The Rovin' Dies Hard

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