| The rage of Archimago has Set loose his wicked host, Led by the knights, they do prevail, As foretold by the ghost. |
| 1. How rare for guilt to recognize its sin; And innocence lacks all self-consciousness By definition; How can we begin To understand them, let alone profess Contrasting judgment of their worth, unless We’re willing to make plain just what we mean When we discuss conditions which express So much of what disturbs the human scene? To do so, we’ll describe the wizard and the queen. 2. The wizard, armed with magic and with might, Could use his strength to do his fellows good — Instead he craves to sate his appetite, And leads his soul into a darkening wood; He does not care to do the things he could To benefit the world, promoting peace; Instead, the thoughts beneath his wizard’s hood Progress no further than himself, and cease To dwell on anything besides pleasure’s increase. 3. And don’t be fooled by his ascetic mien — The appetites that drive him are not such That he seeks pleasures obvious and plain As lust and greed and gluttony may touch; The cravings that he services reach much, Much deeper, with their satisfaction drawn From lodes of poisoned gems he craves to clutch: Triumph he craves — to win — to take the pawn Amid the mad confusion that he thrives upon. 4. And he will be the calmest in the crowd When panic spreads among the wild stampede; He will stand silent when they cry aloud: Disaster is upon us! As they beg and plead For help — petitions he will gladly heed; He lays his plan as he perfects his plot To give you everything you’ll ever need, Providing, in return, you cast your lot With his design to bring the world to ruin and rot. 5. Though ruin and rot will be far from your mind As you are overwhelmed by wizard’s craft — Devices, fascinating in their kind, The product of such skill — you would be daft To doubt the motives of one who can graft Inventiveness to such machinery; And yet, as you admired, the wizard laughed: By baubles such as this, it’s plain to see Your soul is bought and bound in utter slavery. 6. For welcome contrast, contemplate the queen: No birth, no conquest put her in her place, No breathless stratagem, nothing so mean, And not her supple form and pleasing face, No bargain and no game and no disgrace Manipulated in clever maneuver Snatched up first prize in some imagined race; By virtue of no thing that might reprove her, She’s at once admiration’s object and prime mover. 7. In one so artless, what might we admire, If not her face and form and clever ways? The motives of idolatry require Such attributes that stun and that amaze; But we are not engaged in idle praise Of some mere idol, staid, inanimate, Presenting its stark form to gape and gaze Upon in awe and admiration, but A human being, a human heart that’s never shut. 8. A heart that’s open to the world around, A mind that keenly measures things unseen: Our feelings, our frail hopes that yet abound Amid the disappointments that have been Our sad, persistent plague — all this the queen Takes in, then nurtures us accordingly, Upbraiding pride, assuaging woe; We glean From her fresh fields a natural remedy To heal our wounds, abate our pain and misery. 9. It’s all of this places the crown upon Her worthy head, and it is all of this — The happy, ongoing phenomenon Of love and service and of selflessness — That maintains in our souls the premier place We give to her, where she may rule and reign, Knowing her object is our happiness, Toward which she’ll firmly guide us, and sustain The freedom we must exercise, and must maintain. * * * 10. So now our story takes us to the scene We have anticipated for some time; It’s dawn; The wizard comes to take the queen, Determined to commit whatever crime Required, to ally with the slumping slime Of all the earth to force his vicious end — To clasp within his talons the sublime Queen Glorianna, to distort and bend Her soul, and all connection to her people end. 11. Let us recount the forces in the field: There’s Enri to the north, with Pollopint His giant, who’s been told the town will yield Him toys and food to sate his heart’s content; Gross Mammon to the west, with Onpresint His dragon, belching out hot, flaming breath; Southward Fides arrays believers violent, Rehearsing frenzied chant and shibboleth To rouse their zeal to deal all unbelievers death. 