| In desperation, Archimag Conjures old Merlin’s ghost, Who prophesies he will prevail, Though lose what he loves most. |
| 1. The violent soul presents a joyful face, Bright with brisk energy, high confidence And purpose to transform the world’s disgrace Into a shameless haven of good sense; The only way, he’s sure, is violence; He has exhausted all alternatives; Now time is short, the stakes at risk immense — Such dazzling facts, such reasoning he gives, Fooling himself and all of us, sure as he lives. 2. This is my prayer: that his prayers go unheard, And that good citizens of every land Can recognize his reasons as absurd, His logic as no more than sleight of hand, And call a halt to mayhem he has planned; So as wise people advocate for peace Their struggle teaches them to understand That peace requires their labors to increase Until the instigations of injustice cease. 3. Now we shall shift our gaze to such a one As I have just described; Not long ago His countenance was lit up like the sun As he set off the wild imbroglio That Artegall, with Enri’s snakes in tow, Thrust through the breach piercing the northern wall Of Glorianna’s city; Then the blow From Mammon’s camp that had been planned to fall In westward echelon was never launched at all. 4. With one explosion here, another there, The grand designs of Archimago fell Into defeat, confusion and despair; At this disastrous pass he knows full well Without success his power to compel Obedience will quickly dissipate; He’s called his captains to an earthen swell That overlooks the city’s Eastern gate, To reassert their fear of him before too late. 5. Come, Enri, (he barks to the lazy prince,) You could not hold your place inside the wall But you will take your place here by me since You lost this army fierce Sir Artegall, Whom you could not protect, whom you let fall Before the blows of shopkeepers and cooks! Here! Sit beside the fire; You have the gall To ask for pity with those plaintive looks — Come now! Be glad I do not drag you here with hooks. 6. And fat King Mammon prone upon your couch, Ask your attending minions to pick up And haul you hence; I have a tempting pouch Of gold for you, and creamy stew to sup, Flagons of wine and this bright silver cup, All, all for you to please and entertain; There — comfortable, are you? Craven pup! I stand eager to hear you now explain Why you did not attack, how Britomart was slain. 7. (He does not let him answer.) Save your breath, You poor excuse for monarch and for man; You and Enri, how I am sick to death Of weak excuses letting down our plan; Where you could not succeed, two others can — Ayez and Fides, my twin warrior hounds; Time to unleash you to attack the span Of Glorianna’s city wall that bounds Her south and east; Look sharp! At dawn the signal sounds! 8. Ayez responds: Count on this dog to bite, My lord, and hang on by the teeth until The bitter end of our victorious fight; The flesh we’ll rend! The seas of blood we’ll spill! As you stand here, you will observe, and thrill To see this city crushed to mounds of dust; Too long my men have waited for the kill; Time now to knock accumulated rust Off blades, and pikes, and warrior rage, and battle lust. 9. Fides assents: The Holy Writ we scan For all our guidance and our strict instruction Leads us to hate and kill whenever we can All non-conformers; Now utter destruction Of Satan’s citadel, sinful production Of Godless self-indulgence that it is, Assures our covenanting souls of their induction Into The Presence for a final quiz; The battle shall be yours, my Lord, as we are His. 10. (Ayez injects,) And still your wizardry Has yet to be deployed in this good fight! That’s true, (blurts Mammon,) and it seems to me To send me in with one slight lady knight, Paid no attention to my wealth and might Withholding help of, say, a big demon, Or dragon, well, my lord, it wasn’t right! (Enri pipes in,) My army needed one, As well, my lord, and so protected, would have won. 11. Perhaps, (says Archimag.) And now his face Is lit with something close to confidence; His brow is knit, his eyes stare into space, His mind not focused on the words and sense Of Ayez’ wrath and Fides’ reverence; He works his fingers slowly as he stands, Staring into the fire — relax, then tense, Relax, then tense — and suddenly his hands He claps and barks out magisterial commands. 