"Lorena", это вроде, как "Lili Marleen" во Вторую мировую;).
For some reason, the song became a particular favorite of the Confederacy and, in time, came to be identified with the Southern cause. Hundreds of Southern girls were named for the song's heroine, while several pioneer settlements and even a steamship proudly bore the name. One Confederate veteran claimed to have 'heard it more during the war than any other song.' "The most popular sentimental song of the Civil War had the name Bertha in the original Henry deLafayette Webster poem. But when Joseph Webster, not related to Henry Webster, did the tune, he preferred a three-syllable name and invented Lorena which is still used as a given name today. It's been said that this song was banned by at least one Civil War general as it appeared responsible for homesickness and many desertions amongst soldiers. H.D.L. Webster, a Presbyterian minister in Lanesville, Ohio, wrote the words to this song in 1856 after family opposition prevented his marriage to 19-year-old Ella Blockston, who sang in his church choir. Some years later, [bad word] J.P. Webster (no relation) asked the Reverend for words to [bad word] a piece of music he had just written, Webster offered this poem. Although the heroine was originally named "Bertha," she was re-christened "Lorena" to provide the three-syllable name needed to fit the meter of the music. Thus did the lost love of Reverend Webster's youth secure a place for herself in musical history. Probably the most popular sentimental ballad sung around the campfires of the Confederate Army, this song is identified almost exclusively with the South. Lorena became a favorite name for Southern wartime babies and graced several frontier towns and at least one steamship as well. According to Civil War music authority Irwin Silber, one Confederate veteran swore that he heard "Lorena" more frequently during the War than any other song, including "Dixie." 
 [bad word] /en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lorena_(song)

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 flow'rs 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.

(hundred months have passed, Lorena,
Since last I held that hand in mine,
And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena,
Though mine beat faster far than thine.)
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,
Far more than we ever dared to tell;
And what we might have been, Lorena,
Had our loving prospered well!
But then, 'tis past; the years have 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 the 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 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 [bad word] to me;
duty stern and piercing broke
The tie which 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.