A little further on, and what is this with
large pink flowers in such abundance? - the oleander in full
flower. At first I fear to pluck them, thinking they must be
cultivated and valuable; but soon the banks show a long line of
thick tall shrubs, one mass of glorious pink and green. Set these
in a little valley, framed by mountains whose rocks gleam out blue
and purple colours such as pre-Raphaelites only dare attempt,
shining out hard and weird-like amongst the clumps of castor-oil
plants, oistus, arbor vitae and many other evergreens, whose names,
alas! I know not; the cistus is brown now, the rest all deep or
brilliant green. Large herds of cattle browse on the baked deposit
at the foot of these large crags. One or two half-savage herdsmen
in sheepskin kilts, &c., ask for cigars; partridges whirr up on
either side of us; pigeons coo and nightingales sing amongst the
blooming oleander. We get six sheep and many fowls, too, from the
priest of the small village; and then run back to Spartivento and
make preparations for the morning.
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