1831 .'2 Paganini's Interview with Satan. 233 



'Tis true, he had committed some oifences ; 

 But then, I'm sure, they were the merest scrapes. 

 He was a little cracked, it might be said. 



And always had some " crotchet" in his head. 

 What was his crime, I know not — what his story. 



In very truth I know as little more. 

 It might be some false movement con amove. 

 Or he con spmto run up a score ; 

 And then his creditors had thought it best 

 To place him in a rest. 

 Perhaps he was a man of some ambition. 

 Who wished the world to thinlc him a musician. 

 Perhaps he might have loved the fats to diddle; 



In that, I say, there's neither guilt nor shame ; 

 He might at times desire to jAsLy first fiddle — 



And who the deuce don't like to do the same ? 

 But there, poor soul, was he to curse his stars. 

 Within so many i«rs. 



No voice came near him in his loneliness — 



No sounds, save chains and their infernal din. 

 He had no friend to cheer him in distress. 

 He had no pleasure — save his violin. 

 And there all day 

 He worked away. 

 And all the livelong night he still was playing ; 

 He never thought of sleep. 

 And ate but little — just enough to keep 

 From his thin form his dreamless soul from straying. 



Oh ! how delicious was the sound 

 That from the walls reverberated round ! 

 The creeping things came from their holes. 

 Looking as if they too had souls ; 

 And spiders on their slender threads were there. 

 Listening, delighted, in the midway air. 

 But, oh ! those sounds too soon were past. 

 For they were far too sweet to last. 

 Alas 1 no joy can last for ever. 



For still some care its sorrow brings ; 

 Time can the stoutest cable- sever. 

 And even fiddlers break their strings ! 

 Yes, one by one they broke. 

 Worn by his rapid stroke, 

 Snapt quite asunder to his grief and woe ; 

 And there alone he stood. 

 As many others would. 

 Trying to do with " two strings to his bow." 



"Ah, me!" he thought, 



" 'Tis dearly bought. 

 Tills skill for which I have such dangers run." 



When, oh ! — the thing — 



Crack went the string. 

 And left his fiddle bare of all but one ! 

 This was a monstrous bore, all will allow — 

 Enough to make an angel raise a bother ; 

 He could not i)lay upon his fiddle now — 



Could any other > 



