Home again! home again! bend to the oar!
Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.
He rides on the river with his paddle in his hand,
And his boat is his shelter on the water and the land.
The clam has his shell and the water-turtle too,
But the brave boatman's shell is his birch-bark canoe.
So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar;
Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.
Home again! home again! bend to the oar!
Merry is the life of the gay voyageur,
His couch is as downy as a couch can be,
For he sleeps on the feathers of the green fir-tree.
He dines on the fat of the pemmican-sack,
And his eau de vie is the eau de lac.
So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar;
Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.
Home again! home again! bend to the oar!
Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.
The brave, jolly boatman,— he never is afraid
When he meets at the portage a red, forest maid,
A Huron, or a Cree, or a blooming Chippeway;
And he marks his trail with the bois brulés
So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar;
Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.
Home again! home again! bend to the oar!
Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.