Published by Chas. Magnus, 12 Frankfort St. N.Y.
The years creep slowly by, Lorena,
The 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 wildly now
As when the summer days were nigh;
O, the sun can never dip so low
Adown affection’s cloudless sky.
A hundred months have past, Lorena,
Since last I held that hand in mine,
And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena,
Though mine beat faster far than thins.
A hundred months—’twas flowery May,
When up the hilly slope we climed,
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 out lovings propered 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;
The hopes that could not last, Lorena,
They lived, but only lived to cheat
I would not cause e’en one regret
To rankle in your bosom now;
For “if we try, we may forget,”
Were words of thine, long years ago.
Yes, these were words of thine, Lorena;
They burn within my memory yet;
They touched some tender chords, Lorena
Which thrill and tremble with regret;
’Twas not thy woman’s heart that spoke;
Thy heart was always true to me;
A duly, stern and pressing, broke
The tie which linked my soul to thee.
It matters little now, Lorena,
The past—is in the eternal past;
Our heads will soon lie low, Lorena,
Life’s tide is ebbing out so fast;
There is a future! O, 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.
500 Illustrated Ballads, lithographed and printed by CHARLES MAGUNUS, No. 12 Frankfort Street, New York Branch Office: No. 520 7th St. Washington, D. C.