Years go by, my sea voyage, the ominous voice

            ...So taking nothing from my raft but my gun, I began my march.  The way was comfortable enough after such a voyage as I had been upon, and I reached my old bower in the evening, where I found every thing standing as I left it.  I always kept it in good order, being, as I have said before, my country house.

           I got over the fence and laid me down in the shade to rest my limbs, for I was very weary, and fell asleep.  But judge, you that read my story, if you can, what a surprise I must be in when I was awaked out of my sleep by a voice calling me by my name several times.  "Robin, Robin, Robin Crusoe.  Poor Robin Crusoe!  Where are you, Robin Crusoe?  Where are you?"

            I was so dead asleep at first, being fatigued with paddling the first part of the day and with walking the latter part, I did not wake thoroughly.  But I did think I dreamt somebody spoke to me.  As the voice continued to repeat "Robin Crusoe, Robin Crusoe," at last I began to wake more and was at first frightened and started up in the utmost consternation.  But no sooner were my eyes open but I saw my Poll sitting on the top of the hedge and knew it was he that spoke to me.  In just such bemoaning language I had used to talk to him, and teach him.

            "Robin Crusoe," he repeated.  "There you are."  And then, quite unexpectedly, did he utter words I had not taught him, and these words did give me a chill and a shiver like the icy sea of England.  "They will kill you, Robin Crusoe."

            I confess, at first I was so torn tween the joy of hearing my name aloud by one other than I, and a terror at the same after six long years, that I did not think on what little Poll did say.  Then the import of his words was known to me, and I wonder'd who had taught my parrot such words, and why, and when.

            "Robin Crusoe!  Robin Crusoe!" squawk'd he.  "They come to kill you and eat your flesh.  Your beast cannot save you, Robin Crusoe.  Your soul shall feed the Great Dreamer!  Ia!  Ia!!"

            At this did Poll fall into madness, as one who has seen awful things that cannot be unremembered, as for a while I thought I may do upon this island.  The parrot shook on the hedge as if chill'd and squawk'd out many sounds and noises that had no meaning behind them.  Tho' as I watched and listen'd I did hear a pattern, and knew the sounds were a language unknown to me, and Poll call'd out the same words again and again as one who chants or prays.  And as I listened more, these words did began to hurt my ears and head.  As the sound of a cannon at close quarters may bleed the ears, so did Poll's squawks make me recoil and cover my ears...