WEST POINT! a name forever dear
To patriots, whoe'er shall hear
Of thee and praise thee not for all
The echoes of the bugle call
In freedom's memories extant
Around thy crags reverberant?
Whoe'er shall see thy beauteous plain,
Where trees in peaceful shadows reign.
While frowning mountains guard thy flank
And tortuous paths the river bank
Encircle round the sloping rock,
And northward, where the cannon shock
Is heard, the wondrous stream a bay
Becomes -- shall see all this, and pay
Not tribute to thy magic sway?
Here, fifty miles from ocean's roar,