Only Jean Chouan stayed behind to watch
The movements of the enemy.
The movements of the enemy.
World's Greatest Books - Volume 17 - Poetry and Drama
" The King of Kings
Groped in the darkness, and with trembling voice
He asked: "Is there no way out of this pit? "
"Surely," the captive said, "the King of Kings,
Whose hands are swift like lightning, and whose feet
Tread down all nations, can find out a way? "
"There is no light, no sound, no breath of air! "
Cried out the King of Kings. "Why is it dark
And cold within the temple to my fame? "
"Because," the captive said, "it is your tomb! "
_Jean Chouan_
The work of pacifying Brittany
Was going on; and children, women, men,
Fled from the revolutionary troops
In wild disorder. Over a bare plain
And up a hill, swept by the guns of France,
They ran, and reached the shelter of a wood.
There they re-formed--the peasant royalists.
And then Jean Chouan, who was leading them,
Cried: "Is there any missing? " "No," they said,
Counting their numbers. "Scatter along the wood! "
Jean Chouan cried again. The women caught
Their babies to their breasts, and the old men
Tottered beside the children. Panic, fear
Possessed the broken, flying peasantry.
Only Jean Chouan stayed behind to watch
The movements of the enemy. He stood
Silent in prayer below the sheltering hill;
A tall, wild figure, with his long, loose hair
Streaming upon the wind. And suddenly,
A cry rang shrill and keen above the roar
Of the French guns. A woman's cry it was;
And, looking from the hill, Jean Chouan saw
A woman labouring, with bare, torn feet,
And haggard, terror-stricken face, to reach
A refuge in the forest. Up the hill,
Swep by the French artillery, she toiled,
And the shells burst around her. "She is lost! "
Jean Chouan murmured. "She will be destroyed
Before she reaches shelter. Oh, the brutes,
To mass their fire upon a woman's head! "
* * * * *
Then on the height that overlooked the plain,
Jean Chouan sprang, and stood against the sky,
Fearless and proud, superb and motionless,
And cried, "I am Jean Chouan! " The French troops
Gazed for a moment in astonishment
At his tall figure. "Yes, it is the chief! "
They said to one another, as they turned
Their guns upon him. "Save yourself! " he cried,
"My sister, save yourself! " as, mad with fright,
The woman stumbled onward.
Groped in the darkness, and with trembling voice
He asked: "Is there no way out of this pit? "
"Surely," the captive said, "the King of Kings,
Whose hands are swift like lightning, and whose feet
Tread down all nations, can find out a way? "
"There is no light, no sound, no breath of air! "
Cried out the King of Kings. "Why is it dark
And cold within the temple to my fame? "
"Because," the captive said, "it is your tomb! "
_Jean Chouan_
The work of pacifying Brittany
Was going on; and children, women, men,
Fled from the revolutionary troops
In wild disorder. Over a bare plain
And up a hill, swept by the guns of France,
They ran, and reached the shelter of a wood.
There they re-formed--the peasant royalists.
And then Jean Chouan, who was leading them,
Cried: "Is there any missing? " "No," they said,
Counting their numbers. "Scatter along the wood! "
Jean Chouan cried again. The women caught
Their babies to their breasts, and the old men
Tottered beside the children. Panic, fear
Possessed the broken, flying peasantry.
Only Jean Chouan stayed behind to watch
The movements of the enemy. He stood
Silent in prayer below the sheltering hill;
A tall, wild figure, with his long, loose hair
Streaming upon the wind. And suddenly,
A cry rang shrill and keen above the roar
Of the French guns. A woman's cry it was;
And, looking from the hill, Jean Chouan saw
A woman labouring, with bare, torn feet,
And haggard, terror-stricken face, to reach
A refuge in the forest. Up the hill,
Swep by the French artillery, she toiled,
And the shells burst around her. "She is lost! "
Jean Chouan murmured. "She will be destroyed
Before she reaches shelter. Oh, the brutes,
To mass their fire upon a woman's head! "
* * * * *
Then on the height that overlooked the plain,
Jean Chouan sprang, and stood against the sky,
Fearless and proud, superb and motionless,
And cried, "I am Jean Chouan! " The French troops
Gazed for a moment in astonishment
At his tall figure. "Yes, it is the chief! "
They said to one another, as they turned
Their guns upon him. "Save yourself! " he cried,
"My sister, save yourself! " as, mad with fright,
The woman stumbled onward.
