Photo by A. Nielen 

 STILFSERJOCH PASS, ON THi: BORDERS OF AUSTRIA AND ITALY, THE HIGHEST 

 CARRIAGE ROAD IN EUROPE: ITS SUMMIT IS 9,055 FEET 



One sees them, too, at sterner practice 

 than facing a photographer, Hned up be- 

 fore an officer, very rigid, very precise, 

 conscious that their comrades are joking 

 and jibing at the rear. It does not soothe 

 susceptibilities to stand under the weight 

 of a piece of ordnance, however small, 

 while one's superior makes sarcastic com- 

 ments upon one's ability or fires rapid 

 peremptory questions as to what one 

 would do in various emergencies one has 

 never met ; while one's chosen comrades, 

 grouped at a safe distance behind the 

 drill-master's back, are making uncompli- 

 mentary remarks concerning one's ap- 

 pearance. Each takes his turn, however, 

 and in the long day all come out even. 



It seems so long ago — so drearily long 

 ago — since those radiant days on moun- 

 tain tops near the sky. 



In the great peace, the indescribable 

 stillness of those high places, the possi- 

 bilities of war seemed too remote to con- 

 template. The soldiers stood for grim 



realities, but we did not comprehend it. 

 Our eyes, looking for loveliness, saw 

 them as picturesque concomitants of a 

 wonderful landscape, sometimes as de- 

 lightful playfellows. We were deaf and 

 blind to all the uniforms meant. 



The cry to arms echoed and re-echoed 

 through these mountains. War has not 

 3'et violated their majestic fastnesses, but 

 the gay young soldiers have marched 

 away to defend the bitterly contested 

 passes in the Vosges ; not again will they 

 come to their Alpine drill ground. 



The snow lies soft and deep and thick 

 there, the valleys are filled to the brim, 

 the brooks are stilled beneath the ice. 

 The flowers are buried, the passes closed, 

 the villages isolated. No one comes and 

 no one goes away. Life is at a standstill 

 awaiting the spring. 



The Chasseurs-Alpins Avill come again, 

 perhaps, but they will look at us with 

 other eyes. The merry boys of last sum- 

 mer are old or dead. 



21^ 



