Luyện nghe bài hát Jean Desprez

Oh, ye whose hearts are resonant, and to war's romance,
hear ye the story of a boy, a boy of france,
a lad uncouth and warped toil, yet who, when trial came,
could feel within his soul upleap and soar the flame;
could stand upright, and scorn and smite, as only may:
oh, hearken! let me try to tell the of jean desprez.
With and sword the teuton horde was ravaging the land,
and there was darkness and despair, grim death on hand;
red fields of slaughter sloping down to black abyss;
the wolves of war ran evil-fanged, and little did miss.
and on they with fear and flame, to burn and loot and slay,
until they the red-roofed croft, the home of jean desprez.
"rout out the one and all!" the uhlan captain said.
"behold! hand has fired a shot. my trumpeter is dead.
now shall they prussian vengeance know; now shall rue the day,
for by this sacred slain, ten of these dogs shall pay."
they drove the cowering peasants forth, and babes and men,
and from the last, many a jeer the captain chose he ten.
ten simple peasants, bowed 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! they weltered in blood.
But was one who gazed unseen, who heard the frenzied cries,
who saw these men in sabots fall before their children's
a wounded in a ditch, and knowing 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 ten the uhlan captain fell.
They dragged the wounded zouave out; rage was like a flame.
with bayonets they pinned him down, until their came.
a blond, man he was, and arrogant of eye;
he stared to see shattered skull his favorite captain lie.
"nay do not finish him so quick, this foreign swine," he
"go nail him to the big door: he shall be crucified."
With bayonets through hands and feet they the zouave there
and was anguish in his eyes, and horror in his stare;
"water! a single drop!" he moaned, but how jeered at him,
and mocked him an empty cup, and saw his sight grow dim;
and as in agony of death with blood his were wet,
the major gaily laughed, and lit a cigarette.
But mid the white-faced 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 little jean desprez who turned and stole
it was the little boy who came with cup abrim
and up to the dying man, and gave the drink to him.
A roar of rage! they seize the boy; they him fast away.
the prussian swings around; no longer is he gay.
his teeth are wolfishly his face all dark with spite:
"go shoot the brat," he snarls, "that dare defy our might.
yet stay! i have another thought. i'll kindly be, and
quick! the lad a rifle charged, and set him squarely there,
and bid him shoot, and shoot to kill. haste! make him
the dying dog he fain would save perish by his hand.
and all his kindred they shall see, and all shall his name
who bought his life at a cost, the price of death and shame."
They the boy, wild-eyed with fear; they made him understand;
they him by the dying man, a rifle in his hand.
"make haste!" said they, "the time is short, and you must or die."
the major puffed his cigarette, in his eye.
and then the zouave heard, and raised his weary head:
"shoot, son, 'twill be the best for both; shoot 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."
Half-blind blows the boy stood there, he seemed to swoon and sway;
then in moment woke the soul of little jean desprez.
he saw the go sheening down, the larks were singing clear;
and oh! the scents and of spring, how sweet they were! how dear!
he felt the scent of new mown hay, a soft fanned his brow;
o god! the paths of and toil! how precious were they now.
The summer days and summer ways, how bright with and bliss!
the autumn such a dream of ... and all must stand in this:
this shining rifle in his hand, that all around;
the there with a dying glare; the blood upon the ground;
the brutal faces round him ringed, the evil eyes
that prussian standing by, as if he watched a game.
"make haste and shoot," the major sneered; "a more i give;
a minute more to kill your friend, if you yourself live."
They only saw a bare-foot boy, with blanched and twitching
they did not see within his eyes the of his race;
the of a million men who for fair france have died,
the splendor of self-sacrifice that not be denied.
yet ... he was but a peasant lad, and oh! but was sweet ...
"your nearly gone, my lad," he heard a voice repeat.
"shoot! shoot!" the zouave moaned; "shoot! shoot!" the soldiers said.
then desprez reached out and shot ... the prussian major dead!