It takes guts to write long long long narrative verse in this age. So I am very much admiring Pratt's guts. However, sometimes guts get in the way. By which I mean, in one of his poems a giant whale battles a giant squid to the death, and chews on it's squishy guts. I am not sure how often giant whales and giant squids battle to the death, but somehow I doubt they do it with this much relish.
Also, in Brebeuf and his Brethren, similar relish is taken by Huron and Six Nations people in torture and savagery. I know Pratt was a man of his times, even behind the times. But his depiction of Native people and wildlife seems wildly inaccurate to me.
But man, he sure can hold your attention for pages and pages of blank verse.