12. Prepare my wizard’s weeds, he brays, And all my tools of dark necromancy; Bring wood and more wood — then set it ablaze, Enlightening the vision I would see Of what’s in store for my army and me; Oh yes, you’ve told me how you will succeed In passioned words; See if the gods agree With your assessments — now — before you lead Your armies into dangers we may hear and heed. 13. Fides protests: Scripture prohibits this — All supplications must be made to God! The Archimago answers with a hiss: Shush Fides! You are here to smile and nod, Not serve the army as a moral prod; Interpret this as my attempt at prayer, And seeing that to you it may seem odd, Irregular, you are free to repair To camp, so long as when the killing starts, you’re there. 14. My book teaches obedience to law, Fides responds; I’ll do as you command And temporarily I will withdraw, Return tomorrow, then beside you stand As we enforce religion with an iron hand. But Archimago is not listening To this departing speech, as dull as sand; He stares into the fire, muttering An incantation indistinct, then draws a ring. 15. With his tall wizard’s staff he digs the earth And scars the soil in one great circle round, As wide as he can reach to scratch its girth His efforts punctuated by the sound Of angry grunting, like a lusting hound Whose mind is concentrated on the chase; Five slashes mark a pentacle that’s bound Within the hopeful wizard’s circle trace; He stops to stare at it as if it were a human face. 16. As one might peer into a mirror, or Gaze raptly at a portrait on a wall, Or search obscured horizons to implore The revelation of sunshine or squall, So Archimago stares, just as if all The universe had been encompassed Within this circle; He sees something to appall His soul; He feels the presence of the dead; His breath accelerates, racing his looming dread. 17. He thrusts one quaking hand into a pouch Slung round his shoulder, and then flings a cloud Of powder at the flames. Come from your couch Old Merlin! (he commands;) Be not too proud To visit me; Shake off your dusty shroud And shake off death itself, you slinking mole! The fire erupts and roars, and yet unbowed, The trembling wizard faces it. Come, troll! Come charlatan! Bring forth the shadow of your soul! 18. The blaze answers each insult with a burst Of heat and flame, growing in irritation. The wizard howls: Come, Merlin! Do your worst, But show yourself here in this conflagration; I summon you despite your hesitation To stand within this flaming, sky-high tower And make at my command prognostication; Forebear your vain resistance to my power, And cease your sparks and flames and pyrotechnic shower. 19. No! No! (A voice wails from the hot eruption That streams upward to dominate the dark;) I cannot pull away from this corruption; Your incantation has hard hit the mark Of its intention; Now I must embark Upon this shipwreck voyage of life again, However, short the time, however, stark The circumstances; Please! Leave me alone — My time, my life, my agony are gone and done. 20. Your life, your agony persist until (The wizard spits) I cut your carcass loose; For now, you linger subject to my will As long as I believe you are of use To my design; I disallow excuse; So cease your loud and tiresome sorrowing; Come now: Let’s call a temporary truce — Stop your complaining — calm down: once you bring Me news I’ll let you disappear; Life will not cling. 21. The monumental figure in the fire Falls silent, though the fire persists to roar And thrust its angry flames higher and higher, Yet hotter and yet louder than before; The light is blinding, and it is a chore For Archimago to perceive the ghost Within the flame; He shields his eyes and bends Away from the discomfort, as his host Of soldiers does likewise, each backing from his post. 22. Then like the falling of a heavy drape Down to the floor beneath the place it hung, The surging fire at once seems to escape Back to the ground from where its flames had sprung, Ceasing at once its heat and roaring tongue, Leaving the giant figure all the while Of Merlin’s ghost, looking refreshed and young, Transformed entirely in grace and style From woe to joy, his haggard face bearing a smile. 23. Your will, fool Archimago, so your will Bade me to interrupt my sleep and show My creaking countenance, and stay until Your will releases me; So now I know The overwhelming force that dealt the blow That broke the bonds of my mortality; A cataract of magic powers flow From this fine will of yours; But you can’t see Your will has sapped your powers of rationality. 