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 with toil, yet who, when trial came,
could within his soul upleap and soar the sacred flame;
stand upright, and scorn and smite, as only heroes may:
oh, hearken! let me try to tell the of jean desprez.
With fire and sword the horde was ravaging the land,
and was darkness and despair, grim death on every hand;
red fields of slaughter down to ruin's black abyss;
the of war ran evil-fanged, and little 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 one and all!" the uhlan captain said.
"behold! some hand has a shot. my trumpeter is dead.
now shall prussian vengeance know; now shall they rue the day,
for by this sacred german slain, ten of these shall pay."
they drove the cowering peasants forth, women and and men,
and from the last, with a jeer the captain chose he ten.
ten simple peasants, bowed with toil, stood, they knew not why,
against the grey wall of the church, hearing their children
hearing their and mothers wail, with faces dazed they stood.
a moment only ... ready! fire! weltered in their blood.
But there was one who unseen, who heard the frenzied cries,
who saw these men in sabots before their children's eyes;
a zouave in a ditch, and knowing death was nigh,
he laughed joy: "ah! here is where i settle ere i die."
he clutched his rifle once again, and long he aimed and ...
a shot! beside his ten the uhlan captain fell.
They dragged the wounded out; their rage was like a flame.
with bayonets they pinned him down, their major came.
a blond, man he was, and arrogant of eye;
he stared to see with shattered his favorite captain lie.
"nay do not finish him so quick, this foreign swine," he
"go nail him to the big church door: he be crucified."
With through hands and feet 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 him with an empty cup, and saw his sight grow dim;
and as in of death with blood his lips 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 heard the cry:
"water! one little drop, i beg! for love of who died ..."
it was the little desprez who turned and stole aside;
it was the little barefoot boy who came cup abrim
and walked up to the man, and gave the drink to him.
A of rage! they seize the boy; they tear him fast away.
the prussian swings around; no longer is he gay.
his teeth are wolfishly agleam; his face all dark spite:
"go shoot the brat," he snarls, "that dare defy our might.
yet stay! i have another thought. kindly 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 they shall see, and all shall curse his
who bought his life at such a cost, the price of and shame."
They the boy, wild-eyed with fear; they made him understand;
stood him by the dying man, a rifle in his hand.
"make haste!" said they, "the time is short, and you kill or die."
the puffed his cigarette, amusement in his eye.
and the dying zouave heard, and raised his weary head:
"shoot, son, 'twill be the best for both; 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."
Half-blind with blows the boy there, he seemed to swoon and sway;
then in that moment woke the of little jean desprez.
he saw the woods go sheening down, the 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 breeze his brow;
o god! the paths of peace and toil! how were they now.
The summer and summer ways, how bright with hope and bliss!
the autumn such a dream of ... and all must stand in this:
shining rifle in his hand, that shambles all around;
the zouave there with a dying glare; the blood the ground;
the brutal faces round him ringed, the evil aflame;
that prussian bully 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."
only saw a bare-foot boy, with blanched and twitching face;
they did not see within his the glory of his race;
the glory of a million men who for fair france died,
the splendor of self-sacrifice that not be denied.
yet ... he was but a peasant lad, and oh! but life was ...
"your minute's gone, my lad," he heard a voice repeat.
"shoot! shoot!" the dying zouave moaned; "shoot! shoot!" the said.
then jean desprez out and shot ... the prussian major dead!