metal stands far down amid the rocks that circle round the spot. A carving of her face, divine in love and youth, still holdeth semblance of the one who died—young Albirothisis, child of old Amsolabis—that grandest
minister, who ruled the king though meek in mien and seeming ruled by him.
No history gives her name, yet shall it live on page of alien people side by side with his—Osiris, King of Egypt first.
The spot where she had died Osiris sought to shield from vulgar purpose. Thus they digged a channel deep, made island of that spot where first their feet in Egypt rested. "Barren be the spot, and lone" he spake, "where I bereft did mourn in this strange land the one I loved."
And down the graceful river moved the fleet and builded grandly where the cataract marked the sacred spot—the tomb of one who passed—nor wife nor maid of him—Osiris. Yet so dear he held her memory that the years fled by and left him aging ere he held his hand to maiden, speaking: "Come to me as bride."
The sand still drifts and, underneath, the urns with ashes of a king and queen hold court. Deliverance is at hand and all the world shall drink the history of the king who mourned a score of years for one they named his queen.
Philae asketh thou? Aye, such of old bore mark in that dim day of numbers. Yet no wall doth stand, but farther down are palace walls of marble buried deep in sand. And one hath shown an architrave of white, embossed marble writ with figures of the gods they worshipped in Atlantis.
Thus it is the past leaps out, a ghost of olden time, of time remote. Of time that held the arts, as thou today dost know, with added numbers wrought in gold. That wealth of stone, of metal made from
brass and stone fine ground and other matter, held at bay old Time and lieth yet up-bearing arch.
A statue wrought to life is also of that metal. Statue made to show the features beautiful of him—Osiris—never found as mummy. False the world hath breathed! Osiris lieth in his rock-bound tomb below Abydos; thus ye speak the name; his hands outspread to bless his followers, his loved wife beside him, wrought in stone.
False the word that husk of him doth meet the eye embalmed and seen in walls of glass! Ah, no! such is not nor has been. Osiris’ tomb is hid from prying eye. His generals stand at portal, sword in hand, to guard the sacred dead! Three sculptured forms shall meet the eye of man—Osiris, Aamhotep, Usertsen, wrought so well that later art seems crude.
A casket wrought of cypress bound with gold held once the ashes. Egypt's art to hold the husk was later yet employed, for in Atlantis ashes but remained of forms once loved. Yea, the spot which holds is near to man; is bound by rock and sand. Yet priceless store still lies where camels browse and other creatures stamp in angry mood, and toiling man seeks rest from burning sun.
The temples raised by skill are ruins now, but here an arch, a pillar shattered there, shows still the wondrous colors. Cleft the marble base, and sculptured leaf is broken, yet there lies a wondrous store for man who dreams, and dreams above, and seeks to shape a history from the blocks that teach of peoples once so versed in arts that other ways seem baubles set by gems.
Great vases wrought of many-colored glass lie far beneath the bed of hungry Nile, with histories writ in colors. Foreign form speaks loud … of craft which mocks at any plan to imitate. Broad braids
tell calmly that a smith may beat, entwine, and weave his vase at will, but bubbles blown from forms, or cords in shape, may not this day hold wine or lotus. With the strength of gold, thus ancient vase was wove.
A quaintly fashioned volume bound with gems and made from jasper, block on block, so thin the words of other page show through, doth lie within Osiris’ tomb.
On this is told the history of the flight. Shows kingly emblem. Stars tell point of date, if so the men versed well in star-lore read. Ah, man in husk of flesh, think not that Earth hath seen the all old Egypt's bosom holds, for thou shalt read in language of the past a history which doth make thee seem a child.
Atlantis thou hast sunk, but Earth doth hold today the records of thy greatness and thy power.
Aye, where Thebes stood the camel still may browse, but parchment hid in golden case is still intact, and wall that carven image shows of him—Osiris—still doth stand enwrapped in sands which clog the well-wrought lines depicting flight and subsequent events.
Aye, there is writ a volume on the arts by one named Ad-em. Such the name they spake; none knew his origin. A mother dying at his birth, the victim of some bold marauder; such the state of country at that age.
I know no more. And yet God's image, sometimes sore defaced, did linger in his brain power to extent that carven lines were wonder of all ages. And his tales thus told in stone were listened to with wonder
by the king who held in bonds a thousand versed in story-telling art.
In line of other digging lies this lair of wonders—objects hid by depth of sand none yet have sought to "shovel." At the base of one great crag another store is hid far out from water's reach; and this shall tell the story of the Norsemen as it was told by mighty Norse invader to the old Atlantians.
The histories of today shall lie ’neath buried earth in centuries to come, and there shall moulder to the prying eye of them who follow, but the stone shall give its secret to the world when volumes frail shall crumble. Speak I thus in prophecy.