We hurried to the top of a little rise, just ahead; here we halted and listened again. We could hear much more plainly now. Even the words came quite distinctly.
“I’m out of humanity’s reach—
I must finish my journey alone.
Afar from the music of speech—
I start at the sound of my own.”
“Selkirk’s hymn,” I whispered. “I know it perfectly. My grandmother sang it to her children, and my mother to me.”
“I am monarch of all I survey—
My right there is none to dispute—
From the center all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.”