But in spite of vandalism, forgetfulness and barbarism, often of the
worst description as in the mere indifference and ignorance that
scattered Alfred's bones, no one has ever come to Winchester without
loving it, no one has ever been glad to get away. Its innumerable
visitors are all its lovers and the most opposite temperaments find
here common ground at last. Walpole praises it, and so does Keats. "We
removed here," writes the latter in 1819 to Bailey, "for the
convenience of a library, and find it an exceedingly pleasant town,
enriched with a beautiful cathedral and surrounded by fresh-looking
country.... Within these two months I have written fifteen hundred
lines, most of which, besides many more of prior composition, you will
probably see next winter. I have written two tales, one from Boccaccio
called the 'Pot of Basil' and another called 'St Agnes Eve' on a
popular superstition, and a third called 'Lamia' (half-finished). I
have also been writing parts of my 'Hyperion,' and completed four acts
of a tragedy."
"This Winchester," he writes again, "is a place tolerably well suited
to me.
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