A sloping skylight on the white wall threw,
When the sun set, a melancholy hue;
The Hall of Vathek has a room so bare,
So small, so sad, so form’d to nourish care.
“Here,” said the Traveller, “all so dark within,
And dull without, a man might mourn for sin,
Or punish sinners—here a wanton wife
And vengeful husband might be cursed for life.” 420
His mind was now in just that wretched state
That deems Revenge our right, and crime our fate.