Civa. O, as a nun
You ever sigh for sorrow!—They are of love!
Of princes bursting through enchanted bounds
To ladies prisoned in an ogre's keep!
Then of the bridals!—O, they are of love!
Maga. No, Civa, no!—of sorrow! see, her lips!
[She points to Alessa, who, reading, has paled.
See, see!
Civa. Alessa!
Alessa. Maga—Civa—Ah!
[She rends the parchment.
Mauria. What are you doing?
Alessa. They were writ to her!
Mauria. To her? to whom? what are you saying? Read!
Read us the verses.