12. And to the east, with Archimag himself, Ayez, who lives and breathes but to obey, Will gladly follow any dog or wolf Who’ll let him in his pack and share the prey They kill together as sufficient pay To buy his soul and rent his dignity; Legions of followers, this self same way, In turn will follow him, and happily Perform the vilest crimes, and call it loyalty. 13. The Archimago chose the eastern wall As his primary target for attack; He will use Ayez and his force in thrall Whose vicious savagery will never slack; Also, to make it simple to keep track Of Arthur and his knights, he will hold them Together, with Ayez close at their back, So any movement retrograde he’ll stem, Enforcing their commitment to his stratagem. 14. Suppose you are a bird flying above The city, high enough so you can see All of these armies as they start to move, Cued by the sunrise, streaming gloriously Across the peaceful landscape, suddenly Transformed into a brutal killing ground; You would not linger long, for you are free To fly away before the fields are drowned In blood; But let’s say you can’t leave — you’re somehow bound. 15. Then to your avian eye the scene below Would strike you like the folding of a rose — Not at the break of dawn, spreading to show It’s loveliness, but rather at the close Of day, turning its petals inward, those Within the blossom tightening inside The outer parts, whose slow grip will impose A shrinking span upon the bloom, and hide The inner petals, as you watch and glide. * * * 16. The picture of the closing rose please keep In mind as we relate the struggles on the ground, And time to time we’ll make the mental leap From where the mortal sufferings abound To that high vantage point, where sight and sound Are softened by the calmer, distant view; So as we raise our heads, we’ll not be downed By pains and sorrows we must now live through; Often unkind, the truth bids us be kind to you. 17. First see the fighting at the northern wall, Where good Enthuzias rejoins his band To face the snakes again; But Artegall Is not among his foes — now he must stand And face the giant Pollopint, a grand, Fat, fussing infant, who feels no remorse; How eagerly he rushes with each hand Extended, grasping, as his headlong course Propels him through the shattered wall with giant force. 18. And swarming at this ankles come the snakes, A boiling tide of vipers in a coil, Whose wave of hissing, stabbing killers takes The Elven troops by storm; Although they toil With pike and sword to fend off and to foil Their foes, step by reluctant step they yield The precious ground — their city’s hallowed soil, As Sarcasm and Ridicule now wield Their lances, prodding their mad snakes to sweep the field. 19. Behind them rides the yawning Prince Enri, Accompanied by his blithe entourage; They come to reap the fruits of victory — Whatever detritus the bricolage Of Glorianna’s shambles of a lodge Might yield to their deserving, outstretched hands; The gold and goods their stewards will triage, Distributing all bounty, coin, viands — Whatever — as the languid Prince calls and commands. 20. But at the front line of the deadly fight, The inspiration is a different thing: Attackers push and slash and thrust and bite, Defenders ply their pikes, wearily swing Their swords, hoping against all hope to bring Their torment to conclusion, to conquer On one hand, on the other hand to cling To all they love, and once more to ensure Their queen is safe, and no one lays a hand on her. 21. Led by the giant child, the hissers drive Into the northern sector’s market square; Enthuzias rallies his troops, those left alive, And tells them they must make their firm stand here. Not one step back (he calls,) we do not dare, Here in the shadow of the central tower; Know that the queen looks down on you from there, So summon now the last ounce of your power, And stand and fight for her, enduring one more hour. 22. At this the Elven band stiffens its line, Strikes back and stalls Enri’s pressing advance, Just as huge Pollopint begins to whine: I’m bored! (he cries;) Then gives a backward glance, Decides the last place that he had a chance For food and toys and things to satisfy His giant appetite was in the army’s camps, Where he felt loved and coddled, a far cry From sticking pin pricks he endures, not knowing why. 23. All done! he screams, and runs back out the breach The way he came, straight through the northern wall, Back to the camps; Enri, his captains, all beseech The boy to turn around, rejoin the brawl; But he ignores their desperate, pleading call. The last thing that I think is always best, He yells: The latest things are, after all, The only things that matter; I detest This boring battle — and besides I need my rest. 24. Sarcasm! Ridicule! the Prince calls out, It’s up to you to press from here on in! Those mad captains respond, their ghoulish shout Shocking the troops; The selfsame leering grin Slashes the faces of each wretched twin, For twins they are, spawn of Ironiette, Wife of Satyre, but Enri’s wench; It’s been Well known they are his bastard sons, and yet Satyre still vainly claims them, to his shamed regret. 