Proud man, who rules the globe, and reads the stars,
Philosopher, or hero, sighs in vain.
Account for this prerogative in brutes.
No day, no glimpse of day, to solve the knot,
But what beams on it from eternity. 312
O sole and sweet solution! that unties
The difficult, and softens the severe;
The cloud on nature’s beauteous face dispels;
Restores bright order; casts the brute beneath;
And re-enthrones us in supremacy