Legends and Memories of St John's Chapel -
Addressed to R. A. Riddick
by Major John W. Moore 

Part XXII  - published in the Windsor Ledger Nov 23, 1899

 So old and so unhappy!
How could she have the heart
To leave him there so lonely,
And from him thus to depart?
Was to  rob him of the only
Pleasure now found in his home;
Surely they would not expect it;
Ah no! she would never roam.
But watch with Love's devoted eyes,
The old man's failing energies.

How ever stern to the world
To her naught but tenderness
Had been all her happy years;
He but lived her life to bless,
Aye: loved the very ground she trod,
Her smallest wish to him was law;
Only her beauty, love and grace,
The devoted father saw,
Then how could she so doubly dear
Forsaking him another cheer.

For it was plain unto her
That such were her father's ways,
She could not hope to marry
And remain upon the place,
With all his love, toward his child,
Yet she knew full well no man
Could abide along with him,
And she had no hope or plan,
For he and son-in-law would soon
Be singing a discordant tune.

He too would droop in sorrow
At the mention of such thing,
And but, few were then so daring
As to him suggestion bring,
Of the duty he was owing
To this peerless child of his,
That it was his first and greatest
To consult her destinies,
And look into her after life
How she would fate on then no wife.

The old man pondered deeply
And tried hard to get consent,
Of his fondly loving nature,
And full sore his punishment,
Till at last the hardy fibres
Of his grand physique gave way,
And the dreaded truth dawned on him
That his prolonged earthly stay,
Was drawing near unto its close,
He soon would meet his last of foes.

Not alone his weakened frame
Failed at last to even walk,
He too, felt his feeble heart
Struggled hard to do its work;
One by one the springs of life
Each was drying at its source,
Life's delicate machinery
Was swiftly losing all its force;
The moment could not distant be
When he of earth the last should see.

At last the father yielded
To his daughter's prayer and tears;
A physican was consulted
To allay her anxious fears;
But alas he brought unto them
Little aid for the sufferer,
For the maid, a world of sorrow
He was doomed to bring on her,
It  was of life, her darkest day
When he thus came upon her way.

The doctor  was a stranger,
And had lately found his way
To the rising town of Windsor,
And so pleasant there his stay,
He had ceased to wander cross the world
Like so many of his craft,
And by skill and large assumption
Threw competitors abaft,
Another Cagliostro he
Prepared for all emergency.

Indeed a man of many sides
Was this learned Apollo,
Handsome as an old Greek God,
And his talk could ceaseless flow
Of many scenes in many lands,
Triumphs oft in art and love,
Large gifts and honors from the King
Less valued than some lady's glove,
He'd show to prove that he had won
What e'er he'd set his heart upon.

Unto much real science
He too added that dread power
That so long enchained Trilby,
But it was at rarest hour,
He would deign to suffer others,
Know he held the power to sway
Very near every body,
He might meet upon his way;
A dark and dangerous man was he
From whom twas best at once to flee.

Having yielded to entreaties
Of his daughter, now at last,
Cagliostro was attending
Him, whose life was ebbing fast,
The old man now, in his present weakness,
Knew how futile was all aid,
But his darling must be pleasured,
Naught she wished must be gain-said;
And as he watched with all his eyes
This man of many mysteries.

From the first, the medico
Jarred upon his patient's nerve,
His assumption and discussions
Were as such always deserve,
Scorned by one, to whom pretention
Was the vilest of all sins,
But discovered the deep learning,
That underlay vaporings
Of this rare braggart who was still
Physician of the rarest skill.

Day by day, low and lower
Sank the old man to his grave,
Day by day, came the doctor,
And the girl serenely brave,
By her wondrous beauty, o'er him
Seem to throw a magic spell,
As he watched her, in her service
To the one she loved so well,
And he resolved, that he would wed
The lovely maid e'er he was dead.

Slowly, as the tiger creeps
On his unsuspecting prey,
So this doctor, o'er the sick
Won more power every day,
Soon became, to do his bidding
As to each and every thing.
There was then no limitation
To the influence he could bring
One mind doing anothers will
And every prompting so fulfill.

But vain, were all his efforts
Then to bring within his charm
The fair lady he so worshipped,
Sure some high and lofty balm,
Yet preserved against his scheming
This sweet soul of purity,
She calmly met his gallantries
With more than usual dignity,
She rarely met his longing gaze,
And kept her maids with her always.

He was wary, and twan long,
Ere he told the father all,
Of how deep his longings were,
And what must soon befall
The daughter, when her sire was gone
Sad, would then be her estate,
Alone, in that great house and farm,
What could be a sadder fate?
But he would gladly give his life
If she would only be his wife.

The old man could not struggle
Long gainst the enchanter's power,
And he, would lie entreating,
And beseeching her, each hour
To make him, and this gifted man
Wholly happy, ere the day
When he from her, he loved so well,
Should at last go far away,
O'er and over was he pleading
While the maiden's heat was bleeding.

There was a youthful neighbor,
Whom she long, had deeply loved,
But as she declined betrothal
He in sorrow, far had roved,
It had been a long, long season,
Since she last had heard from him.
And full oft, since he had left her,
Bitter tears, would sometimes dim
Her star-like eyes, that ached to see
The lover who would not set her free.