25. Whipping their horses with wild, savage joy, They plunge, each one, into the battle line; Sarcasm, hungry, eager to employ His lance upon someone besides supine Subordinates, attacks; His bold design Is to assault the army at its head; He seeks their captain, and will not decline To fight a single combat. Oh, to shred Him, heart and soul! (he crows) And suffering — not dead. 26. He fights his way up to the flag that shows The place in line where he expects to see Enthuzias among his struggling foes; And he does see his mark, but also he Can see his brother, simultaneously Closing upon the Elven captain. Hey, You! Ridicule! he cries: Attack with me And follow my design to bleed and flay Their captain til he begs us to put him away! 27. My plan precisely! calls his laughing twin. They fight their way along the battle front Amid the swirl of combat and the din, With busy lances, ever on the hunt For where Enthuzias may stand, taking the brunt Of the attack. He’s there! cries Ridicule. His brother takes the cue, giving a grunt: I see him, too. (Then cackling like a ghoul,) Let’s whet our blades on that dull, sanctimonious fool. 28. They pounce on him at once from different sides; He tumbles to the ground, amid the dust As each of his jeering tormentors rides Him down, employing their sharp lances just Enough to keep him off balance; Each thrust, A minor cut itself, accumulates Until the blood colors his clothes like rust; He tries to stand as each blade bites and grates; He gains his feet, but sure, another fall awaits. 29. Then to his rescue come subordinates From his band: joyous, bluff Camaraderie, With ardent Gratitude; They rain down hits On his tormentors, who, no longer free To torture their captain, now clearly see They must conclude their slow, cruel assault. You hold them off, says Ridicule; For me, I’ll finish him! His brother says: That’s fine; You take the captain — as for these two, they are mine. 30. The thrusting and the cutting that ensues Appalls the senses, letting loose a flood Of suffering; So at this point we choose To turn away just as the flow of blood, Both innocent and guilty, understood To be the provocation of the flaming rose, Reaches its highest tide; Whatever good Results, whatever ill, we will disclose Hereafter in the story, as you may suppose. * * * 31. So once again we are the bird in flight, Looking with blithe dispassion on the scene, A dawn that feels more like the fall of night, Circles of pain collapsing on the queen; And back we go a space of time and lean To look more closely at the army to the west, Where Mammon bids his minions prance and preen, Unleashing their assault at his behest, With Onpresint the dragon leading all the rest. 32. That dragon’s ponderous, enormous skull Propels it forward thoughtlessly, with no Regard for destination; Where the pull Of gravity may lead, the beast will go Confusing its direction with the flow Of true progress; No mind for consequence, As long as it can grow and grow and grow, And only in the very literal sense — Its great, fat head to grow yet fatter and more dense. 33. This movement pushes through the western gate Of Glorianna’s city at the dawn; The dragon, propelled by his heavy pate, Bursts straight through the timbers; With him are drawn The crowd of Mammon’s troops, not much for brawn, But sharp as can be with a wealth of tricks; Their foes, less overwhelmed than put upon, Reel in confusion, beaten by a mix Of ruse, deception, bluffing, pose and cutting pricks. 34. Those thrown off-balance in this way are cowed And crushed by Onpresint’s big skull, or slain By his oppressive breath, a blast endowed With fury of a fiery hurricane; Young Caritas commands the post of main Resistance, but is steadily forced back Into the western section; It is plain He has scant means of stalling the attack; His line begins to give way, and seems sure to crack. 