But could I build while vassals filled my ears with cries for corn?
"Thereafter happed the heaviest woe, and none could help or save;
Nor was there bell to toll a knell above my Hertha's grave.
"Ah, had I held my vow supreme all hinderance to control,
Maybe these woes—God knows! God knows!—had never crushed my soul.
"Ev'n now ye beg that I give o'er: ye say the scant supply
Of water fails in lowland vales, and mountain-springs are dry.
"'Here be the quarried stones' (ye grant), 'skilled craftsmen come at call;
But with no more of water-store how can we build the wall?'
"Nay, listen: Last year's vintage crowds our cellars, tun on tun: