That hope and fear are nourished by a curtain’s shade. ’Tis through uncertainty that hope and fear invade. But tear away that veil; where then are hope and fear? ’Tis veiledness lends interest to landscapes drear. Upon a river’s bank a youth, who chanced to spy A fisherman at work, guessed: “Solomon, surely![392] 120 If he it be, why here, in secret and alone? If not, whence come those features, fit to grace a throne?” So he remained in doubt, ’twixt two opinions tossed, Till Solomon recovered all the power he’d lost. The foul usurping demon fled the royal state; The king’s avenging sword pursued and sealed his fate. The signet-ring of power once more on royal hand, The demons and the fairies flocked to his command. Mankind came crowding to his court, by levee swelled; Among them came the youth who’d that opinion held. 125 He saw the signet-ring. This sufficed. Doubt was past. No room was left for surmise. All was clear at last. Opinion may be formed of what’s behind a veil. Conjecture lends its aid where knowledge ’gins to fail. Conjecture’s potent when the subject’s hid from view. Let it be visible; no surmise can we brew. Although the sky of light is not without its rain, The earth of darkness, too, produces plants and grain. I love that text: “They who believe what is not seen.”[393] Thence have I closed my eyes, the body’s windows keen. 130 But should I cleave the firmament with my swift glance, Could I exclaim: “Perceivest thou a flaw, perchance?”[394] To scrutinise what’s hid behind the darkness’ screen, Each man his method chooses; guesses what’s between. A certain space of time confusion reigns supreme. The robbers hang the magistrates by their own scheme, Until at length a chief, blessed with a genius rare, Springs up to serve his servants; all their troubles share.[395] To render secret service is a thing beloved. To hide a service rendered adds to what’s approved. 135 What’s he, commends his king with lies before his face, And in his absence needs lament his lack of grace? The warden of a castle on the marches laid, Far from his sovereign, distant from much-needed aid, Defends his post with valour from beleaguering foe, Disdains to be bought over, scorns the tempter’s moe. His station’s on a frontier, no eye sees him act; To duty true, he honestly fulfils his pact. Then in his monarch’s presence honours due he gains, Above the brave men fighting in the royal trains. 140 More merit’s in a little secret service given, Than in much more performed when by an eye it’s driven.