Undertowers - designs

[Chrysophylax Dives]

A library is a magical place

('Double Helix staircase' by ScottDPenman on DeviantArt)

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Come watch with us the stars for hours
Touch the Moon of Undertowers!
So smell the thrilling-sweet and rotten
Unforgettable, unforgotten
River-smell, and hear the breeze
Sobbing in the little trees.
See, do the elm-clumps gently stand
Still guardians of our Elvish land?
The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream,
Our yet unacademic stream?
Is dawn a secret shy and cold
Anadyomene, silver-gold?
And sunset still a golden sea
In Fairbairn's house with Dwarvish tea?
And after, ere the night is born,
Do hares come out about the corn?
Oh, is the water sweet and cool,
Gentle and brown, above the pool?
And laughs the immortal river still
Under the mill, under the mill?
See, is there Beauty yet to find?
And Certainty? and Quiet kind?
Deep meadows yet, for to forget
The lies, and truths, and pain? . . . oh! yet
Stand the Elvish Towers Three,
And honey in our Dwarvish Tea.

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Hobbits, hold tight to your handkerchiefs!

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Frodo Baggins does not see the Sea on Cerin Amroth, even though he climbs a tree; he must descend a staircase before he sees the Sea. In the same Elvish Mirror, Frodo sees the Eye. Between his first vision of the Sea and his first vision of the Eye, Frodo sees three ships that, together, frame an age of the world when Valinor had vanished yet the world still knew enchantment. Alas! Even that hidden light has now vanished, and never will return.

[Saranna]

Saranna gazed in blissful astonishment at the huge amount of work and planning and development achieved by @Hill. Surely it was only a matter of days since they last discussed Library plans and the Underhill Thing! Now she saw a beautiful study room filled with books (hoping HIll had kindly done some work on her study/Office,) but quite happy if this was his own room pictured- evidently the surroundings had caused him to burst into poetry, hopefully the start of many years of writing. And the artwork showing the ingenious stairways of the tower was fit to have been displayed in the Elder Days across the sea, and would be sure to please any artlover in the future.
('That reminds me' she mused. 'I must ask Hill whether we shall be able to retrieve works of scholarship and tales from otherwhens as well as otherwheres. If so, no scholars and students of any other time and place will be as fortunate as ours.')

Shadows of the Towers, Shadows of time, Shadows of words yet to be spoken.

[Chrysophylax Dives]

A tower is but a deep well turned inside out.

[Chrysophylax Dives]

[Chrysophylax Dives]

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Love is a growing, or full constant light,
And his first minute, after noon, is night.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Chrys: Ohh a picture thread like the ones in the Cottage. How nice. How cute is that turtle, are those in your area to be found? And some sort of fungus. Nice pic with the bridge, the water and the willows in the background. It could be my neighbourhood. Interesting poem you wrote, I believe is yours. I can't rhyme in English. Thanks for sharing!

[Chrysophylax Dives]

:) None of the poetry is mine, Aiks! I am a magpie. The pictures are taken around here, though. You are by no means the only person who calls the above a turtle - I am sure it is a tortoise. Here - also stolen - is the song of the mock turtle. I note the line: There is another shore, you know, upon the other side. - which seems to resonate in Undertowers. The song is recited by the Mock Turtle, who learned it in school from his teacher, Tortoise, who, he explains, taught us.

"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail,
"There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!
They are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?

"You can really have no notion how delightful it will be
When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!"
But the snail replied "Too far, too far!" and gave a look askance—
Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance.

"What matters it how far we go?" his scaly friend replied,
"There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.
The further off from England the nearer is to France—
Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?"

[Chrysophylax Dives]

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead —
There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
If this were only cleared away,'
They said, it would be grand!'

If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose,' the Walrus said,
That they could get it clear?'
I doubt it,' said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

O Oysters, come and walk with us!'
The Walrus did beseech.
A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.'

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head —
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat —
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more —
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

The time has come,' the Walrus said,
To talk of many things:
Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax —
Of cabbages — and kings —
And why the sea is boiling hot —
And whether pigs have wings.'

But wait a bit,' the Oysters cried,
Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!'
No hurry!' said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

A loaf of bread,' the Walrus said,
Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed —
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed.'

But not on us!' the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!'
The night is fine,' the Walrus said.
Do you admire the view?