24. Concede: I am the product of your mind; Concede: I take the shape of one known dead; Concede your will’s capacity to bind Belief to your desire may well have bred Illusion where your will must see self fed False confirmation of your power and might; Concede: I may not be Merlin; Instead, I may be what your will decides to write Upon your brain: I am your thought, your dream, your plight. 25. The Archimago stares, then grunts, then blinks; He thrusts one hand into his magic pouch; He takes an aimless step, then stops, then thinks, Then speaks: No, Merlin — these evidences vouch For your reality: The way you couch Your speech in condescension, how you killed My fire and laughed at me so I would crouch Despairing, as your powers of magic chilled My own; None of these things my own mind would have willed. 26. Old Merlin laughs: You do not recognize Your own worst enemy? Run, fetch a glass So you can gaze deeply into his eyes; There, there you’ll learn what is about to pass Into your sordid history — a mass Of gross misfortune; Rest assured that he Designed a fate as painful as it’s crass . . . (The wizard interrupts,) Defeat for me? Oh no, (rejoins the sage,) for you, the victory. 27. (The wizard scoffs:) And how is this bad news For me, old man? (The vision then replies:) This triumph you would never, never choose If you could weigh its cost; You can’t disguise That you are fighting for a splendid prize, And you might well expect, when you prevail, To have and hold the spoils you idolize; Tomorrow’s story is a twisted tale: Tomorrow you’ll succeed; Tomorrow you will fail. 28. Suddenly raging, Archimago hisses: I take the city, I possess its queen! Merlin responds: So reasonable this is, Conclusion logical which you’d foreseen When first your will concocted its obscene Intent to force itself on Glorianne; So now hear, Archimago, what I mean To tell you, as no one but Merlin can: Tomorrow’s victory will not reflect your plan. 29. I would have braved the hottest fires of hell To take this chance of disappointing you; Pitiable monster — you will never quell Your hunger for disaster and the hue And cry of life-destroying battle, too; Now peace awaits me, quiet of the grave Calls to me now as I fade from your view, Leave you to wonder what it is you crave To win tomorrow — what you’ll loose, and what you’ll save. 30. Then Merlin laughs and laughs, and as he does His image fades, commingling with the smoke Arising from the stifled fire; Soon where he was There is nothing to see; The words he spoke Have shaken Archimago; They evoke Humiliation and his scheme’s defeat; Anger begins to rise; He aims to choke It back; It must not let this spirit cheat Him out of victory, a victory complete. 31. Merlin leaves Archimago and his camp A cold, dark evening, with a rising wind; A spitting rain begins to sow its damp Evaporating seeds; The smoke is thinned By gust and sprinkle, and the camp seems pinned In place; The wizard in his wonderment Now feels his power undermined and thinned By Merlin’s prophecy. So clearly meant To break my heart, he says aloud, that’s evident. 32. He smacks a fist into his open hand, Startling his minions from their somnolence. This was no prophecy! I understand, He cries; We must not take it in that sense; It was the city’s last desperate defense, Projected on us by our cunning foe; We may smile at their skill, but violence Trumps cleverness; Tempests of pain and woe Commence at dawn — the outcome we already know. 33. You cannot split success from victory — They are the same, single phenomenon; This clever talk is mere philosophy, Words tumbled over words, and on and on, From empty premises, conclusions drawn With empty buckets from an empty well; Who is to be the master, who the pawn? The man of action cannot wait to dwell Upon the looney rantings of some ghost, some dream, some shell 34. He plunges both his hands into his sack, Then flings two handfuls of enchanted dust Onto the coals; The camp jumps with a crack Of thunder, then twin bolts of lightning burst From on high, breaking through the earth’s cold crust Into its seething heart, releasing light And heat to once again in fury thrust A tower of shrieking fire into the night. And now (shouts Archimago) to prepare our fight. 35. Gross, useless Mammon, you said you require A monster of some kind to help you win. At this the Archimago leaps into the fire And disappears among the roaring din, Then re-emerges, leading by the chin A savage dragon, slimy green in tint, Its head enormous, yet its torso thin And weak next to its skull with teeth a-glint. Here, Mammon, (says the wizard,) welcome Onpresint. 