With wealth of wine for yours and mine, dare the work go undone?
"Quick! bring them forth, these mighty butts: let none be elsewhere sold,
And I will pay this very day their utmost worth in gold,
"That so the mortar that cements each stone within the shrine,
For her dear sake whom God did take, may all be mixed with wine."
'Twas thus the baron built his tower; and, as the story tells,
A fragrance rare bewitched the air whene'er they rang the bells.
A merrier music tinkled down when harvest-days were long:
They seemed to chime at vintage-time a catch of vintage-song;