Yes, Freedom! Tyrants date thy splendid birth With those uprisings in the bloody Past, When all the lion-hearted of the earth Unfurl’d their rebel-banners to the blast, And from their limbs the dungeon-fetter cast; But thou, Oh, idol of the brave! was’t born, In full-grown majesty, upon that morn When all the stars together sang, and forms Of wondrous beauty, suns of dazzling light Flamed from the bosom of those primal storms Which lashed the rivers of chaotic night: And some would drive thee from our gloomy sod; Vainly they war with such blasphemous might; Thy birth-place, Freedom! was the heart of God. * * * * * RECOLLECTIONS OF WEST POINT. BY MISS LESLIE. PART THE FIRST. Among the numerous strangers that stop at West Point, in ascending or in coming down the Hudson, there are comparatively few who allow themselves sufficient time to become acquainted with even the half that is worthy of note, in that extraordinary place—giving but one day, or perhaps only a few hours, to a visit which ought at least to comprise a whole week. A large proportion of these travellers, after they have hurried through the rooms of the academy, walked round the camp, witnessed the parade, heard the band, or perhaps accomplished a hasty survey of the ruins of Fort Putnam, seem to believe that they are consequently familiar with all that both nature and art have done for one of the most beautiful and interesting spots on the American continent. And beautiful indeed it is, from its romantic situation in the midst of the highlands, looking directly down on one of the finest rivers in the world—and from its picturesque combinations of mountain, valley and plain; woodland, rock, and water—scenery to which no painter has ever yet done justice. And how intensely interesting are its associations with the history of our revolutionary contest—when West Point commanded the passes of the highlands—at once opposing a barrier to the descent of the enemy from the lake country and to their ascent from the ocean. Also amid these hills lay the army of Washington, at the time it was so providentially saved by the discovery of Arnold’s treason. And now, “when the storm of war is gone,” and the Gibraltar of America finds no farther occasion for its mountain fortresses, it has become the nucleus from whence the military science of our country radiates to its utmost boundaries; the nursery of a body of officers whose cultivated minds, polished manners, and high tone of moral feeling, have rendered them deservedly popular with their compatriots—also eliciting a favourable testimony even from the British tourists.