When we're at our summer house in western Maine—a house very much like the one Mike Noonan comes back to in Bag of Bones—I walk four miles every day, unless it's pouring down rain.
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him; But little he'll reck, if they'll let him sleep on In a grave where a Briton has laid him.