“There’s something on your heart, Michael, that makes ye wake at night,
And often when I hear ye moan, I trimble in me fright.…”
“It’s just a man I killed, mother, a mother’s son like me;
It seems he’s always hauntin’ me, he’ll never let me be.…”
“But maybe he was bad, Michael, maybe it was right
To kill the inimy you hate in fair and honest fight.…”
“I did not hate at all, mother; he never did me harm;
I think he was a lad like me, who worked upon a farm.…”
“And what’s it all about, Michael; why did you have to go,
A quiet, peaceful lad like you, and we were happy so?…”
“It’s thim that’s up above, mother, it’s thim that sits an’ rules;
We’ve got to fight the wars they make, it’s us as are the fools.…”
“And what will be the end, Michael, and what’s the use, I say,
