They’ve drowned my son, my sailor son Michel!
Oh, oh, my heart! he’s drifting out to sea!
Yvette
Poor mother!
The Old Woman
Oh, to and fro he sailed, he sailed!
The Indies knew him and the Northern Seas!
He’d bide at home a bit, then off he’d go,
Another voyage make, strange things to see!
Then home he’d come and of his travels tell.