According to Mr. Swinburne, "the faultless force and profound subtlety of this deep and cunning instinct for the absolute expression of absolute natural beauty is doubtless the one main distinctive gift or power which denotes him as a poet among all his equals." We may safely accept this verdict of poet upon poet as a true one: yet I should be inclined to demur to such strong adjectives as "faultless" and "absolute." Beautiful as several of them are, I might hesitate to say that even one poem by Keats exhibits this his special characteristic in a faultless degree, or expresses absolutely throughout a natural beauty of absolute quality. To the last, he appears to me to have been somewhat wanting in those faculties of selection and of discipline which we sum up, by a rough-and-ready process, in the word "taste." He had done a great deal in this direction, and would probably, with a few years more of life, have done all that was needed; but we have to take him as he stands, with those few years denied. Unless perhaps in "La Belle Dame sans Merci," Keats has not, I think, come nearer to perfection than in the "Ode to a Nightingale." It is with some trepidation that I recur to this Ode, for the invidious purpose of testing its claim to be adjudged "faultless," for in so doing I shall certainly lose the sympathy of some readers, and strain the patience of many. The question, however, seems to be a very fair one to raise, and the specimen a strong one to try it by, and so I persevere. The first point of weakness--excess which becomes weak in result--is a surfeit of mythological allusions: Lethe, Dryad (the nightingale is turned into a "light-winged Dryad of the trees"--which is as much as to say, a light-winged _Oak_-nymph of the _trees_), Flora, Hippocrene, Bacchus, the Queen-moon (the Queen-moon appears at first sight to be the classical Phoebe, who is here "clustered around by all her starry Fays," spirits proper to a Northern mythology; but possibly Keats thought more of a Faery-queen than of Phoebe). Then comes the passage (already cited in these pages) about the poet's wish for a draught of wine, to help him towards spiritual commune with the nightingale. Some exquisite phrases in this passage have endeared it to all readers of Keats; yet I cannot but regard it as very foreign to the main subject-matter. Surely nobody wants wine as a preparation for enjoying a nightingale's music, whether in a literal or in a fanciful relation. Taken in detail, to call wine "the true, the blushful Hippocrene"--the veritable fount of poetic inspiration--seems both stilted and repulsive, and the phrase "with beaded bubbles winking at the brim" is (though picturesque) trivial, in the same way as much of Keats's earlier work. Far worse is the succeeding image, "Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards"--_i.e._, not under the inspiration of wine: the poet will fly to the nightingale, but not in a leopard-drawn chariot.