"Lorena"
“Lorena,” was a popular Confederate love ballad during the Civil War. It was written by Henry Webster in 1857. The story behind “Lorena,” is that it was written after Henry Webster’s fiancée ended their engagement (Waller et al. (2011) p.150). The song became representative for soldiers separated from loved ones during the war. Although it was very popular in the South, it also was sung in the North too, which highlights the fact that both sides were suffering from heartbreak. According to legend, it even evoked such powerful feelings of being homesick that many soldiers deserted the army after hearing it, and as a result some generals prohibited it from being played (Waller et al. (2011) p.150). Rather than being inspired to desert the army from songs like "Lorena," that reminded them of loved ones, some soldiers became more focused on the war and 'bigger picture' when listening to this type of music. "Such songs built up a powerful undercurrent of sentiment that gave meaning to the soldier's sacrifice. The urge to fight for one's home or fight for one's wife was perhaps more powerful than the urge to fight for one's country," (Stone 555).
When listening to the song "Lorena" the image of soldiers sitting together trading stories of their wives and children is one that easily comes to mind. After a long day of battle or of facing the elements of nature during wartime travel, it would be comforting to soldiers to join together and speak of those closest to them and express hopes and wishes for future reunions with their loved ones.
When listening to the song "Lorena" the image of soldiers sitting together trading stories of their wives and children is one that easily comes to mind. After a long day of battle or of facing the elements of nature during wartime travel, it would be comforting to soldiers to join together and speak of those closest to them and express hopes and wishes for future reunions with their loved ones.
The years creep slowly by, Lorena,
Snow is on the grass again;
The sun's low down the sky, Lorena,
The frost gleams where the flowers have been;
But the heart throbs on as warmly now,
As when the summer days were nigh;
Oh! the sun can never dip so low,
A down affection's cloudless sky.
A hundred months have passed, Lorena,
Since last I held thy hand in mine;
And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena,
Though mine beat faster far than thine;
A hundred months,'twas flowery May,
When up the hilly slope we climbed,
To watch the dying of the day,
And hear the distant church bells chime.
We loved each other then, Lorena.
More than we ever dared to tell;
And what we might have been, Lorena,
Had but our lovings prospered well.
But then,'tis past, the years are gone,
I'll not call up their shadowy forms;
I'll say to them, "lost years, sleep on!
Sleep on! Nor heed life's pelting storms."
The story of that past, Lorena,
Alas! I care not to repeat;
They touched some tender chords, Lorena,
They lived, but only lived to cheat.
I would not cause even one regret,
To rankle in your bosom now;
"For if we try we may forget,"
Were words of thine long years ago.
Yes, those were words of thine, Lorena,
They are within my memory yet;
They touched some tender chords, Lorena,
Which thrill and tremble with regret.
'Twas not the woman's heart which spoke,
Thy heart was always true to me;
A duty stern and piercing broke,
The tie that linked my soul with thee.
It matters little now, Lorena,
The past is in the eternal past;
Our hearts will soon lie low, Lorena,
Life's tide is ebbing out so fast.
There is a future, oh, thank God!
Of life this is so small a part,
'Tis dust to dust beneath the sod,
But there, up there, 'tis heart to heart.
Snow is on the grass again;
The sun's low down the sky, Lorena,
The frost gleams where the flowers have been;
But the heart throbs on as warmly now,
As when the summer days were nigh;
Oh! the sun can never dip so low,
A down affection's cloudless sky.
A hundred months have passed, Lorena,
Since last I held thy hand in mine;
And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena,
Though mine beat faster far than thine;
A hundred months,'twas flowery May,
When up the hilly slope we climbed,
To watch the dying of the day,
And hear the distant church bells chime.
We loved each other then, Lorena.
More than we ever dared to tell;
And what we might have been, Lorena,
Had but our lovings prospered well.
But then,'tis past, the years are gone,
I'll not call up their shadowy forms;
I'll say to them, "lost years, sleep on!
Sleep on! Nor heed life's pelting storms."
The story of that past, Lorena,
Alas! I care not to repeat;
They touched some tender chords, Lorena,
They lived, but only lived to cheat.
I would not cause even one regret,
To rankle in your bosom now;
"For if we try we may forget,"
Were words of thine long years ago.
Yes, those were words of thine, Lorena,
They are within my memory yet;
They touched some tender chords, Lorena,
Which thrill and tremble with regret.
'Twas not the woman's heart which spoke,
Thy heart was always true to me;
A duty stern and piercing broke,
The tie that linked my soul with thee.
It matters little now, Lorena,
The past is in the eternal past;
Our hearts will soon lie low, Lorena,
Life's tide is ebbing out so fast.
There is a future, oh, thank God!
Of life this is so small a part,
'Tis dust to dust beneath the sod,
But there, up there, 'tis heart to heart.