Oh, Ye Whose Hearts Are Resonant, And Ring To War's Romance,

Hear Ye The Story Of A Boy, A Peasant Boy Of France,

A Lad Uncouth And Warped With Toil, Yet Who, When Trial Came,

Could Feel Within His Soul Upleap And Soar The Sacred Flame;

Could Stand Upright, And Scorn And Smite, As Only Heroes May:

Oh, Hearken! Let Me Try To Tell The Tale Of Jean Desprez.



With Fire And Sword The Teuton Horde Was Ravaging The Land,

And There Was Darkness And Despair, Grim Death On Every Hand;

Red Fields Of Slaughter Sloping Down To Ruin's Black Abyss;

The Wolves Of War Ran Evil-fanged, And Little Did They Miss.

And On They Came With Fear And Flame, To Burn And Loot And Slay,

Until They Reached The Red-roofed Croft, The Home Of Jean Desprez.



"Rout Out The Village One And All!" The Uhlan Captain Said.

"Behold! Some Hand Has Fired A Shot. My Trumpeter Is Dead.

Now Shall They Prussian Vengeance Know; Now Shall They Rue The Day,

For By This Sacred German Slain, Ten Of These Dogs Shall Pay."

They Drove The Cowering Peasants Forth, Women And Babes And Men,

And From The Last, With Many A Jeer The Captain Chose He Ten.

Ten Simple Peasants, Bowed With Toil, They Stood, They Knew Not Why,

Against The Grey Wall Of The Church, Hearing Their Children Cry;

Hearing Their Wives And Mothers Wail, With Faces Dazed They Stood.

A Moment Only ... Ready! Fire! They Weltered In Their Blood.



But There Was One Who Gazed Unseen, Who Heard The Frenzied Cries,

Who Saw These Men In Sabots Fall Before Their Children's Eyes;

A Zouave Wounded In A Ditch, And Knowing Death Was Nigh,

He Laughed With Joy: "Ah! Here Is Where I Settle Ere I Die."

He Clutched His Rifle Once Again, And Long He Aimed And Well ...

A Shot! Beside His Victims Ten The Uhlan Captain Fell.



They Dragged The Wounded Zouave Out; Their Rage Was Like A Flame.

With Bayonets They Pinned Him Down, Until Their Major Came.

A Blond, Full-blooded Man He Was, And Arrogant Of Eye;

He Stared To See With Shattered Skull His Fav