35. But his endurance and his energy, Twin forces of his soul, suspend defeat; Moving along with calm alacrity, Up, down, among the line, he’s there to meet Each fierce assault with fierce defense, to greet Each soldier of his corps in such a way Not one could ever contemplate retreat; They take his lead and pitch into the fray, Hoping against all hope that they can win the day. 36. And so it is reported to the king Far in the rear, where Mammon waits and frets. Is there (he whines) no end to suffering And sacrifice for me? The pressure gets Intolerable; Well, how to fix this — threats? Or gold? Are they susceptible to shame? Sire! (calls a captain;) I know how it sets; They’ll yield to me, or I will take the blame; Just send me — Captain Dominatio’s my name. 37. Shouts Mammon: Go! Another interrupts: You can’t give him this chance and leave behind One so deserving as myself — disrupts The chain of your authority, and mind, I cannot bear to be left out — unkind! Enough, barks Mammon; Dominatio, Take with you Jealouse, and perhaps you’ll find His carping, whining pettiness will go Well with your brutish ways to quell and quash the foe. 38. So Dominatio pushes his way Up to the front, dragging Jealouse along; Once there, they see the cause of the delay In the attack that started out so strong: The dragon Onpresint has stopped among The fallen foes for an unnatural feast, And it will never stop until it’s wrung The last disgusting bite from those deceased; So Mammon can no longer count upon the beast. 39. Now his appointed delegates, Jealouse And Dominatio, take up the fight; Pushing and bullying, they batter, bruise Berate, intimidate with all their might The common soldiers, who take greater fright From their own captains than they do their foes; While pushing, they are looking for the sight Of Caritas among the battle throes; Soon in the thick of things they see him trading blows. 40. There is our target! Dominatio Calls out; Jealouse, sneak up behind him — quick! I will! responds Jealouse; We’ll lay him low, The puffed-up braggart! How he makes me sick! Go now! growls Dom; How can you be so thick To think your jabbering does ought to him? Jealouse slips up behind and pulls the trick Of grabbing Caritas, pinning each limb In a perverse embrace, affection’s antonym. 41. Now Dominatio shouts in his face: The one who conquers all, conquered in turn, Aren’t you, by mean Jealouse? Such a disgrace; Now you will do as I instruct, or earn A punishment from me; The world will learn Who conquers whom; Order your men to lay Their weapons down at once — time to adjourn This battle and submit; You’ve had your day. No, never (answers Caritas) do what you may. 42. What I may do is put an end to you! Roars Dominatio, raising his sword — His hand is stopped before he follows through; A swarm of Elven soldiers moving toward Their captain fight to save him, to afford Him opportunity to break the grip Of Jealouse, which he does; Sharp blows are scored On every side, but skill and swordsmanship Give way to bare hand savagery and knives that rip. 43. The blind and thoughtless rage to dominate The tenderest of feelings now goes on With new combatants; It will not abate Until either the rage or love are gone; And so it proves here in this suffering dawn Where Mammon’s army presses from the west; We will resume our bird’s eye view upon This point; In time we’ll learn about the rest Of this fight at the western wall so fiercely pressed. * * * 44. Our rising pulls us up for but a brief Reprieve, for we know there is more to tell: See from the south, bearing a load of grief, Grim Fides leads his army into hell All in the name of paradise, a shell Of an idea, an iceberg of a dream, A static nightmare to the infidel; To Fides, the great object of a scheme Ordained by heavenly power, and his perpetual theme. 45. He uses it to hypnotize with hope Those lacking strength to face the fact of death; And yes, there is no fact with which we cope That challenges our courage more; No wealth We may possess, no attributes, no youth Nor comeliness compares in preciousness To life itself; Confronted with the truth That it is ours for such a skittish press Of time, of course we seek relief from such distress. 