It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!'
The Carpenter said nothing but
Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf —
I've had to ask you twice!'

It seems a shame,' the Walrus said,
To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!'
The Carpenter said nothing but
The butter's spread too thick!'

I weep for you,' the Walrus said:
I deeply sympathize.'
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

O Oysters,' said the Carpenter,
You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none —
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Once the worm-laid egg broke in the wood,
I came forth shining into the trembling wood,
The sun was on my scales, dew upon the grasses,
the cool, sweet grasses, and the budding leaves.
I wooed my speckled mate. We played at druery
And suckled warm milk dropping from the goat's teats.

Now I keep watch on the gold in my rock cave
In a country of stones: old deplorable dragon,
watching my hoard. In winter night the gold
Freezes through toughest scales my cold belly.
The jagged crowns and twisted cruel rings,
Knobbly and icy are old dragon's bed.

Often I wish I had not eaten my wife,
Though worm grows not to dragon, till he eat worm.
She could have helped me, watch and watch about,
Guarding the hoard. Gold would have been the safer,
I could uncoil my weariness at times and take
A little sleep, sometimes when she was watching.

C.S. Lewis

[Chrysophylax Dives]

They feel no pity for the old lugubrious dragon.
O Lord that made the dragon, grant me thy peace!
But ask not that I should give up the gold,
Nor move, nor die; Others would get the gold.
Kill, rather, Lord, the men and the other dragons
That I may sleep, go when I will to drink.

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Sailing to Byzantium
William Butler Yeats, 1927

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

[Chrysophylax Dives]

Building of the Tower of Babel. Old English Illustrated Hexateuch.

[Chrysophylax Dives]

The Dragon's Visit
By J.R.R. Tolkien
The Oxford Magazine, 4 February 1937

The dragon lay on the cherry trees
a-simmering and a-dreaming:
Green was he, and the blossom white,
and the yellow sun gleaming.
He came from the land of Finis-Terre,
where dragons live, and the moon shines
on high white fountains.

“Please, Mister Higgins, do you know
what’s a-laying in your garden?
There’s a dragon in your cherry trees!”
“Eh, what? I beg your pardon?”
Mister Higgins fetched the garden hose,
and the dragon woke from dreaming;
he blinked, and cocked his long green ears
when he felt the water streaming.

“How cool,” he said, “delightfully cool
are Mister Higgins’ fountains!
I’ll sit and sing till the moon comes,
as they sing beyond the mountains;
and Higgins, and his neighbours, Box,
Miss Biggins and old Tupper,
will be enchanted by my voice:
they will enjoy their supper!”

Mister Higgins sent for the fire brigade
with a long red ladder.
And men with golden helmets on.
The dragon’s heart grew sadder:
“It reminds me of the bad old days
when warriors unfeeling
used to hunt dragons in their dens,
their bright gold stealing.”

Captain George, he up the ladder came.
The dragon said: “Good people,
why all this fuss? Please go away!
Or your church-steeple
I shall throw down, and blast your trees,
and kill and eat for supper
you, Cap’n George, and Higgins, Box,
and Biggins and old Tupper!”

“Turn on the hose!” said Captain George,
and down the ladder tumbled.
The dragon’s eyes from green went red,
and his belly rumbled.
He steamed, he smoked, he threshed his tail,
and down the blossom fluttered;
Like snow upon the lawn it lay,
and the dragon growled and muttered.

They poked with poles from underneath
(where he was rather tender):
the dragon gave a dreadful cry
and rose like thunder.
He smashed the town to smithereens,
and over the Bay of Bimble
sailors could see the burning red
from Bumpus Head to Trimble.

Mister Higgins was tough; and as for Box
just like his name he tasted.
The dragon munching his supper said:
“So all my trouble’s wasted!”
And he buried Tupper and Captain George,
and the remains of old Miss Biggins,
on a cliff above the long white shore;
and he sang a dirge for Higgins.

A sad song, while the moon rose,
with the sea below sighing
on the grey rocks of Bimble Bay,
and the red blaze dying.
Far over the sea he saw the peaks,
found his own land ranging;
and he mused on the folk of Bimble Bay
and the old order changing:

“They have not got the wit to admire
a dragon’s song or colour,
nor heart to kill him brave and quick—
the world is getting duller!”
And the moon shone through his green wings,
the night winds beating,
and he flew back over the dappled sea
to a green dragons’ meeting.