Notes

Now, as they talked on, a dog that lay there lifted up his muzzle, pricked his ears… It was Argos, long-enduring Odysseus’ dog he trained as a puppy once, but little joy he got since all too soon he shipped to sacred Troy. In the old days young hunters loved to set him coursing after the wild goats and deer and hares. But now with his master gone lay there, castaway, on piles of dung from mule and cattle, heaps collecting out before the gates till Odysseus’ serving-men could cart it off to manure the king’s estates. Infested with ticks, half-dead by neglect, here lay the hound, old Argos. But the moment he sensed Odysseus standing by he thumped his tail, nuzzling low, and his ears dropped, though he had no strength to drag himself and inch toward his master. Odysseus glanced to the side and flicked away a tear, hiding it from Eumaeus. (Fagles, 363-364)

I approached my host with a cordia,winning word: ‘So, you ask me the name I’m known by, Cyclops? I will tell you. But you must give me a guest-gift as you’ve promised. Nobody--that's my name. Nobody--so my mother and father call me, all my friends.’ (Fagles 363-364)

No more words, not now--Athena stroked Odysseus with her wand. She shriveled the supple skin on lithe limbs, stripped the russet curls from his head, covered his body top to toe with the wrinkled hide of an old man and dimmed the fire in his eyes, so shining once.She turned his shirt and cloak into squalid rags, ripped and filthy, smeared with grime and soot. She flung over this the long pelt of a bounding deer, rubbed bare, and gave him a staff and beggar’s sack, torn and tattered, slung from a fraying rope. (Fagles, 300)

Fagles, Robert. "Stranger At The Gates." The Odyssey. New York: Penguin, 1996. 363-364. Print.
Fagles, Robert. "In The One-Eyed Giant's Cave." The Odyssey. New York: Penguin, 1996. 222-223. Print.
Fagles, Robert. "Ithaca At Last." The Odyssey. New York: Penguin, 1996. 300. Print.