46. And Fides waits to pounce upon that fear, Apply his lever on the trembling heart To override the useful mind, and tear Into calm judgment, ripping it apart, Replacing it with logic chopped, a chart Of rules and harsh strictures unmoored from sense, Aimed chiefly to arrest, before its start, Thinking, reflection, all intelligence; Against an onslaught such as this, then, what defense? 47. For surging from the south, his soldiers come, Moving efficiently, despite the veils That mask their eyes from seeing troublesome Resistance to their march; The troop assails The southern wall and gate; Resistance fails To hold them at the wall; The soldiers reel Before this certain tide; Nothing avails Defenders but to flee. Chanting: Kneel! Kneel! Fides’ army advances, steady in their zeal. 48. Episthomas feels that the battle’s lost, But knows this feeling is the enemy He must defeat before he can accost The force of Fides’ arms effectively; The moment that this thinking sets him free From fear, he is astounded at the sight Of Fides’ soldiers stopped to disagree About the color of their veils; A fight Erupts amongst themselves, contesting who is right. 49. They fall upon their fellows savagely, More violently than in their paused attack; And with this pause, the Elven soldiers see The opportunity to drive them back Outside the city wall; Because they lack The single-mindedness they shared at first, Fides’ forces are herded like a pack Of dogs back out the gate; It seems the worst Of this assault has been repulsed, its power dispersed. 50. But Fides greets his soldiers in retreat Standing alone and holding in his hands A weathered book from which he tears a sheet And casts it to the wind; He understands How this will move his simple warrior bands; They stop, aghast, groaning and horrified. What are you doing? one of them demands. I’m aping you, he thunders; Cast aside This spat, or see our holy scripture nullified! 51. He tears another page. They beg him, Stop! Our sacred book must not be torn apart! He answers: You are tearing it! Now drop Your vain dispute, and just as at the start Of this attack, turn round; With all your heart You must conquer the infidels; Turn round, I say, or I shall tear our holy chart To tatters, cast it on the filthy ground; You’ll answer for your sins in hell, where you are bound. 52. As if his words were flashing bolts of flame, The minds of all his soldiers meld to one Under the heat and pressure of the blame His condemnation casts; Then on the run, They turn, attack, chanting in unison, Each desperate to earn eternal bliss By taking lives; These sudden movements stun The Elven army to paralysis; Their reeling regiments cannot stand up to this. 53. So once again they push inside the wall, Around and through the splintered southern gate, Driving Episthomas into a hall Gracing the city’s school; Fury and hate Erupt in Fides’ ranks, for they equate A hall of learning with moral disgrace; An angry frenzy to repudiate the place Moves them to tear it down and leave no single trace. 54. Episthomas is caught, bound, with a gag Thrust in his mouth, just as Fides arrives. Pull down these devil books, he says, and drag Them in a pile; Much like the sacred lives They ruin, they shall burn; Since this one thrives Among them (he points to Episthomas) Throw him into the pyre; It’s he who drives The innocent down to perdition; This Is punishment as just as it is obvious. 55. Before this sentence can be carried out More Elven soldiers burst into the hall To rescue their commander; All about The shelves and desks and stacks the soldiers brawl, One force determined to suppress and stall The workings of all honest human thought, The other to resist this dismal fall; Episthomas inspires his men’s onslaught, But Fides’ force surrounds, confines them — they are caught. * * * 56. Again our view ascends, and looking down, We see the swirling conflict as a flower Steadily closing on itself; a crown Collapsing; Then turn back another hour When we find Glorianna in her tower, Imaginatius with her, questioning A prison guard. Speak up, and do not cower, The city’s captain says; Perhaps you bring Unwelcome news — speak quickly, minimize the sting. 