36. This dragon, Onpresint, will fight for you If you are willing to attend its head, And pet and feed its face, and quite eschew Attention to its body; No, instead Keep clear its eyes, see that its mouth is fed; Its favored meal is steak from its own hocks; Don’t waste concern about the blood you shed — It feels no pain below its neck, no knocks Or wounds affect it — it will stand the battle shocks. 37. Mammon, enrapt, approaches rapidly, With reverence in his eyes, hand to his heart. Lord Archimago (he intones) I see Miraculous the power of your art; This monster is myself in every part, Not merely means to conquer in the morn, Not just a terror no defense can thwart — Truly, the image of myself reborn, My offspring, from my own imagination torn. 38. Take him and conquer (cries the Archimag;) And now, Enri, wake up, it’s your turn next; If only your attention can see past the fog Of your dull sensibility; You vexed Me with your allegation — you were checked In your attack upon the northern wall Because I treated you with some neglect, And only gave you fierce Sir Artegall, And not some creature fiercer still, stronger and tall. 39. A giant (says Enri,) that’s what I said, Is that not so? (he asks his entourage.) Indeed! (says one. Another joins:) You pled And pled and pled, a great tearful barrage . . . (Barks Enri,) Yes, enough! Can’t camouflage My true assessment of our want and need — A giant, Archimago! We hereby lodge Demand you make a giant to exceed This big head weakling lizard of uncertain breed. 40. Mammon reacts: How dare you denigrate My dear companion dragon with such gall! The Archimago stifles them: Your hate Must be directed to the city wall, And not upon each other; You appall Me both of you; Stand back and clear the way! He flings his bag of powders, lets it fall Into the flames, and then begins to bray A swelling incantation, with these words to say: 41. Give me a giant, built of power and might, That will not question orders it is given; It does not need intelligence, foresight, Nor virtue; All its action to be driven By nothing but its lust; It should believe in The things that we will tell it, truth or lies, And nothing else, no matter what, not even The contradictions right before its eyes — Brain minuscule in body of enormous size! 42. A tiny screech within the fiery mess Now swells into a loud petulant cry, As roiling flames begin to coalesce Into a shape that towers to the sky. Hot! Hot! the figure squeals; Want me to fry? It leaps out of the flame where it was born, Causing the Archimago’s host to fly Out of its staggering path, where all is torn To rags and tinder as the brat persists to mourn. 43. I want a toy! I want a sweet thing! Now! (The giant punctuates with stamping feet;) The toy, it must be awesome, and my chow Must be piled high and taste more sweet Than anything I ever had to eat! Enri approaches, fascinated, awed: Dear Archimago (he exclaims) I greet This vision of a boy; Let me applaud Your powers — a giant, indeed! So very tall and broad! 44. The Archimago laughs, and with a push Impels the puling babe gargantuan To teeter over Enri, nearly crush Him and his sycophantic caravan Before restoring balance one again. He says: Your giant, Enri; First imprint Upon its appetite: you are the only one To whom he ever needs to turn to stint His cravings; Call him now — his name is Pollopint. 45. So take your monsters to your camps, you two, As I instruct Prince Arthur and his knights — The morning sun will be our battle cue, Just then we shall attack as night watch lights Are doused at dawning; From these eastern heights I will deliver, with Ayez, assault Supported by the gang of noble sprights That follow Arthur; We shall never halt Until we are the city’s masters — tower and vault. 46. So Mammon and his lizard, Enri and His giant gather themselves to return To their respective camps, each with his band Of fawning satellites, who only yearn To please their leader; From this exit churn The Archimago now withdraws toward Another campsite where no fires burn, No serfs attend to bow and cry my lord, And all the perquisites of power are ignored. 