42. ‘Ma poi che ’l dolce riso humile et piano’

But now that her clear sweet humble smile

no longer hides the freshness of her beauty,

that Sicilian smith of ancient times

works his arms at the forge in vain,

for Jupiter lets the weapons fall from his hand,

tempered though they were in Etna’s fires,

and Juno his sister begins to clear the air

under Apollo’s lovely gaze on every side.

A breeze blows from the western shore

that makes it safe to sail without art,

and fills the grass with flowers in every meadow.

Harmful stars vanish from the whole sky,

scattered by that beloved, lovely face,

for which I’ve already shed so many tears.

Note: A companion poem to 41. Vulcan is the Sicilian smith. The original says Mongibello rather than the better known Mount Etna where Vulvan had his forge.