And when each would have open'd its eyes, For the purpose of looking about them, They saw they had no eyes to open, And that there was no seeing without them. All this was to them a great wonder, They stagger'd and reel'd on the table; And either to guess where they were, Or what was their plight, or how they came there, Alas! they were wholly unable: Because, you must know, that that morning, A thing which they thought very hard, The Cook had cut off their heads, And thrown them away in the yard. The Hen would have pranked up her feathers, But plucking had sadly deform'd her; And for want of them she would have shiver'd with cold, If the roasting she had had not warm'd her. And the Cock felt exceedingly queer; He thought it a very odd thing That his head and his voice were he did not know where, And his gizzard tuck'd under his wing. The gizzard got into its place, But how Santiago knows best: And so, by the help of the Saint, Did the liver and all the rest. The heads saw their way to the bodies, In they came from the yard without check, And each took its own proper station, To the very great joy of the neck. And in flew the feathers, like snow in a shower, For they all became white on the way; And the Cock and the Hen in a trice were refledged, And then who so happy as they! Cluck! cluck! cried the Hen right merrily then, The Cock his clarion blew, Full glad was he to hear again His own cock-a-doo-del-doo! PART III. "A miracle! a miracle!" The people shouted, as they might well, When the news went through the town And every child and woman and man Took up the cry, and away they ran To see Pierre taken down. They made a famous procession My good little women and men, Such a sight was never seen before And I think will never again. Santiago's Image, large as life, Went first with banners and drum and fife; And next, as was most meet, The twice-born Cock and Hen were borne Along the thronging street. Perched on a cross-pole hoisted high, They were raised in sight of the crowd; And when the people set up a cry, The Hen she cluck'd in sympathy, And the Cock he crow'd aloud. And because they very well knew for why They were carried in such solemnity, And saw the Saint and his banners before 'em They behaved with the greatest propriety, And most correct decorum. The Knife, which had cut off their heads that morn, Still red with their innocent blood, was borne, The scullion boy he carried it; And the Skewers also made part of the show, With which they were truss'd for the spit.