MARSHAL SOULT.

His master is young-but familiar his hand

Has been from its childhood with axe and with brand;
His locks have been darken'd with blood and with toil,
When the battle of Ascalon darken'd the soil.

He is calm, though a youth; save when his blue eye
Sees afar the red banners that sweep through the sky;
It kindles-there waiteth the triumph again—
He poises his lance and he tightens his rein.

The belt of a knight was in Palestine won,

By the hand of King Richard the belt was bound on;
On his shoulder the cross, by his helmet a glove,
Tell he serveth his God, and his King, and his Love.

On his lip is a song whose last murmur was heard
When the castle's old ivy the summer wind stirr'd;
Low and love-touch'd the words that are never so dear
As when battle and danger and triumph are near.

He flings the bright marks from his scarf's silken fold-
What careth the warrior for silver or gold?

And he bends till his plumes touch his horse's dark mane,
To the minstrel who mingles one name with his strain.

So loyal of heart and so liberal of hand,
Were the gallant-the highborn-of England's fair land;
But their glory is gather'd-their honours are told—
Let the race of to-day match the good knights of old.

MARSHAL SOULT, DUKE OF DALMATIA.

THIS veteran soldier, before the great revolution which towards the close of the last century convulsed Europe, served in a regiment of infantry under the Bourbon dynasty. In the times of the republic, his bravery and military skill secured his rapid promotion; and on the accession of Napoleon Buonaparte to supreme power, and to the imperial throne of France, he yet further distinguished himself in the campaigns of Austerlitz and Prussia; in which campaigns, though personally nowise a favourite with Napoleon, from whom he was understood to differ on some important points of military tactics, he was perpetually entrusted with the highest and most responsible commands.

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The career of Marshal Soult, as the opponent of the Duke of Wellington, during the Peninsular war, is familiar to all who are versed in the history of that great national struggle. In the memorable year 1815, when the illustrious Duke appeared with his troops under the walls of Paris, Soult was Minister at War; and to the convention which he concluded with the hero of Waterloo, and in consequence of which the French army retired behind the Loire, the metropolis of France probably owed, under Providence, her preservation from the horrors which attend the taking of a town by storm.

Since that eventful period, the life of Marshal Soult has been a peaceful one. He has more than once visited this country, and has been received as a brave man, though he may have "stood against us as an enemy," never fails to be received in England. He was present at the coronation of her Majesty Queen Victoria; and when on that occasion, he and his former opponent, the Duke of Wellington, stood in the presence of the assembled thousands-the beauty and chivalry, the ladies and nobles of the land

"Like brothers, side by side;"

and swelled the pealing cry of " God save the Queen!" those two veteran warriors with their sheathed swords, excited perhaps, next to the young Queen herself, the strongest interest, and called forth the most cordial sympathies of that noble and loyal throng.

This passage in the history of these brave men, is beautifully commemorated by Mary Howitt, in the following verses:

THE MEETING OF THE WARRIORS SOULT AND WELLINGTON.

BY MARY HOWITT.

They met amid the bloody fields of Spain,
When the swart peasant left his reaping-hook,
And, heedless of the ripe ungarner'd grain,
A sharper weapon in his right hand took,
For other harvests; when the green hills shook
With battle's thunder, and the carnage flood
Swell'd to a river many a mountain-brook.
There met they, and like gods of battle stood,
Each girt with arméd hosts, as if athirst for blood!

Again they met 'twas on a summer's day,
And half a million people with them met,
Not girt with arms in slaughterous array,

With crimson banners torn, and swords blood-wet,