. The Index . rchance to flunk; aye theres the rub:For in the class next day such quests may comeWhen we have wakened from this blissful rest,As give us naught; theres the grade bookThat makes calamity of so long sleep;For who would bear the slights and scorn of mates,The teachers irony, his glance of high disdain,His smiles contempt, the nines delay,The insolence of classmates and the spurnsThat sleepy merit of the wakeful takeWhen he himself might double plusses makeBy wakefulness? Who would lessons learnAnd grunt and sweat under a care-worn lifeBut that the fear of something after roll,The

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. The Index . rchance to flunk; aye theres the rub:For in the class next day such quests may comeWhen we have wakened from this blissful rest,As give us naught; theres the grade bookThat makes calamity of so long sleep;For who would bear the slights and scorn of mates,The teachers irony, his glance of high disdain,His smiles contempt, the nines delay,The insolence of classmates and the spurnsThat sleepy merit of the wakeful takeWhen he himself might double plusses makeBy wakefulness? Who would lessons learnAnd grunt and sweat under a care-worn lifeBut that the fear of something after roll,The ever-dreaded classroom for whose bournNo student ever yearns, rouses the willAnd makes us rather bear this ill we haveThan fly to rest and grades we know not of?Thus grade books do make night-hawks of us all;And thus the native hue of recitationIs sicklied oer with the pale cast of sleep,And exercises of great pitch and momentWith wanton recklessness are dreamed lose their aim of animation. II s E oI?. , O O l< Uil TLhc 11 noes 79 y(/hcit Hie Seniors will dqj\[^t^year.

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