Потерянный континент: история Атлантиды
10. A Wooing
Butasthewordscamefromher,soasmallmistwasborninthesky,wheelingandcirclinglikeaball,althoughthedaywaswindless,andrapidlygrowingdarkerandmorecompact.Sodensehaditbecome,thatpresentlyitthrewashadowonpartofthesacredcircleandsootheditintotwilight,thoughallwithoutwherethepeoplestoodwasstillgarishday.Andintheballofmistwerelittlequickstabsandsplashesofnoiselessflame.
Shespoke,notinthepriests’sacredtongue—thoughsuchwasherwickedcleverness,thatshemayverywellhavelearnedit—butinthecommonspeechofthepeople,sothatallwhoheardmightunderstand;andshetoldofherwondrousbirth(asshechosetonameit),andofthedirectaidofthemostHighGods,whichhadenabledhertoworksomanymarvels.Andintheendsheliftedbothofherfairwhitearmstowardstheblacknessabove,andwithherlovelyfacesetwiththestrainofwill,sheutteredherfinalcry:
“OmyhighFather,theSun,IprayYounowtoacknowledgemeasYourverydaughter.GivethispeopleasignthatIamindeedachildoftheGodsandnofrailmortal.Hereissacrificeunlit,wheremortalpriestswiththeirpunyfireshadweekly,sincethefoundationofthisland,sentsavourysmoketowardsthesky.IprayYousenddowntheheavenlyfiretoburnthisbeasthereoffered,intokenthatthoughYoustillruleonhigh,YouhavegivenmeAtlantistobemykingdom,andthepeopleoftheEarthtobemyworshippers.”
Shebrokeoffandstrainedtowardsthesky.Herfacewascontorted.Herlimbsshook
