XII.  But woods, and groves [a], and solitary places, have not escaped the satyrical vein of my friend.  To me they afford sensations of a pure delight.  It is there I enjoy the pleasures of a poetic imagination; and among those pleasures it is not the least, that they are pursued far from the noise and bustle of the world, without a client to besiege my doors, and not a criminal to distress me with the tears of affliction.  Free from those distractions, the poet retires to scenes of solitude, where peace and innocence reside.  In those haunts of contemplation, he has his pleasing visions.  He treads on consecrated ground.  It was there that Eloquence first grew up, and there she reared her temple.  In those retreats she first adorned herself with those graces, which have made mankind enamoured of her charms; and there she filled the hearts of the wise and good with joy and inspiration.  Oracles first spoke in woods and sacred groves.  As to the species of oratory, which practises for lucre, or with views of ambition; that sanguinary eloquence [b] now so much in vogue:  it is of modern growth, the offspring of corrupt manners, and degenerate times; or rather, as my friend Aper expressed it, it is a weapon in the hands of ill-designing men.

The early and more happy period of the world, or, as we poets call it, the golden age, was the aera of true eloquence.  Crimes and orators were then unknown.  Poetry spoke in harmonious numbers, not to varnish evil deeds, but to praise the virtuous, and celebrate the friends of human kind.  This was the poet’s office.  The inspired train enjoyed the highest honours; they held commerce with the gods; they partook of the ambrosial feast:  they were at once the messengers and interpreters of the supreme command.  They ranked on earth with legislators, heroes, and demigods.  In that bright assembly we find no orator, no pleader of causes.  We read of Orpheus [c], of Linus, and, if we choose to mount still higher, we can add the name of Apollo himself.  This may seem a flight of fancy.  Aper will treat it as mere romance, and fabulous history:  but he will not deny, that the veneration paid to Homer, with the consent of posterity, is at least equal to the honours obtained by Demosthenes.  He must likewise admit, that the fame of Sophocles and Euripides is not confined within narrower limits than that of Lysias [d] or Hyperides.  To come home to our own country, there are at this day more who dispute the excellence of Cicero than of Virgil.  Among the orations of Asinius or Messala [e], is there one that can vie with the Medea of Ovid, or the Thyestes of Varius?