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He has left the land of the chestnut and lime For the cedar and rose of a southern clime, With a pilgrim's vow and a soldier's brand, To fight in the wars of the Holy Land. No colours are placed on his helm beside, No lady's scarf o'er his neck is tied, A dark plume alone does young wear:— Look where warriors are thickest, that plume will be there. But what has fame to do with one Whose light and hope of fame are gone? Oh, fame is as the moon above, Whose sun of light and life is love. There is more in the smile of one gentle eye Than the thousand pages of history;