Mean time, the moist malignity to shun Of burthen’d skies; mark where the dry champain 275 Swells into chearful hills; where Marjoram And Thyme, the love of bees, perfume the air; And where the Cynorrhodon[2] with the rose For fragrance vies; for in the thirsty soil Most fragrant breathe the aromatic tribes. 280 There bid thy roofs high on the basking steep Ascend, there light thy hospitable fires. And let them see the winter morn arise, The summer evening blushing in the west; While with umbrageous oaks the ridge behind 285 O’erhung, defends you from the blust’ring north, And bleak affliction of the peevish east. O! when the growling winds contend, and all The sounding forest fluctuates in the storm, To sink in warm repose, and hear the din 290 Howl o’er the steady battlements, delights Above the luxury of vulgar sleep. The murmuring rivulet, and the hoarser strain Of waters rushing o’er the slippery rocks, Will nightly lull you to ambrosial rest. 295 To please the fancy is no trifling good, Where health is studied; for whatever moves The mind with calm delight, promotes the just And natural movements of th’ harmonious frame. Besides, the sportive brook for ever shakes 300 The trembling air; that floats from hill to hill, From vale to mountain, with incessant change Of purest element, refreshing still Your airy seat, and uninfected Gods. Chiefly for this I praise the man who builds 305 High on the breezy ridge, whose lofty sides Th’ etherial deep with endless billows laves. His purer mansion nor contagious years Shall reach, nor deadly putrid airs annoy. But may no fogs, from lake or fenny plain, 310 Involve my hill. And wheresoe’er you build; Whether on sun-burnt Epsom, or the plains Wash’d by the silent Lee; in Chelsea low, Or high Blackheath with wintry winds assail’d; Dry be your house: but airy more than warm. 315 Else every breath of ruder wind will strike Your tender body thro’ with rapid pains; Fierce coughs will teize you, hoarseness bind your voice, Or moist Gravedo load your aching brows. These to defy, and all the fates that dwell 320 In cloister’d air tainted with steaming life, Let lofty ceilings grace your ample rooms; And still at azure noontide may your dome At every window drink the liquid sky.