The Rovin' Dies Hard

(Brian McNeill)

My name's John Mackenzie, I'm a master-at-arms
I carry my sword and my shield on my shoulder
I've fought every fight from the Don to the Danube
None braver, none better, none bolder
I've stood with Montrose and against him
I've battled with Swedes and with Danes
And I've carried the standard of many's the army
Through many's the bloody campaign
But now as I sit in the firelight it seems
There's a distant horizon to the sword buckle's gleam
Till a pull at the wine brings an old soldier's dream from afar
For the rovin' dies hard

I'm Calum McLean, I'm a trapper to trade
And it's forty long years since I saw Tobermory
Through Canada's forests I've carried my blade
And its pine trees could tell you my story
Now my wandering days they are over
But I'm thankful to still be alive
For I've many's the kinsman who died in the hulks
At the end of the bold forty-five
I've an Indian lass now, I'll never deceive her
But there's nights when I'd up with my gun and I'd leave her
For the land where the bear and the fox and the beaver are lord
For the rovin' dies hard

My name's Robert Johnston, I'm a man of the cloth
And I'll carry my Bible as long as I'm breathing
I've preached the Lord's Gospel from Shanghai to Glasgow
Where'er He saw fit to make heathens
But now the Kirk's calling me homewards
It's the manse and the elders for me
But the sins of the Session will no' be so far
From the sins of the South China Seas
And perhaps it's the voice of the Devil I've heard
For it speaks of the clipper ships flying like birds
Till a man's only comfort is Scripture and the word of the Lord
For the rovin' dies hard







My name's Willie Campbell, I'm a ship's engineer
And I know every berth between Lisbon and Largo
I've sweated more diesel in thirty-five years
Than a big tanker takes for a cargo
Of the good times I've always had plenty
When the whisky and the women were wild
And there's many's the wean wi' the red locks o' the Campbells
Who's ne'er seen the coast of Argyll
But now as the freighters unload on the quay
The sound of the engines is calling to me
And it sings me a song of the sun and the sea and the stars
For the rovin' dies hard

I've tuned up my fiddle, and I've rosined my bow
And I've sung of the clans and the clear crystal fountains
I can tell you the road and the miles frae Dundee
To the back of Alaska's wild mountains
And when my travelling days they are over
And the next of the rovers has come
He'll take all my songs and he'll sing them again
To the beat of a different drum
And if ever I'm asked why the Scots are beguiled
I'll lift up my glass in a health, and I'll smile
And I'll tell them that fortune's dealt Scotland the wildest of cards
For the rovin' dies hard