pencil and paper were got out of the pocket, by the help of which, in
less than half an hour, another love-song was finished. But though the
day was warm and comfortable, John felt too restless to sleep. So he
cleared the ditch before him with one jump, and pursued the journey
further inland, where lights appeared to be glimmering in the distance.
Onward he trotted and leaped, over hedges and drains, across ploughed
fields, through underwood and meadows, around stone-quarries and
chalk-pits. At last, after a wild race of four or five hours, he sank
down from sheer exhaustion. There was soft, mossy grass under his feet,
and a sheltering tree above, and he thought it best to stop where he was
and to compose himself to sleep. The heavy eyelids sank without further
bidding, and for several hours his soul took flight into the land of
dreams. When he awoke, the moon was still shining, but not far above the
western horizon. Looking around, he perceived something bright and
glittering near him, similar to the bare track beaten by the sheep in hot
weather. To follow this path was his immediate resolve, as sure to lead
to some human habitation, if only a shepherd's hut. He was just going to
rise, but still on the ground, when one of his feet slipped a short
distance, in the direction of the silvery line, and he heard the clear
splash of water under him. At the same moment, the last rays of the moon
disappeared from above the horizon. John Clare shuddered as if the hand
of death was upon him. Creeping cautiously towards the neighbouring tree,
and clasping both his arms around it, he awaited daybreak in this
position. At length, after hours which seemed endless, the burning clouds
appeared in the east. He once more looked around him, and found that he
was lying on the brink of a deep canal, close to the River Gwash. One
turn of the body in its restless dreams; one step towards the tempting
silvery road of night, would have made an end for ever of all the
troubles, the love and life and poetry, of poor John Clare.