Page 23 - Poetry-Romance

The Cambridge Exam
She crammed herself up with battles and dates,
She made her head ache with profit and loss;
She worked so hard that she nearly got ill—
What did it matter? She did not pass.
She learned all the French irregular verbs,
Pronouns and nouns in each separate class;
She knew the rivers and towns in each map—
What did it matter? She did not pass.

Horae Paulinae she knew off by heart,
Scripture she’d studied full well; but, alas!
Spite of her studying, cramming, and work—
What did they matter? She did not pass.

When first she came she was rosy and bright,
And her large dark eyes were as clear as glass;
But her eyes grew dim and her cheeks grew pale,
And all for nothing—she did not pass.
When the news first came, she turned white as death;
She tried to keep calm, but the tears fell fast,
As the thoughts came crowding into her mind,
“It is over now, and I have not passed.
“I never can write and tell them at home
I have wasted money and time in vain:
It is too late now; my last chance is gone,
For I am too old to go in again.”
When evening came she was flushed and hot,
Her eyes were glittering strangely bright,
Her head was aching with maddening pain,
And she raved and wandered in bed that night.
Brain fever came on, she grew worse and worse,
She had injured her mind and body and brain;
She passed from this world to the land of rest,
Where she would not have to work hard again.

Oh! Cambridge exams, you may do much good,
But you break some hearts in that numerous throng;
And it’s sad to think that one mark too few
May soften the brain that was never strong.

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