Instinct, than reason, makes more wholesome meals,
And sends all-marring murmur far away.
For sensual life they best philosophize; 740
Theirs, that serene, the sages sought in vain: 741
’Tis man alone expostulates with Heaven;
His all the power, and all the cause, to mourn.
Shall human eyes alone dissolve in tears?
And bleed, in anguish, none but human hearts?
The wide-stretch’d realm of intellectual woe,
Surpassing sensual far, is all our own.