Not underneath sweet shades and fountains shrill,
Among the nymphs, the fairies, leaves and flowers;
But on the steep, the rough and craggy hill
Of Virtue stands this bliss, this good of ours;
By toil and travail, not by sitting still
In pleasure’s lap we come to honour’s bowers;
Why will you thus in sloth’s deep valley lie?
The royal eagles on high mountains fly.
Torquato Tasso, Gerusalemme liberata