But while our longing for such things so grew, And ever more and more we deemed them true, Upon the land a pestilence there fell Unheard of yet in any chronicle, And, as the people died full fast of it, With these two men it chanced me once to sit, This learned squire whose name was Nicholas, And Swabian Laurence, as our manner was; For could we help it scarcely did we part From dawn to dusk: so heavy, sad at heart, We from the castle-yard beheld the bay Upon that ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, Little we said amidst that dreary mood, And certes nought that we could say was good. It was a bright September afternoon, The parched-up beech-trees would be yellowing soon The yellow flowers grown deeper with the sun Were letting fall their petals one by one; No wind there was, a haze was gathering o'er The furthest bound of the faint yellow shore; And in the oily waters of the bay Scarce moving aught some fisher-cobles lay, And all seemed peace; and had been peace indeed But that we young men of our life had need, And to our listening ears a sound was borne That made the sunlight wretched and forlorn-- --The heavy tolling of the minster bell-- And nigher yet a tinkling sound did tell That through the streets they bore our Saviour Christ By dying lips in anguish to be kissed. At last spoke Nicholas, "How long shall we Abide here, looking forth into the sea Expecting when our turn shall come to die? Fair fellows, will ye come with me and try Now at our worst that long-desired quest, Now--when our worst is death, and life our best." "Nay, but thou know'st," I said, "that I but wait The coming of some man, the turn of fate, To make this voyage--but I die meanwhile, For I am poor, though my blood be not vile, Nor yet for all his lore doth Laurence hold Within his crucibles aught like to gold; And what hast thou, whose father driven forth By Charles of Blois, found shelter in the North? But little riches as I needs must deem." "Well," said he, "things are better than they seem, For 'neath my bed an iron chest I have That holdeth things I have made shift to save E'en for this end; moreover, hark to this, In the next firth a fair long ship there is Well victualled, ready even now for sea, And I may say it 'longeth unto me; Since Marcus Erling, late its owner, lies Dead at the end of many miseries, And little Kirstin, as thou well mayst know, Would be content throughout the world to go If I but took her hand, and now still more Hath heart to leave this poor death-stricken shore. Therefore my gold shall buy us Bordeaux swords And Bordeaux wine as we go oceanwards. "What say ye, will ye go with me to-night, Setting your faces to undreamed delight, Turning your backs unto this troublous hell, Or is the time too short to say farewell?"