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So they went forth and set Apollo's gift on the shore; then before them stood, in the form of a youth, far-swaying Triton, and he lifted a clod from the earth and offered it as a stranger's gift, and thus spake: "Take it, friends, for no stranger's gift of great worth have I here by me now to place in the hands of those who beseech me.
Their hypothesis seems to be based upon the discovery of two beautiful bas-reliefs of the age of Vespasian, which were excavated near the Rostra Vetera in the Forum. Sir Theodore Martin has a note on these bas-reliefs which I quote in extenso: "In the Forum stood a statue of Marsyas, Apollo's ill-starred rival.
Through the streets, with frantic measure, Danced the bacchanal mad round, And, amid the radiant pleasure, Only one sad breast was found. Joyless in the midst of gladness, None to heed her, none to love, Roamed Cassandra, plunged in sadness, To Apollo's laurel grove.
At this place Mount Olympus rises in height more than ten furlongs, as appears by the epigram made by the man that measured it: The summit of Olympus, at the site Where stands Apollo's temple, has a height Of full ten furlongs by the line, and more, Ten furlongs, and one hundred feet, less four. Eumelus' son Xenagoras, reached the place. Adieu, O king, and do thy pilgrim grace.
In this I can carry fire, and the children of men shall have the great gift in spite of Jupiter." Immediately, taking a long stalk in his hands, he set out for the dwelling of the sun in the far east. He reached there in the early morning, just as Apollo's chariot was about to begin its journey across the sky.
He is an archer more to be dreaded than Apollo, for Apollo's arrows take life, but Love's bring joy or sorrow for a whole life long. "Come, Love," said Venus. "There is a mortal maid who robs me of my honors in yonder city. Avenge your mother. Wound this precious Psyche, and let her fall in love with some churlish creature mean in the eyes of all men."
The dreadful shapes of the avenging Furies close in upon him: the fancies of incipient madness thicken on his mind: he is hounded out, his only hope of rest being Apollo's sacred shrine. The play ends with a note of hopelessness, of calamity without end. After the Agamemnon this play reads weak indeed. Yet it displays two marked characteristics.
When Mallia late beheld, in mingled train, Twelve mortals ape twelve deities in vain; Caesar assumed what was Apollo's due, And wine and lust inflamed the motley crew. At the foul sight the gods avert their eyes, And from his throne great Jove indignant flies.
They fain had prayed that time himself would stop Apollo's car. They hate to see the sunset gloom, the rise of evening's star. And even when the sun is set, he who a foe discerns, With no less vigor to his targe the loaded javelin turns, The onset joined, each lance discharged, the judge's voice is heard; He bids the heralds sound a truce, and the wide lists are cleared.
Being a poet myself, and crowned with Apollo's laurel, I will make known to all the last incarnation of Eunoia. The eternal Helen is close to us; she is looking at us, and we are looking at her. You see that woman reclining on the cushions of her couch so beautiful and so contemplative whose eyes shed tears, and whose lips abound with kisses! It is she!
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