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Lucile

By Owen Meredith [i.e. E. R. B. Lytton]
  

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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
XXI.
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 XXXIX. 
 XL. 
 XLI. 

XXI.

All within, and without, that warm tent seems to bear
Smiling token of provident order and care.
All about, a well-fed, well-clad soldiery stands
In groups round the music of mirth-breathing bands.
In and out of the tent, all day long, to and fro,
The messengers come, and the messengers go,
Upon missions of mercy, or errands of toil:
To report how the sapper contends with the soil
In the terrible trench, how the sick man is faring
In the hospital tent: and, combining, comparing,
Constructing, within moves the brain of one man,
Moving all.
He is bending his brow o'er some plan
For the hospital service, wise, skilful, humane.
The officer standing beside him is fain
To refer to the angel solicitous cares
Of the Sisters of Charity: one he declares

330

To be known thro' the camp as a seraph of grace:
He has seen, all have seen her indeed, in each place
Where suffering is seen, silent, active—the Soeur...
Soeur...how do they call her?
‘Ay, truly, of her
‘I have heard much,’ the General, musing, replies;
‘And we owe her already (unless rumour lies)
‘The lives of not few of our bravest. You mean...
‘Ay, how do they call her?...the Soeur—Seraphine
‘(Is it not so?). I rarely forget names once heard.’
‘Yes; the Soeur Seraphine. Her I meant.’
‘On my word,
‘I have much wish'd to see her. I fancy I trace,
‘In some facts traced to her, something more than the grace
‘Of an angel: I mean an acute human mind,
‘Ingenious, constructive, intelligent. Find,
‘And, if possible, let her come to me. We shall,
‘I think, aid each other.’
‘Oui, mon Général;
‘I believe she has lately obtain'd the permission
‘To tend some sick man in the Second Division
‘Of our Ally: they say a relation.’
‘Ay, so?
‘A relation?’
‘'Tis said so.’
‘The name do you know?’
‘Non, mon Général.’

331

While they spoke yet there went
A murmur and stir round the door of the tent.
‘A Sister of Charity craves, in a case
‘Of urgent and serious importance, the grace
‘Of brief private speech with the General there.
‘Will the General speak with her?’
‘Bid her declare
‘Her mission.’
She will not. She craves to be seen
And be heard.
Well, her name then.
The Soeur Seraphine.
The Soeur Seraphine! Strange! On parle du soleil,
Et en voici les rayons! Dépêche, Colonel!
Clear the tent. She may enter.