Explore "Nevermore" by Rolf Boldrewood on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
They rode quietly adown the winding track, which the sharpness of the grade rendered necessary, until finally reaching the wide green flat, they halted before the much-vaunted 'rush' of Balooka. The early summer sun's rays in that temperate region had as yet been unable to dim the green lustre of the herbage, or turn to dust the close sward of the river meadows. The contrast was sharply accented in this still dreamy eve between the brilliant tones of the levels and the sombrely-purple shadows of the overhanging mountain, the faintly-burning sunset tints, while through all sounded the rhythmic murmur of the rushing river rippling over slate and granite bars, in the crevices of which were 'pockets' filled with gold. The strange blending of sounds which arose from the camp -- an occasional shot, the barking of dogs, the low hum of many voices indistinctly heard -- were not devoid in unison of a rude harmony.
'Can anything be more wonderful than this change of scenery? ' exclaimed Lance admiringly. 'Who thought there _could_ be such a spot in Australia? It is lovelier than a dream!'