“Excellent man,” replied the pastor, with emphasis speaking
“If you’re mistaken in man, ’tis not for me to reprove you. 
Evil enough have you suffer’d indeed from his cruel proceedings! 
Would you but look back, however, on days so laden with sorrow,
You would yourself confess how much that is good you have witness’d,
Much that is excellent, which remains conceald in the bossom
Till by danger ’tis stirr’d, and till necessity makes man
Show himself as an angel, a tutelar God unto others.”

Then with a smile replied the worthy old magistrate, saying
“Your reminder is wise, like that which they give to the suff’rer
Who has had his dwelling burnt down, that under the ruins,
Gold and silver are lying, though melted and cover’d with ashes. 
Little, indeed, it may be, and yet that little is precious,
And the poor man digs it up, and rejoices at finding the treasure. 
Gladly, therefore, I turn my thoughts to those few worthy actions
Which my memory still is able to dwell on with pleasure. 
Yes, I will not deny it, I saw late foemen uniting
So as to save the town from harm; I saw with devotion
Parents, children and friends impossible actions attempting,
Saw how the youth of a sudden became a man, how the greybeard
Once more was young, how the child as a stripling appear’d in a moment. 
Aye, and the weaker sex, as people commonly call it,
Show’d itself brave and daring, with presence of mind all-unwonted. 
Let me now, in the first place, describe a deed of rare merit
By a high-spirited girl accomplish’d, an excellent maiden,
Who in the great farmhouse remain’d behind with the servants,
When the whole of the men had departed, to fight with the strangers. 
Well, there fell on the court a troop of vagabond scoundrels,
Plund’ring and forcing their way inside the rooms of the women. 
Soon they cast their eyes on the forms of the grown-up fair maiden
And of the other dear girls, in age little more than mere children. 
Hurried away by raging desire, unfeelingly rush’d they
On the trembling band, and on the high-spirited maiden. 
But she instantly seized the sword from the side of a ruffian,
Hew’d him down to the ground; at her feet straight fell he, all bleeding,
Then with doughty strokes the maidens she bravely deliver’d. 
Wounded four more of the robbers; with life, however, escaped they. 
Then she lock’d up the court, and, arm’d still, waited for succour.

When the pastor heard the praise of the maiden thus utter’d
Feelings of hope for his friend forthwith arose in his bosom,
And he prepared to ask what had been the fate of the damsel,
Whether she, in the sorrowful flight, form’d one of the people? 
At this moment, however, the druggist nimbly approach’d them,
Pull’d the sleeve of the pastor, and whisper’d to him as follows
“I have at last pick’d out the maiden from many a hundred
By her description!  Pray come and judge for yourself with your own eyes;
Bring the magistrate with you, that we may learn the whole story.”