The Lass from the Low Countree

I was really pleased with our rehearsal this week, the part songs are beginning to sound slick and tidy. The dynamics are 'happening', and the speeds are beginning to tighten up. Young R gave us a super solo in the 'Lord is my Shepherd', not sounding like a treble, but more akin to a young female whose voice is transitioning from girl to woman, and thus still has all the best attributes of BOTH voices. Well done R.

On wednesday one of my lady students, a retired botanist, came late in the evening. She is my final pupil of the 'normal' week, and has a calming effect whenever she comes in the music room. She has a sweet and unfussy voice, and loves arrangements of folk songs. I have got her started on the marvelous Britten arrangements, which I know she will find very satisfying, but it was one of the inimitable Betty Roe arrangements which she has almost completed which really gave me a shiver up the old spine!

It is 'The Lass from the Low Countree'. All I could find out about it is that it is British. That's it!

It is haunting and despairing, but full of the feist of a poor working girl heartbroken at the fact that the 'Lord of high degree' does not return her love. The truly magical thing about Miss Roe's setting is the way the first verse and the last verse have a sad, minor key feeling, using the typical chords which give it a feeling of nostalgia. They are easy on the ear and full of yearning. Then she moves suddenly into the middle verse, the one with the lyrics pertaining to the arrogant and dis-interested Lord, whom I assume she has admired from afar. Blimey, the harmonies go mad - they almost hurt the ear as much as the words hurt the young girl. We are pinched by the discordance of it all.

Lass From the Low Countree

Oh she was a lass from the low countree
And he was a lord of high degree
And she loved his lordship so tenderly

Oh sorrow, sing sorrow
Now she sleeps in the valley
Where the wildflowers nod
And no one knows she loved him
But herself and God

One day when the show was on the mead
He passed her by on a milk white steed
She spoke to him low but he paid no heed

So if you be a lass from the low country
Don't love no lord of high degree
For they ain't got no heart or sympathy

Oh sorrow, sing sorrow
Now she sleeps in the valley
Where the wildflowers nod
And no one knows she loved him
But herself and God


It is not really tricky, and is one of those songs which can sung by a competent beginner and an aspirant professional as well as a professional. It spans all the stages and ages. It was not composed when I was singing, and that makes me feel sad, as I know I would have loved it, and used it regularly in recitals.

It also makes me feel quite ancient!