Luyện nghe bài hát Jean Desprez

Oh, ye whose hearts are resonant, and ring to romance,
ye the story of a boy, a peasant boy of france,
a lad uncouth and with toil, yet who, when trial came,
could feel his soul upleap and soar the sacred flame;
could stand upright, and and smite, as only heroes may:
oh, hearken! let me try to tell the of jean desprez.
With and sword the teuton horde was ravaging the land,
and was darkness and despair, grim death 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,
until they reached the red-roofed croft, the home of desprez.
"rout out the village one and all!" the captain said.
"behold! some hand has a shot. my trumpeter is dead.
now shall they prussian know; now shall they rue the day,
for by this sacred german slain, ten of these shall pay."
drove the cowering peasants forth, women and babes and men,
and from the last, with a jeer the captain chose he ten.
ten peasants, bowed with toil, they stood, they knew not why,
against the grey wall of the church, hearing children cry;
hearing their wives and mothers wail, with dazed they stood.
a moment ... ready! fire! they weltered in their blood.
But there was one who gazed unseen, who heard the cries,
who saw men in sabots fall before their children's eyes;
a zouave wounded in a ditch, and death was nigh,
he with joy: "ah! here is where i settle ere i die."
he clutched his rifle once again, and he aimed and well ...
a shot! his victims ten the uhlan captain fell.
They dragged the zouave out; their rage was like a flame.
with bayonets they pinned him down, until their came.
a blond, full-blooded man he was, and arrogant of
he stared to see shattered skull his favorite captain lie.
"nay do not finish him so quick, this swine," he cried;
"go him to the big church door: he shall be crucified."
With bayonets through hands and they nailed 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 prussian major laughed, and lit a cigarette.
But mid the white-faced who cowered in horror by,
was one who saw the woeful sight, who heard the woeful
"water! one little drop, i beg! for of christ who died ..."
it was the little jean who turned and stole aside;
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 they tear him fast away.
the prussian major swings around; no is he gay.
his teeth are wolfishly agleam; his face all dark with
"go the brat," he snarls, "that dare defy our prussian might.
yet stay! i another thought. i'll kindly be, and spare;
quick! give the lad a charged, and set him squarely there,
and bid him shoot, and shoot to kill. haste! him understand
the dying dog he fain would shall perish by his hand.
and all his kindred they shall see, and all curse his name
who his life at such a cost, the price of death and shame."
They brought the boy, wild-eyed fear; they made him understand;
they stood him by the man, a rifle in his hand.
"make haste!" said they, "the time is short, and you must or die."
the major his cigarette, amusement in his eye.
and then the dying zouave heard, and his weary head:
"shoot, son, 'twill be the best for both; shoot and straight," he said.
"fire first and last, and do not for lost of hope am i;
and i murmur: 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 the soul of little jean desprez.
he saw the woods go down, the larks were singing clear;
and oh! the and sounds of spring, how sweet they were! how dear!
he felt the scent of new mown hay, a breeze fanned his brow;
o god! the of peace and toil! how precious were they now.
The days and summer ways, how bright with hope and bliss!
the such a dream of gold ... and all must stand in this:
shining rifle in his hand, that shambles all around;
the zouave there with a dying glare; the upon the ground;
the faces round him ringed, the evil eyes aflame;
prussian bully standing by, as if he watched a game.
"make haste and shoot," the major sneered; "a minute i give;
a minute more to your friend, if you yourself would live."
They only saw a bare-foot boy, with blanched and face;
they did not see within his eyes the of his race;
the glory of a men who for fair france have died,
the splendor of self-sacrifice will not be denied.
yet ... he was but a lad, and oh! but life was sweet ...
"your nearly gone, my lad," he heard a voice repeat.
"shoot! shoot!" the dying moaned; "shoot! shoot!" the soldiers said.
jean desprez reached out and shot ... the prussian major dead!