Whether I Was Myself, Or Else Did See Out Of Myself That Glorious Hierarchy; Or Whether Those, In Orders Rare, Or These Made Up One State Of Sixty Venuses; Or Whether Fairies, Syrens, Nymphs They Were, Or Muses On Their Mountain Sitting There; Or Some Enchanted Place, I Do Not Know, Or Sharon, Where Eternal Roses Grow. This I Am Sure: I Ravished Stood, As One Confus'D In Utter Admiration. Methought I Saw Them Stir, And Gently Move, And Look As All Were Capable Of Love; And In Their Motion Smelt Much Like To Flowers Inspir'D By Th' Sunbeams After Dews And Showers. There Did I See The Reverend Rectress Stand, Who With Her Eye'S Gleam, Or A Glance Of Hand, Those Spirits Raised; And With Like Precepts Then, As With A Magic, Laid Them All Again. A Happy Realm! When No Compulsive Law, Or Fear Of It, But Love Keeps All In Awe. Live You, Great Mistress Of Your Arts, And Be A Nursing Mother So To Majesty, As Those Your Ladies May In Time Be Seen, For Grace And Carriage, Everyone A Queen. One Birth Their Parents Gave Them; But Their New, And Better Being, They Receive From You. Man'S Former Birth Is Graceless; But The State Of Life Comes In, When He's Regenerate.