Luyện nghe bài hát Jean Desprez

Oh, ye hearts are resonant, and ring to war's romance,
ye the story of a boy, a peasant boy of france,
a lad and warped with toil, yet who, when trial came,
could feel within his soul upleap and soar the sacred
could stand upright, and scorn and smite, as only heroes
oh, hearken! let me try to tell the of jean desprez.
With fire and sword the teuton was ravaging the land,
and there was darkness and despair, grim death on hand;
red fields of slaughter sloping to ruin's black abyss;
the wolves of war ran evil-fanged, and little did 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 uhlan said.
"behold! some has fired a shot. my trumpeter is dead.
now shall they prussian vengeance know; now shall rue the day,
for by this sacred german slain, ten of these shall pay."
they the cowering peasants forth, women and babes and men,
and from the last, with many a jeer the chose he ten.
ten simple peasants, bowed with toil, they stood, knew not why,
the grey wall of the church, hearing their children cry;
hearing their wives and mothers wail, faces dazed they stood.
a moment only ... ready! fire! they in their blood.
But there was one who gazed unseen, who the frenzied cries,
who saw these men in sabots fall their children's eyes;
a zouave wounded in a ditch, and death was nigh,
he laughed joy: "ah! here is where i settle ere i die."
he clutched his once again, and long he aimed and well ...
a shot! his victims ten the uhlan captain fell.
They dragged the wounded zouave out; their was like a flame.
with bayonets they him down, until 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 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 they nailed the zouave
and there was anguish in his eyes, and horror in his
"water! a drop!" he moaned, but how they jeered at him,
and mocked him with an cup, and saw his sight grow dim;
and as in agony of death blood his lips were wet,
the prussian major laughed, and lit a cigarette.
But mid the white-faced villagers who in horror by,
was one who saw the sight, who heard the woeful cry:
"water! one drop, i beg! for love of christ who died ..."
it was the little desprez who turned and stole aside;
it was the little barefoot boy who came with cup
and walked up to the man, and gave the drink to him.
A roar of rage! they seize the boy; they tear him away.
the prussian swings around; no longer is he gay.
his teeth are 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 be, and spare;
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 would save shall perish by his hand.
and all his kindred shall see, and all shall 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 kill or die."
the major puffed his cigarette, in his eye.
and then the dying zouave heard, and raised his head:
"shoot, son, 'twill be the for both; shoot swift and straight," he said.
"fire first and last, and do not flinch; for lost of am i;
and i will murmur: vive la france! and you ere i die."
Half-blind with blows the boy stood there, he seemed to and sway;
then in that moment woke the soul of little desprez.
he saw the go sheening down, the larks were singing clear;
and oh! the scents and sounds of spring, how sweet 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 were they now.
The days and summer ways, how bright with hope and bliss!
the autumn such a dream of gold ... and all stand in this:
this 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;
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 boy, with blanched and twitching face;
did not see within his eyes the glory of his race;
the glory of a million men who for fair france died,
the splendor of that will not be denied.
yet ... he was but a lad, and oh! but life was sweet ...
"your minute's nearly gone, my lad," he a voice repeat.
"shoot! shoot!" the dying moaned; "shoot! shoot!" the soldiers said.
jean desprez reached out and shot ... the prussian major dead!