sweet voices. There were green trees with trunks of dark smoke: their
leaves opened like a whole spring unfolding in a moment, and their
shining branches dropped glowing flowers down upon the astonished
hobbits, disappearing with a sweet scent just before they touched
their upturned faces. There were fountains of butterflies that flew
glittering into the trees; there were pillars of coloured fires that
rose and turned into eagles, or sailing ships, or a phalanx of flying
swans; there was a red thunderstorm and a shower of yellow rain; there
was a forest of silver spears that sprang suddenly into the air with a
yell like an embattled army, and came down again into the Water with a
hiss like a hundred hot snakes. And there was also one last surprise,
in honour of Bilbo, and it startled the hobbits exceedingly, as
Gandalf intended. The lights went out. A great smoke went up. It
shaped itself like a mountain seen in the distance, and began to glow
at the summit. It spouted green and scarlet flames. Out flew a
red-golden dragon - not life-size, but terribly life-like: fire came
from his jaws, his eyes glared down; there was a roar, and he whizzed
three times over the heads of the crowd. They all ducked, and many
fell flat on their faces. The dragon passed like an express train,
turned a somersault, and burst over Bywater with a deafening