To reap the harvest of the promised joy;
The wave-worn man of such secure rest dreams,
So guiltless of annoy.
XXI.
The heroes and the kings, the wise, the strong,
That won the fleece with cunning and with might,
Their souls were taken in the net of song,
Entangled in delight;
XXII.
Till ever loathlier seemed all toil to be,