47. A circle, silent as a house in grief, A gathering, exhausted as old age, A campfire, cold as love in disbelief, These nobles caught ignobly in their cage, Await instruction from the foolish sage Who now approaches them; He is their sole Resource and motive, his void smile their wage, Reward and solace, payment for the toll Exacted trading mere advantage for a soul. 48. Here are my punks, the Archimago cries, Tomorrow, come the dawn, you will retake Your city, an inestimable prize, And so set free your queen, finally break The bond twixt her and low born dogs, and make The seat of all their power rightfully yours; We’ll give those common vermin such a shake When we bring down the fist on these mad boors, They will regret their revolution and their wars. 49. Their wars? Arthur looks up and speaks; They made no revolution, Archimag; We are the ones who met among the peaks In isolation, in a drunken fog Of self-assurance, hypnotized, agog, Half-mad with self-importance, so a breeze, A slight disturbance easily could jog Us from our rightful place; Then you could seize Our souls and so pervert our sensibilities. 50. Well, Arthur, (Archimago mutters then) Too late for introspection and regret; If you were innocent, never again Will you be so, for since we all first met Each one of you is bound to pay your debt Of gratitude — obedience to me; Our goal, the city’s overthrow, you set, Each one of you remembers, wasn’t me; But no one else could make it happen, you must all agree. 51. You need not worry, (Prince Arthur responds) There is but one way out of our despair — To cut straight through it, and so cut the bonds That held us to the city we called Faere; We shall not stop to grieve nor to declare Intent to make impossible amends; We shall attack — tell us the when and where, And never mind the why; Until this ends, We fight; We fellow criminals need not be friends. 52. That suits me fine, the Archimago growls; Now run back to your tents and sleep til called; You lot all breathing in one place befouls The air with self-loathing; To bed, and scald Your own souls with your guilt, leave me appalled At your infirm resolve and fainting weakness. The knights arise and shuffle as if hauled By their reluctant hearts back to the bleakness Of bivouacs bereft of pomp, now sunk in meekness. 53. And so I am alone, the wizard sighs, And so I am, however numerous The cloud of clustering locusts and blow flies That gathers round to flatter and to fuss In manner thoughtless and so hideous; How have I dropped to so associate? My wizardry is much more humorous Than awe-inspiring; I cannot but hate This army that I lead — Oh, to contemplate — 54. I cannot contemplate but with contempt What I have here assembled on the plain; Tomorrow when we make our grand attempt Upon the city — how can I not complain Of this base army? Who would not disdain This gang, so self-obsessed, barbarian, So wooden-headed, lazy, weak and vain, Presuming they can end the reign of one So fine, so beautiful, a true phenomenon. 55. While I expect success tomorrow, well I know That Glorianna’s reign will last until I have no memory, no mind to show How thoughts of her must rule my heart, my will — My will — that Merlin mocked — nothing can kill The hold she has upon the whole of me; Her beauty teaches me this ugly drill; Her brilliance moves me to rank lunacy; Her excellence binds me to crimes and cruelty. 56. What is my expectation for this fight? That she forgives the slaughter of her folk? That magically she’ll say: It is alright; This horror you designed but to evoke Your reverence for me; I know I broke Your boyish heart when I withheld my hand, But now all that has changed? So if I soak The earth with blood spilled at my own command? She’s mine, then? Is that exactly what I planned? 57. What nonsense! Merlin turned my eyes into My very soul, revealed my enemy To be my very self — too true, too true! But so it is, and so it is to be; My anger drives my actions; I am free To bring this fight, and angrily, I will — In rage and spite and bitterness — to see A queen for whom the sight of me will fill Her heart with bleak contempt, and yet I want her, still. 58. The wizard slumps upon a humble stool Facing toward the fire completely spent; He rubs his weary eyes and mutters: Fool! And no one but his foolish self is meant; With no intention to go near his tent, He’ll watch the hours remaining of this night; When we see him again, the great extent Of his dissembling skills will show the sight Of brash self-confidence, and fervor for the fight. 59. For we will now return our loving gaze To Glorianna’s city, wrapped in tears, Surrounded by an elemental haze Of wild confusion and a crowd of fears More deadly than the enemy that nears Its walls, preparing to attack at dawn; The culmination of the countless years Approaches now, and consequences drawn From choice, from chance, too terrible to think upon. finis canto vii |
| Glorianna Table of Contents |
| The Cantos |
| Appendices |