"Lamia" was begun about the same time as "Otho the Great," but finished afterwards. The influence of Dryden, under which it was composed, has told strongly upon its versification, as marked especially in the very free use of alexandrines--generally the third line of a triplet, sometimes even the second line of a couplet. You might search "Endymion" in vain for alexandrines; and I will admit that their frequency appears to me to give an artificial tone to "Lamia." The view which Keats has elected to take of his subject is worth considering. The heroine is a serpent-woman, or a double-natured being who can change from serpent into woman and _vice versa_. In the female form she beguiles a young student of philosophy, Lycius, lives with him in a splendid palace, and finally celebrates their marriage-feast. The philosopher Apollonius attends among the guests, perceives her to be "human serpentry," and, gazing on her with ruthless fixity, he compels her and all her apparatus of enchantment to vanish. This is the act for which (in lines partly quoted in these pages) Keats arraigns philosophy, and its power of stripping things bare of their illusions. No doubt a poet has a right to treat a legend of this sort from such point of view as he likes; it is for him, and not for his reader, to take the bull by the horns. But it does look rather like taking the bull by the weaker horn to contend that the philosopher who saves a youthful disciple from the wiles of a serpent is condemnably prosaic--a grovelling spirit that denudes life of its poetry. Conveniently for Keats's theory, Lycius is made to die forthwith after the vanishing of his Lamia. If we invent a different finale to the poem, and say that Lycius fell down on his knees, and thanked Apollonius for saving him from such pestilent delusions and perilous blandishments, and ever afterwards looked out for the cloven tongue (if not the cloven hoof) when a pretty woman made advances to him, we may perhaps come quite as near to a right construction of so strange a series of events, and to the true moral of the story. But Keats's championship was for the enjoying aspects of life; he may be held to have exercised it here rather perversely. "Lamia" is one of his completest and most finished pieces of writing--perhaps in this respect superior to all his other long poems, if we except "Hyperion"; it closes the roll of them with an affluence, even an excess, of sumptuous adornment. "Lamia" leaves on the mental palate a rich flavour, if not an absolutely healthy one.