The Child Musician

He had played for his lordship's levee, he had played for her ladyship's whim. Till the poor little head grew heavy and the poor little brain would swim.

And the face grew peaked and eerie and the large eyes strange and bright. And they said - too late - "He is weary. He shall rest for at least tonight". 

But at dawn, when the birds were waking as the watched in the silent room, with the sound of a strained cord breaking, a something snapped in the gloom.

'Twas a string of his violoncello, and they heard him stir in his bed. "Make room for a tired little fellow, Kind God." was the last he said. 

-Austin Dobson