It was in the year 1870 on August the 15th day from the parish alongside I northward took my way.The mornin' being fair and clear I travelled on with speed.I was going to be a hairston at the farm, O Boghead.Now I am not a poet, nor yet a learned man,But I will sing a verse or two and spread them as I can.John McNab, our foremost man, was sturdy, brave and strong.Sick on his heap, it's in his scythe and carries on the throng.His gatherer, sheek and fair, Greenbank MacLennan was her name.She was the Fleurot, our flock, a handsome, clever dame.And Esselment, he band of hair, he was a sturdy chill.You wouldn't have seen a jollier crew upon a harvest field.Willie Kidd, our second man, he filled his birthright wheel.He pleased both the girlies, the truth I mean to tell.Jean Forsythe, she gathered to him wear lovely curly hair.I hope they'll meet in Wedlock's bonds, they'll be a slashin' pair.And as for Kidd's bonds, there they come, Geordie Grant.He's sometimes in a merry mood and sometimes like a saint.Mrs. Seller, she gathers to me along the boat we speed.And although she isn't very big, she is a gatherer gweed.And Jimmy Gray, he band of hair, the sheaves that she laid doon.They made him forty throughout his face, he was only a bit a loon.Now Charlie Watt and Davy Gray, they're in the list you'll find.They have to march in order and trail the rakes behind.With he a jolly mister, a tall and stately man.Who can conduct his farm work with mickle skill and can.