I curl when you pull me, I bow when you tie me, I dress up a gift. What am I?

A crest in the west, a patron in east. Big and powerful in the west, old and wise in the east. From mythos I am, not real but a tale. What am I?

Oh my stars! Like a woven basket of life's little treasures, this gentle giant keeps your linens snug, yet never offers a single hug. It's the keeper of daily drudges, filled with garments that need the suds.

I have no hands, but I hold fast, No arms, yet I can hold, I’m useless when loose, But trusted when tight. What am I?

I rise to look, then sink between I help you see without being seen