First published in 1842, not altered since.

Suggested probably by the fine ballad in Percy's _Reliques_, first series, book ii., ballad vi.

Her arms across her breast she laid; She was more fair than words can say: Bare-footed came the beggar maid Before the king Cophetua.

In robe and crown the king stept down, To meet and greet her on her way; "It is no wonder," said the lords, "She is more beautiful than day".

As shines the moon in clouded skies, She in her poor attire was seen: One praised her ancles, one her eyes, One her dark hair and lovesome mien: So sweet a face, such angel grace, In all that land had never been: Cophetua sware a royal oath: "This beggar maid shall be my queen!"

THE VISION OF SIN

First published in 1842. No alteration made in it after 1851, except in the insertion of a couplet afterwards omitted.

This remarkable poem may be regarded as a sort of companion poem to 'The Palace of Art'; the one traces the effect of callous indulgence in mere intellectual and aesthetic pleasures, the other of profligate indulgence in the grosser forms of sensual enjoyment. At first all is ecstasy and intoxication, then comes satiety, and all that satiety brings in its train, cynicism, pessimism, the drying up of the very springs of life.

"The body chilled, jaded and ruined, the cup of pleasure drained to the dregs, the senses exhausted of their power to enjoy, the spirit of its wish to aspire, nothing left but loathing, craving and rottenness." See Spedding in 'Edinburgh Review' for April, 1843. The poem concludes by leaving as an answer to the awful question, "can there be final salvation for the poor wretch?" a reply undecipherable by man, and dawn breaking in angry splendour. The best commentary on the poem would be Byron's lyric: "There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away," and 'Don Juan'; biography and daily life are indeed full of comments on the truth of this fine allegory.

1

I had a vision when the night was late: A youth came riding toward a palace-gate.

He rode a horse with wings, that would have flown, [1]

But that his heavy rider kept him down.

And from the palace came a child of sin, And took him by the curls, and led him in, Where sat a company with heated eyes, Expecting when a fountain should arise: A sleepy light upon their brows and lips-- As when the sun, a crescent of eclipse, Dreams over lake and lawn, and isles and capes-- Suffused them, sitting, lying, languid shapes, By heaps of gourds, and skins of wine, and piles of grapes.

2

Then methought I heard a mellow sound, Gathering up from all the lower ground; [2]

Narrowing in to where they sat a.s.sembled Low voluptuous music winding trembled, Wov'n in circles: they that heard it sigh'd, Panted hand in hand with faces pale, Swung themselves, and in low tones replied; Till the fountain spouted, showering wide Sleet of diamond-drift and pearly hail; Then the music touch'd the gates and died; Rose again from where it seem'd to fail, Storm'd in orbs of song, a growing gale; Till thronging in and in, to where they waited, As 'twere a hundred-throated nightingale, The strong tempestuous treble throbb'd and palpitated; Ran into its giddiest whirl of sound, Caught the sparkles, and in circles, Purple gauzes, golden hazes, liquid mazes, Flung the torrent rainbow round: Then they started from their places, Moved with violence, changed in hue, Caught each other with wild grimaces, Half-invisible to the view, Wheeling with precipitate paces To the melody, till they flew, Hair, and eyes, and limbs, and faces, Twisted hard in fierce embraces, Like to Furies, like to Graces, Dash'd together in blinding dew: Till, kill'd with some luxurious agony, The nerve-dissolving melody Flutter'd headlong from the sky.

3

And then I look'd up toward a mountain-tract, That girt the region with high cliff and lawn: I saw that every morning, far withdrawn Beyond the darkness and the cataract, G.o.d made himself an awful rose of dawn, [3]

Unheeded: and detaching, fold by fold, From those still heights, and, slowly drawing near, A vapour heavy, hueless, formless, cold, Came floating on for many a month and year, Unheeded: and I thought I would have spoken, And warn'd that madman ere it grew too late: But, as in dreams, I could not. Mine was broken, When that cold vapour touch'd the palace-gate, And link'd again. I saw within my head A gray and gap-tooth'd man as lean as death, Who slowly rode across a wither'd heath, And lighted at a ruin'd inn, and said:

4

"Wrinkled ostler, grim and thin!

Here is custom come your way; Take my brute, and lead him in, Stuff his ribs with mouldy hay.

"Bitter barmaid, waning fast!

See that sheets are on my bed; What! the flower of life is past: It is long before you wed.

"Slip-shod waiter, lank and sour, At the Dragon on the heath!

Let us have a quiet hour, Let us hob-and-n.o.b with Death.

"I am old, but let me drink; Bring me spices, bring me wine; I remember, when I think, That my youth was half divine.

"Wine is good for shrivell'd lips, When a blanket wraps the day, When the rotten woodland drips, And the leaf is stamp'd in clay.

"Sit thee down, and have no shame, Cheek by jowl, and knee by knee: What care I for any name?

What for order or degree?

"Let me screw thee up a peg: Let me loose thy tongue with wine: Callest thou that thing a leg?

Which is thinnest? thine or mine?

"Thou shalt not be saved by works: Thou hast been a sinner too: Ruin'd trunks on wither'd forks, Empty scarecrows, I and you!

"Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born. [4]

"We are men of ruin'd blood; Therefore comes it we are wise.

Fish are we that love the mud.

Rising to no fancy-flies.

"Name and fame! to fly sublime Thro' the courts, the camps, the schools, Is to be the ball of Time, Bandied by the hands of fools.

"Friendship!--to be two in one-- Let the canting liar pack!

Well I know, when I am gone, How she mouths behind my back.

"Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of h.e.l.l.

"O! we two as well can look Whited thought and cleanly life As the priest, above his book Leering at his neighbour's wife.

"Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born. [4]

"Drink, and let the parties rave: They are fill'd with idle spleen; Rising, falling, like a wave, For they know not what they mean.

"He that roars for liberty Faster binds a tyrant's [5] power; And the tyrant's cruel glee Forces on the freer hour.

"Fill the can, and fill the cup: All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again.

"Greet her with applausive breath, Freedom, gaily doth she tread; In her right a civic wreath, In her left a human head.

"No, I love not what is new; She is of an ancient house: And I think we know the hue Of that cap upon her brows.

"Let her go! her thirst she slakes Where the b.l.o.o.d.y conduit runs: Then her sweetest meal she makes On the first-born of her sons.

"Drink to lofty hopes that cool-- Visions of a perfect State: Drink we, last, the public fool, Frantic love and frantic hate.

"Chant me now some wicked stave, Till thy drooping courage rise, And the glow-worm of the grave Glimmer in thy rheumy eyes.