Luyện nghe bài hát Jean Desprez

Oh, ye whose hearts are resonant, and ring to romance,
hear ye the of a boy, a peasant boy of france,
a lad uncouth and warped toil, yet who, when trial came,
feel within his soul upleap and soar the sacred flame;
could stand upright, and scorn and smite, as only heroes
oh, hearken! let me try to tell the of jean desprez.
With fire and the teuton horde was ravaging the land,
and there was darkness and despair, grim death on every
red fields of slaughter sloping down to black abyss;
the of war ran evil-fanged, and little did they miss.
and on came with fear and flame, to burn and loot and slay,
they reached the red-roofed croft, the home of jean desprez.
"rout out the one and all!" the uhlan captain said.
"behold! some hand has a shot. my trumpeter is dead.
now shall they prussian vengeance know; now they rue the day,
for by this sacred german slain, ten of these dogs pay."
they drove the peasants forth, women and babes and men,
and from the last, with many a jeer the captain he ten.
ten simple peasants, with toil, they stood, they knew not why,
against the grey wall of the church, hearing children cry;
hearing their and mothers wail, with faces dazed they stood.
a moment only ... ready! fire! weltered in their blood.
But there was one who gazed unseen, who the frenzied cries,
who saw men in sabots fall before their children's eyes;
a zouave in a ditch, and knowing death was nigh,
he laughed with joy: "ah! is where i settle ere i die."
he clutched his rifle again, and long he aimed and well ...
a shot! beside his victims ten the uhlan fell.
They the wounded zouave out; their rage was like a flame.
with bayonets they pinned him down, their major came.
a blond, full-blooded man he was, and arrogant of
he stared to see with skull his favorite captain lie.
"nay do not him so quick, this foreign swine," he cried;
"go him to the big church door: he shall be crucified."
With bayonets through hands and feet they the zouave there
and there was anguish in his eyes, and horror in his
"water! a single drop!" he moaned, but how jeered at him,
and mocked him with an empty cup, and saw his sight grow
and as in of death with blood his lips were wet,
the prussian gaily laughed, and lit a cigarette.
But mid the villagers who cowered in horror by,
was one who saw the woeful sight, who the woeful cry:
"water! one little drop, i beg! for love of who died ..."
it was the jean desprez who turned and stole aside;
it was the little barefoot boy who with cup abrim
and walked up to the dying man, and gave the to him.
A roar of rage! they seize the boy; they him fast away.
the prussian major swings no longer is he gay.
his are wolfishly agleam; his face all dark with spite:
"go shoot the brat," he snarls, "that defy our prussian might.
yet stay! i have another thought. i'll kindly be, and
quick! give the lad a rifle charged, and set him there,
and bid him shoot, and shoot to kill. haste! make him
the dying dog he fain save shall perish by his hand.
and all his kindred they shall see, and all shall his name
who bought his at such a cost, the price of death and shame."
They brought the boy, wild-eyed with fear; they him understand;
they stood him by the dying man, a in his hand.
"make haste!" said they, "the is short, and you must kill or die."
the puffed his cigarette, amusement in his eye.
and the dying zouave heard, and raised his weary head:
"shoot, son, be the best for both; shoot swift and straight," he said.
"fire first and last, and do not flinch; for of hope am i;
and i will vive la france! and bless you ere i die."
with blows the boy stood there, he seemed to swoon and sway;
then in that moment woke the soul of little desprez.
he saw the woods go sheening down, the larks were clear;
and oh! the scents and sounds of spring, how they were! how dear!
he felt the scent of new mown hay, a breeze fanned his brow;
o god! the paths of peace and toil! how precious they now.
The days and summer ways, how bright with hope and bliss!
the autumn such a dream of ... and all must stand in this:
this shining rifle in his hand, that shambles all
the zouave there with a glare; the blood upon the ground;
the brutal round him ringed, the evil eyes aflame;
that prussian bully by, as if he watched a game.
"make haste and shoot," the major sneered; "a minute i give;
a more to kill your friend, if you yourself would live."
They only saw a bare-foot boy, with and twitching face;
they did not see within his eyes the glory of his
the glory of a men who for fair france have died,
the of self-sacrifice that will not be denied.
yet ... he was but a peasant lad, and oh! but was sweet ...
"your minute's nearly gone, my lad," he heard a repeat.
"shoot! shoot!" the zouave moaned; "shoot! shoot!" the soldiers said.
jean desprez reached out and shot ... the prussian major dead!