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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=533998" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Jean Chouan</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Whites fled, and the Blues fired down the glade.<br>A hill the plain commanded and surveyed,<br>And round this hill, of trees and verdure bare,<br>Wild forests closed th' horizon everywhere.<br>Safe hold and rampart were behind the mount:<br>There the Whites halt, and their small numbers count.<br>Jean Chouan rose, his long hair floating free:<br>'None can be dead, since here our chief we see,'<br>They cried. Jean Chouan listened to the shot:<br>'Are any missing? No! Then tarry not, <br>But fly!' Around him women, children stood, <br>In terror. 'Sons, re-entering quick the wood,<br>Disperse yourselves!' As swallows scattering fly<br>On rapid wings when storms invade the sky,<br>They fled to thickets drowned in mist and shade,<br>And ran,—e'en brave men run when they're afraid.<br>Dread the disorder, when in trembling flight<br>Old men and infants at the breast unite,<br>Fearing or to be killed, or captive ta'en.<br>Jean Chouan, last, did with slow steps remain,<br>And often turned him back, and made a prayer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sudden, a cry within the glade you hear!<br>A woman 'mid a storm of bullets stood.<br>Already the whole band was in the wood;<br>Jean Chouan only stays. He turns, and sees<br>A woman burdened. Pale and weak, she flies;<br>Her naked feet, torn by the brambles, bleed;<br>She's all alone, and cries, 'To help me, speed!'<br>Jean Chouan mutters, ''T is Jeanne Madeleine.'<br>In line of shot, in middle of the plain,<br>On her the bullets with fierce fury pour.<br>Ah! God himself must bend the victim o'er,<br>And take her hand, and shelter 'neath his wing.<br>Death does such numerous darts around her fling,<br>She must be lost. 'There, help!' she loudly cries;<br>But fugitives are deaf, and fear denies.<br>The balls upon the helpless peasant ran.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then on the hill which dominates the plain,<br>Jean Chouan bounded, manly, calm, and proud,<br>Dauntless. 'I am Jean Chouan!' called he loud.<br>The Blues cried, ''T is the chief!' and that brave form,<br>Engrossing all the thunder and storm,<br>Made Death his target change. 'Now take to flight!<br>He shouts; 'save yourself, sister!' Mad with fright.<br>Jeanne sped into the wood, her life to save.<br>Like pine on snow, or mast upon the wave,<br>Jean Chouan, whom death seemed to fascinate,<br>Drew up. The Blues see only him. 'I wait<br>What time your safety needs. Go, daughter, go!<br>Joy 'mong your kindred you again shall know,<br>Again sweet blossoms in your bodice place.'<br>And he alone it was who then did face<br>The storm of shot which fell on his great height,<br>Which seemed as if e'en then would win the fight.<br>The balls fell thick as hail. With scornful eye<br>He smiled and raised his sword, when suddenly,<br>As a bear struck in cavern deep and wide,<br>He felt a ball pierce thro' and thro' his side.<br>He stood, and said, ''T is well. Hail, Mary, maid!'<br>Then staggering towards the wood, he turned his head:<br>'Friends! friends! has Jeanne your shelter reached?' he cried.<br>'She's safe!' the voices from the wood replied.<br>Jean Chouan murmured, 'Good!' and dead he fell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Peasant, O peasants! True, ye chose not well,<br>But still your memory has not lessened France.<br>Great were ye in your fierce, dark ignorance,—<br>Ye, whom your kings, wolves, priests, and savage wood<br>Made bandits of, were valiant knights and good.<br>Through all your frightful yoke and errors foul<br>You had mysterious flashes of the soul;<br>Bright rays at times from out your blindness flew.<br>Hail! I, the banished, am not hard on you:<br>Exile!—I know the cottage roof to spare.<br>We are proscribed, and you but phantoms are!<br>Brothers, we all have battled, but we sought<br>The future; you, benighted lions! fought <br>To keep the past. We strove to climb the height;<br>You strove no less to sink in gulfs of night.<br>All warred, and martyrs were, by different course,<br>Without ambition and without remorse,—<br>We to shut hell, you to keep wide the tomb.<br>Yet on your brows from high does radiance come;<br>Fraternal love and pity can unite<br>The sons of day with children of the night.<br>And Hero of the Darkness! in this lay<br>For you I mourn,—I, Soldier of the Day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Victor+Hugo">Victor Hugo</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=533998" data-title="Jean Chouan de Victor Hugo" data-description="The Whites fled, and the Blues fired down the glade.
A hill the plain commanded and surveyed,
And round this hill, of trees and verdure bare,
Wild forests closed th' horizon everywhere.
Safe hold and rampart were behind the mount:
There the Whites..."></div>
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