TUB rOETS OF CANADA. 41 



And sit besitle me at my lonely fire, — 



Guests grim but welcome, which my fancy decks 



In all the beauty that was theirs when thou 



Pidst look and brcatlio and whisper softly on them. 



So do they come and sit, night after night, 



Talking of me to thee till I forget 



That they are mere illusions and the past 



Is gone forever. They have vanished now. 



And I am all alone, and thou art — where ? 



My love, good angels bear thee my good night ! 



When I had read once, I paused in admiration and astonishment. I read again, and 

 still the wonder grew. Here was a kind of triple sonnet, written in blank verse, and 

 signed with fictitious initials : but I felt there was a soul in them. The reflection I made 

 was : " The man who wrote these lines is a poet, and I will hear of him again." Five or 

 six years elapsed, when in 18*70 appeared the Prophecy of Merlin, by John Eeade. I 

 procured one of the first copies, and, after attentive reading, my judgment was confirmed. 

 King Arthur has been borne away in a barge to the vale of Avalou, and Sir Bedivere, the 

 last of the Knights of the Round Table, lifts up his voice upon the beach and weeps. 

 Merlin comes forth, and, after stanching his Avojind, consoles him with a prophecy of the 

 happy days that are to replace the golden era of Camelot. Three queens shall reign in the 

 favoured land, a triple sisterhood beneath one crown, — Britain, and Albyn, and green 

 Innisfail. The description of the arts and sciences in this new time is of surpassing 

 beauty. Merlin then gives a glowing description of Prince Albert, the consort of this 

 Queen ; adds a brilliant picture of the Crystal Palace and the first Loudon Exhibition ; 

 makes a touching allusion to Canada, "the far land beneath the setting sun;" and 

 concludes with a tribute to Prince Arthur, who had, at that time, passed a year among us. 

 After this, Merlin disappears and leaAœs Sir Bedivere alone iipon the strand among the 

 dead. Merlin goes and Bedivere is solitary, but we are happy, because we are in possession 

 of the most perfect poem ever written in Canada, a fit pendant to Tennyson's Idylls of the 

 King. The same volume contains a number of other beautiful compositions. Those 

 bearing on Scriptural subjects, such as Vashti, Balaam, Rizpah, Jubal and Jephthah, being 

 specially remarkable. In a magazine article, published a few years ago, I made bold to 

 say that, with the exception of Longfellow, Mr. Reade is the best sonnetteur in America, 

 and I am proud to say that my judgment has been ratified in high quarters. I should be 

 embarrassed to choose from his sonnets ; and must content myself with one example of his 

 softer and more mythical mood, in ballad metre : — 



In my heart are many chambers, through which I wander free ; 



Some are furnished, some are empty, some are sombre, some are light; 

 Some are open to all comers, and of some I keep the key. 



And I enter in the stiUness of the night. 



Sec. XL, 1884. 6. 



