His reputation is by no means confined to the land of his birth, but extends through most of the nations of Europe. A very curious volume of his Life, Prophecies, and Miracles, written, it is supposed, by Robert de Bosron, was printed at Paris in 1498, which states, that the Devil himself was his father, and that he spoke the instant he was born, and assured his mother, a very virtuous young woman, that she should not die in child-bed with him, as her ill-natured neighbours had predicted. The judge of the district, hearing of so marvellous an occurrence, summoned both mother and child to appear before him; and they went accordingly the same day. To put the wisdom of the young prophet most effectually to the test, the judge asked him if he knew his own father? To which the infant Merlin replied, in a clear, sonorous voice, “Yes, my father is the Devil; and I have his power, and know all things, past, present, and to come.” His worship clapped his hands in astonishment, and took the prudent resolution of not molesting so awful a child, or its mother either.

Early tradition attributes the building of Stonehenge to the power of Merlin. It was believed that those mighty stones were whirled through the air, at his command, from Ireland to Salisbury Plain, and that he arranged them in the form in which they now stand, to commemorate for ever the unhappy fate of three hundred British chiefs, who were massacred on that spot by the Saxons.

At Abergwylly, near Caermarthen, is still shown the cave of the prophet and the scene of his incantations. How beautiful is the description of it given by Spenser in his Faerie Queene. The lines need no apology for their repetition here, and any sketch of the great prophet of Britain would be incomplete without them :

“There the wise Merlin, whilom wont (they say),
    To make his wonne low underneath the ground,
In a deep delve far from the view of day,
    That of no living wight he mote be found,Whenso he counselled with his sprites encompassed round.

    And if thou ever happen that same way

    To travel, go to see that dreadful place;
It is a hideous, hollow cave, they say,
    Under a rock that lies a little space
    From the swift Barry, tumbling down apace
Amongst the woody hills of Dynevoure;
    But dare thou not, I charge, in any case,   To enter into that same baleful bower,
For fear the cruel fiendes should thee unwares devour!

But, standing high aloft, low lay thine care,

And there such ghastly noise of iron chaines,    And brazen caudrons thou shalt rombling heare,

Which thousand sprites, with long-enduring paines,
Doe tosse, that it will stun thy feeble braines;    And often times great groans and grievous stownds,

When too huge toile and labour them constraines;    And often times loud strokes and ringing sounds
From under that deep rock most horribly rebounds.

The cause, they say, is this. A little while

Before that Merlin died, he did intend    A brazen wall in compass, to compile

About Cayr Merdin, and did it commend
Unto these sprites to bring to perfect end;    During which work the Lady of the Lake,

Whom long he loved, for him in haste did send,    Who thereby forced his workmen to forsake,
Them bound till his return their labour not to slake.

In the mean time, through that false ladie’s traine,
    He was surprised, and buried under biere,
Ne ever to his work returned again;
    Natheless these fiendes may not their work forbeare,
    So greatly his commandement they fear,
But there doe toile and travaile day and night,
    Until that brazen wall they up doe reare.”5

  By PanEris using Melati.

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