There was a terror in that room Like faint light streaming from a tomb. I tried three times before I spoke, And then the bald words made me choke: 'Be quiet, man, for I am come To bring you the _viaticum_!'-- I made the sign of holiness. He rattled out a startled cry. I whispered low, 'Confess, confess!' His thin hands quivered with distress. It is a bitter thing to die. Just when a blast fell on the town, I felt his lean claws clutch me down. It seemed as if the hands of death Were beating at my breast for breath; His arms were like a twisted rope Of rotten strands that tugged at hope. _'Listen, my father, listen well!'_ The wind went tolling like a bell: _'She's lying fifty fathoms deep,_ _Where fishes like white birds go by_ _Through water-air in ocean-land;_ _She has a prayer-book in her hand--_ _Tonight she walks; tonight she spoke;_ _Her hair goes floating out and up,_ _Blown one way, with the water weeds,_ _Always one way, like amber smoke._ _She asks the gift she gave to me--_ _This ring--I cannot get it off!'_ His hand and hand fought like two claws-- _'I hear her calling from the sea!'_ His terror made my own heart pause. His voice went moaning with the wind, And groaned and rattled, '_I have sinned_,' And moaned and murmured at my ear Of bat-winged angels standing near. _'The little schooner "Patriot"--_ _I can't forget the vessel's name;_ _We met her rounding Naggs Head Bank;_ _We made her people walk the plank,_ _Twelve men whose faces I forgot._ _But there was one sweet lady there,_ _With lovely eyes and lovely hair,_ _Whose face has stayed like pain and care._ _For every man she made a prayer;_ _And when the last had found the sea,_ _I cried to her to pray for me._ _She prayed--and took this ring, and said:_ _"Wear this for me when I am dead."_ _She bowed her head, then steadfastly_ _She walked into the hungry sea._ _But silent words were on her lips,_ _And there was comfort in her hand;_ _It was as if she walked a bridge_ _That led into a pleasant land._ _All that was long and long ago,_ _So long ago this ring has grown_ _To be a very part of me,_ _One with my finger and the bone:'_ His voice went trailing in a moan. _'This is her ring--_ _This is her ring!_ _I dare not die and wear the thing!'_ His hand plucked at his finger thin As if to ease him of his sin. I gave a sudden gasping shout-- The wind that blew the window in Had blown the candle out.