Stood a fair and stately dwelling In the concourse of the people, Of the lofty of the people; Looked it on the smaller buildings Downward in a scornful manner; p. 49Proud was it of fine appearance, Proud the people who dwelt in it. There the arts of every nation Met with the united purpose To adorn and to give splendor To the chambers of this mansion, To its corridors and landings. Ottomans of downy velvet In the looms of Utrecht woven, Vases of Chinese production, Crystals, bright and burnished figures, Models made of gold and silver, Tapestry, and lace, and network, Carpets from the looms of Brussels, Woven into gaudy figures. In a certain gorgeous chamber, In apparel likewise gorgeous, Sat a mighty, pompous woman. Very high were her ideas Of her own expanded person, And her own unmeasured value; All the world would not contain them, They were so elate and soaring. Luxury and ease were round her, As she fancied to receive them; And a host of powdered servants p. 50Waited idly for her orders. Now she calls for an attendant, And doth give him orders thuswise: “‘Not at home’ shall be the answer Unto all who this day seek me, Save unto his highness Fashion; Ye shall give to him admission.” State obeisance marks his exit, Ready for a plumper falsehood, Spoken to his lady’s order. Soon a knock, which sounds familiar. Lo! it is the dunning trader, Who is sorely run to hold him From the stream of dangerous rumours; But the answer thus is told him— “Not at home, my lady is not.” So the tradesman from her doorway, Empty-handed, homeward turns, Thinks not such a ready answer Is an utter fabrication. Sero, from his seat beholding, Saw this lounging lump of matter, Pufféd up in pomp and splendor. He was moved to indignation, And said, in a scornful manner, “O blinded fool! O filthy pomp! p. 51Glory ye in dust and shadows? See ye not the wild delusions, Which ye cherish so and fondle, Through the darkness they are set in?” Said he to attendants by him, “Go ye to that stately chamber Where this pompous woman sitteth; Pass the trader in the doorway And the ready story-teller, Enter and lay hold upon her; Take the lusty look she weareth, Cast it to the winds that ramble, Racing through the hills and mountains; Take her great imaginations, Sift them in the seive of honor— Lo! they are as dross and ashes, And her pomps and giddy grandeur Scatter and disperse them likewise.” So went Sero’s servants forward, Did as had their chief commanded, Smote this pompous woman sorely— With the rod of sickness smote her; And the ruddy color left her, And those lofty airs and manners; Sickness and a ghastly pallor Came upon her limbs and forehead, p. 52And she hourly sank and wasted Till a spectre she resembled. Then the spirit fled the body, And was carried unto Sero; Sero through 

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