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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 wi' Montrose and aginst him.
I've battled with Swedes and with Danes.
And I've carried the standard o' 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 buckler's gleam.
Till a pull at the wine brings an old soldier's dreams from afar
- For the rovin' dies hard.

I'm Calum MacLean; I'm a trapper to trade.
And it's forty long years since I saw Tobermory.
Through Canada's forests I've carried my plaid,
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 e'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 o' the Session'll no be so far
From the sins of the South China Sea
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 words 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 cargo
O' the good time I've had plenty
Where the whisky and women were wild
And there's many 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 engine 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 me fiddle and rosined my bow
And I've sung o' the clans and the clear crystal fountains
I can tell you the road and the miles from Dundee
To the back of Alaska's wild mountains
And when all of my travelling is over
The next of the rovers will come
And he'll take all the songs and he'll sing them again
To the beat from 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 tell them that fortune dealt Scotland the wildest of cards