LASS FROM THE LOW COUNTRY



Oh she was a lass from the low country

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

@love

filename[ LASSLOWC

SF

===DOCUMENT BOUNDARY