“You have lost it already!” exclaimed the Far-darting Apollo.

The summer lightning does not pass from the East to the West as quickly as he rushed over the salt waves of the Archipelago.  There he asked Amphitrite for an empty turtle-shell, put around it the rays of the sun, and returned to Athens with a ready formiga.

In the city everything was already quiet.  The lights were out, and only the houses and temples shone white in the light of the moon, which had risen high in the sky.

The store was dark, and in it, behind a gate and a curtain, the beautiful Eryfile was asleep.  Apollo the Radiant began to touch the strings of his lyre.  Wishing to awake softly his beloved, he played at first as gently as swarms of mosquitoes singing on a summer evening on Illis.  But the song became gradually stronger like a brook in the mountain after a rain; then more powerful, sweeter, more intoxicating, and it filled the air voluptuously.

The secret Athena’s bird flew softly from the Acropolis and sat motionless on the nearest column.

Suddenly a bare arm, worthy of Phidias or Praxiteles, whiter than Pantelican marble, drew aside the curtain.  The Radiant’s heart stopped beating with emotion.  And then Eryfile’s voice resounded: 

“Ha!  You booby, why do you wander about and make a noise during the night?  I have been working all day, and now they won’t let me sleep!”

“Eryfile!  Eryfile!” exclaimed Silver-arrowed.  And he began to sing: 

  “From lofty peaks of Parnas—­where there ring
    In all the glory of light’s brilliant rays
  The grand sweet songs which inspired muses sing
    To me, by turns, in rapture and praise—­
  I, worshiped god—­I fly, fly to thee,
    Eryfile!  And on thy bosom white
  I shall rest, and the Eternity will be
    A moment to me—­the God of Light!”

“By the holy flour for sacrifices,” exclaimed the baker’s wife, “that street boy sings and makes love to me.  Will you go home, you impudent!”

The Radiant, wishing to pursuade her that he was not a common mortal, threw so much light from his person, that all the earth was lighted.  But Eryfile, seeing this, exclaimed: 

“That scurrilous fellow has hidden a lantern under his robe, and he tries to make me believe that he is a god.  O daughter of mighty Dios! they press us with taxes, but there is no Scythian guard to protect us from such stupid fellows!”

Apollo, who did not wish yet to acknowledge defeat, sang further: 

  “Ah, open thine arms—­rounded, gleaming, white—­
    To thee eternal glory I will give. 
  Over goddess of earth, fair and bright,
    Thy name above immortal shall live. 
  I kiss the dainty bloom of thy cheek,
    To thy lustrous eyes the love-light I bring,
  From the masses of thy silken hair I speak,
    To thy beauty, peerless one, I sing. 
  White pearls are thy ruby lips between—­
    With might of godly words I thee endow;
  An eloquence for which a Grecian queen
    Would gladly give the crown from her brow. 
            Ah!  Open, open thine arms!