Edgefield advertiser. [volume] (Edgefield, S.C.) 1836-current, 1895-05-22

MISS Lizzie Eu DailkS WIZ mas
been teaching at Bars Chapel, has
closed her schonl and returned
home to her grandmother's, Mrs.
Elizabeth Russell.
"Lorena."
Greenville Ncwe.
The memorial day exercises at
Anderson the other day included
the singing of "Lorena." Proba-
bly, the majority of those who were
present had never heard the song
beforr, "Tis years since first we
met, Lorena." The people who
used to sing and whistle ''Lorena, !"
who knew and loved every note
and word of it, in whose heads
and hearts it rang, are passing
away from here in increasing
numbers every year now. 1t will
not be so very long until the last
of them has gone, but we hope 1t
will be Il long, long lime before
.'Lorena" is lost.
In the River of Time, sung of
in one of the sweetest and most
majestic brief poems in the En-
glish language, there is, we are
told, ali island of Long Ago in
which things broken but made
beautiful by memory and love,
forgotten by the many but prec-
ious to some hearts, linger and
live a life of their own. There are
fragments of songs which nobody
sings, pressed and dried and with
cred flowers with: volumes Of love
and loss and longing and infni-
ties of pathos folded within their
poor, lifeless petals-fiowers which
bring back the fragrance of days
which the years have swept into
the far past, of the gardens of sea-
sons long gone. There are rib
ions and gloves and buttons and
broken toys of children, large and
small, locks of hair and fading
pictures. Probably the songs
which nobody sings live longest.
Their melodies are woven among
the heart strings. Considered as
works of art few of them, we sup
lose, would be very highly valued
by skilled musicians. The works
of the masters are immortal, but
the number who can understand
them will always be limited.
The humber composers who make
the popular songs reach the pop
ular heart and confer the bless
ings Of love and hope and memory
on multitudes.
We do not know that there is much
in "Lorena." 1t will never be
classic. Probably the writer of it
had no thought it would live long.
But it was born in time of trouble
and change when sentiment and
passion were strong and hearts
were vibrant to impressions and
impulse. Like melodious echo
from a dream-an echo If tender
sentiment, of pathos and vain
longing and lost hope-"Lorena'
comes family, part of a vanished
past which seems so unreal now
that we may hardly understand
that it was not a feeting vision.
The old life of the South was just
breaking and departing as the
beautiful clouds Of sunset time
fade into the night. The long
peace was ended and men gather
ed from thousands of homes, each
carrying with him memories and
hopes. III the camps where the
soldiers gathered about the fires
each heart had in it the pictures of
familiar scenes and loved faces
left behind, for they had all left
home, many of them for the first
time. Around all the camp fires
voices sang of "Lorena." The
bands played it and where there
were pianos and the harps which
used to stand in the corners of
parlors its notes foated upon the
air from beneath white fingers.
AS months went by and battles
were fought and marches made, as
the armies struggled and the tide
of war rolled here and there,
Lrreaa" lived, and the tattered
and worn and Scared veterans
without tents, blankets OF food
sang it. To the very last, all
through the last days when hope
gave place to grim desperation
and the black cloud of defeat gath
cred ever closer and blacker, the
men sang "LoIena" as so many
who would sing no more, whose
lips were silenced and whose stur-
dy hearts were cold forever, had
sung it, and to the last it carried
thoughts back and enveloped souls
in the mists Of tender memories.
So "Lorena" comes now to thou
sands like a faint, far away, me-
Iodious echo from brave bright
days, frcm youth departed, from