57. Your majesty, good captain, (pipes the guard,) Our captives have escaped, I know not how; The lock refused to hold them in their ward; They pushed the door, it opened! And I vow To bring them back, for we cannot allow . . . Forgive my interruption, says the queen, But tell me where you think they may be now? I know, he says, for they were mighty keen To fight, and that’s where they were going when last seen. 58. Dear warden, thanks for all this you have told, Says Glorianne; We’ll let the wild birds fly; Escaped to fight? (She laughs;) What chains could hold Them now, what iron bar, what wall so high Could keep them in? I wonder who would try? They’ll stand up for this city and for me — Break out of prison for a chance to die! They have escaped; So it was meant to be Despite us; Now, I wish that I had set them free. 59. I see them now, (Imaginatius says; He peers out to the city on the eastern side Of Glorianna’s tower through the bays Facing the rising sun;) There is the tide Of Archimago’s army; With a guide I see both Fortus and Integritis Hurry along to where the troops abide Along the wall, awaiting the press Of what will likely be the main assault, I guess. 60. Tell me, inquires the queen, what leads you to Believe the east will bring the main attack? Her man replies: There’s light enough to view — The flag of Archimago leads the pack; Recall your knights wore capes, and they were black; I see a vanguard robed in sable drapes With Ayez’ army teeming at their back; Likely these are your knights in their black capes, Ayez behind, assuring that no one escapes. 61. The queen says: We shall go to fight as well. Imaginatius speaks in counterpose: It will be soon enough, sorry to tell, The fight will come to us, for once they close With our few soldiers we can well suppose The horde will drive them back; Expect to be Caught in the thick of fighting all our foes Right here, where we now stand — just wait and see. Alright, she says, then bring a sword and shield to me. * * * 62. The eastern conflict we will rise to view And notice as we rise the whipping mist Accumulate around us, lightning, too, With thunderous accompaniment whose fist Of sound pounds down, and soon will not desist — Continuous the flashing and the roar, And then a pelting rain, whose drops consist Of icy crystals; As they fall they bore Into the skin like needles — down and down they pour. 63. It would be night but for the streaking sun Between the storm’s black vault and the horizon, Casting its desperate light upon the scene; Great amber fingers stretch in benediction Over the heads of those whose confrontation Furiously churns the eastern gate and wall, The killing rage, the blood, the mad ambition, Mired in a red and yellow caste, whose pall Is rocked by thunder, hectored by the harsh rain fall. 64. And now our once calm vantage point is not So comfortable; The swirling storm Grows in intensity, and we are caught Between the earth and sky, two realms aswarm With violence; How to avoid the harm? Beating our frantic wings, breathless with fear, We dodge the lightning’s sizzling alarm, Then shocks of wild explosions we can hear, As from below smoke surges and too soon draws near. 65. Four clouds thrust skyward, four in parallel, One from each quarter of the siege below; North, west, south, east, each quarter its own hell; Black smoke and oily fires erupt and blow Into the atmosphere; Nowhere to go For our once safe observer; Where to fly When storms above combine with storms below? Impossible to rise above, to fly so high, And yet to linger in the tumult is to die. 66. But you are not a bird, and these are but My fitful scratchings on a paper sheet; We are quite safe, and we can always shut This book and make our sure, secure retreat; No. No, this is not how it feels; The heat Rising from fires below, the freezing rain, The helpless buffeting are all concrete As anything I’ve known; My heart, my brain Both shake with feeling — close the book, the thoughts remain. 67. I see I tricked myself as I tricked you — I thought we would be safe flying so high; But with you I have learned the truth: No view Is so removed that trouble cannot fly To reach you, shake you, toss you by and by; The courage and the terror in my soul Must battle on each day until I die; No words scratched out on paper can control This fight, yet, all along, perhaps this was my goal. 68. Friend who has walked this path with me so far, Pause with me now; We’ll rest our troubled minds, Then see the battle through; Recall the star Of Poverist, so high above the winds And clouds — a light, a point of hope that binds Us to tomorrow’s promise; At the dawn We’ll fly again; We know each morning finds Some reason for us to persist; We’re drawn Into the storm and struggle, and we struggle on. finis canto ix |
| Glorianna Table of Contents |
| The Cantos |
| Appendices |