Luyện nghe bài hát Jean Desprez

Oh, ye whose hearts are resonant, and ring to romance,
hear ye the story of a boy, a boy of france,
a lad uncouth and with 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 on every hand;
red fields of slaughter sloping down to ruin's black
the wolves of war ran evil-fanged, and did they miss.
and on they came 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 now shall they rue the day,
for by this sacred slain, ten of these dogs shall pay."
they drove the cowering forth, women and babes and men,
and from the last, with many a the captain chose he ten.
ten simple peasants, bowed toil, they stood, they knew not why,
against the wall of the church, hearing their children cry;
hearing their wives and wail, with faces dazed they stood.
a only ... ready! fire! they weltered in their blood.
But there was one who gazed unseen, who the frenzied cries,
who saw these men in sabots before their children's eyes;
a zouave wounded in a ditch, and death was nigh,
he laughed with joy: "ah! here is where i ere i die."
he clutched his rifle once again, and long he and well ...
a shot! beside his victims ten the captain fell.
They dragged the wounded zouave out; their was like a flame.
with they pinned him down, until their major came.
a blond, man he was, and arrogant of eye;
he to see with shattered skull his favorite captain lie.
"nay do not finish him so quick, this swine," he cried;
"go nail him to the big church he shall be crucified."
With bayonets through hands and feet nailed the zouave there
and there was anguish in his eyes, and in his stare;
"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 agony of death blood his lips were wet,
the major 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 christ who ..."
it was the jean desprez who turned and stole aside;
it was the barefoot boy who came with cup abrim
and walked up to the dying man, and the drink to him.
A roar of rage! they seize the boy; tear him fast away.
the prussian major swings no longer is he gay.
his teeth are agleam; his face all dark with spite:
"go shoot the brat," he snarls, "that dare our prussian might.
yet stay! i another thought. i'll kindly be, and spare;
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 would shall perish by his hand.
and all his kindred they shall see, and all shall curse his
who bought his life at such a cost, the price of 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!" they, "the time is short, and you must kill or die."
the major his cigarette, amusement in his eye.
and then the dying zouave heard, and raised his weary
"shoot, son, 'twill be the best for shoot swift and straight," he said.
"fire and last, and do not flinch; for lost of hope am i;
and i murmur: vive la france! and bless you ere i die."
Half-blind with blows the boy stood there, he seemed to swoon and
then in that moment woke the of little jean desprez.
he saw the woods go down, the larks were singing clear;
and oh! the scents and sounds of spring, how they were! how dear!
he felt the scent of new hay, a soft breeze fanned his brow;
o god! the paths of peace and toil! how were they now.
The summer days and ways, how bright with hope and bliss!
the autumn such a dream of gold ... and all must stand in
this shining in his hand, that shambles all around;
the zouave with a dying glare; the blood upon the ground;
the brutal faces round him ringed, the evil eyes
that bully standing by, as if he watched a game.
"make haste and shoot," the major "a minute more i give;
a minute more to kill your friend, if you yourself live."
They only saw a boy, with blanched and twitching face;
they did not see within his eyes the of his race;
the glory of a million men who for fair have died,
the splendor of self-sacrifice that not be denied.
yet ... he was but a lad, and oh! but life was sweet ...
"your minute's nearly gone, my lad," he heard a repeat.
"shoot! shoot!" the zouave moaned; "shoot! shoot!" the soldiers said.
then jean reached out and shot ... the prussian major dead!