John Bowring

Biographical details

Portrait of John Bowring John Bowring Cheskian Anthology (1832)

The morn is blushing thro' the orient gates, ⁠The witch is, with the hound, the castle nigh,
The sleepless youth his wretched sentence waits,
⁠He slept not—but prepar'd his soul to die.
Yet once again he sought the knight, and pour'd
⁠His prayer for mercy—"Hear the wretched one;
Give not thy servant to the witch, kind lord!
⁠From life and sunshine banish not thy John."
'Twas vain—the greyhound's bark had reach'd that ear,
⁠Where voice of human sorrow idly fell:
He hugg'd the witch, he hugg'd his greyhound dear,
⁠And order'd a rejoicing festival.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of John Bowring John Bowring A Visit to the Philippine Islands

Of the vegetation of the Philippines, the bamboo may be deemed the most extensive, the most useful, and the most beautiful. The graceful groups of Cañas (the Spanish name, the Tagál is Bocaui) are among the most charming decorations of the island scenery, and are scattered with great profusion and variety on the sides of the streams and rivers, on hills and plains, and always to be found adjacent to the residence of the native. Waving their light branches at the smallest breeze, they give perpetual life to the landscape, while they are of daily service to the people.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of John Bowring John Bowring Cheskian Anthology (1832)

Their court—that silver bell in deep repose
⁠Lies cold and voiceless ages without number;
The ancient woman in the water throws
⁠Her flaxen threads—and wakes it from its slumber.
'Twas the last time its awful accents broke—
⁠"John, John—is for the greyhound gone," it mutter'd,
And never more to mortal can it spoke,
⁠Nor noise, nor word, nor whisper has it utter'd.
The neighbours seek the well—their pitchers fill,
⁠They wash their flax—and fear pursues them never;
They know the bell's mysterious tongue is still.
Source: Wikisource

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