The knight is already born, and has received knighthood at his hands, who is destined to accomplish this quest.”  And after this he comforted Gawain under his transformation, assuring him that he should speedily be disenchanted; and he predicted to him that he should find the king at Carduel, in Wales, on his return, and that all the other knights who had been on like quest would arrive there the same day as himself.  And all this came to pass as Merlin had said.

Merlin is frequently introduced in the tales of chivalry, but it is chiefly on great occasions, and at a period subsequent to his death, or magical disappearance.  In the romantic poems of Italy, and in Spenser, Merlin is chiefly represented as a magical artist.  Spenser represents him as the artificer of the impenetrable shield and other armor of Prince Arthur ("Faery Queene,” Book I., Canto vii.), and of a mirror, in which a damsel viewed her lover’s shade.  The Fountain of Love, in the “Orlando Innamorata,” is described as his work; and in the poem of “Ariosto” we are told of a hall adorned with prophetic paintings, which demons had executed in a single night, under the direction of Merlin.

The following legend is from Spenser’s “Faery Queene,” Book iii., Canto iii.: 

Caer-Merdin, or CAERMARTHEN (in Wales), Merlin’s tower, and the imprisoned fiends.

   “Forthwith themselves disguising both, in straunge
    And base attire, that none might them bewray,
    To Maridunum, that is now by chaunge
    Of name Caer-Merdin called, they took their way: 
    There the wise Merlin whylome 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 sprights 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, tombling down apace
    Amongst the woody hills of Dynevor;
    But dare not thou, I charge, in any case,
    To enter into that same baleful bower,
  For fear the cruel fiends should thee unwares devour.

   “But standing high aloft, low lay thine ear,
    And there such ghastly noise of iron chains
    And brazen cauldrons thou shalt rumbling hear,
    Which thousand sprites with long enduring pains
    Do toss, that it will stun thy feeble brains;
    And oftentimes great groans, and grievous stounds,
    When too huge toil and labor them constrains;
    And oftentimes loud strokes and ringing sounds
  From under that deep rock most horribly rebounds.