I paint a whole scene, but hold no brush. A wide view I bring, without a rush. What am I, this vista's lush?

A Canadian place famed for a rush of gold. An old ad asked what you would do for one. A trove of records, rich with things once told.

I guard my treasures deep in stone, A golden mask upon my throne. Though dead for centuries, I still reign, Beside the Nile's eternal plain.

As you move toward it, it moves away from you. If you retreat from it, then it will advance in your direction. It goes down if you go up. Up it goes, as you descend. It's unreachable but it's always there.

I stretch far and straight from town to town, with steel on wood where wheels roll down. I carry people, cargo, too, what am I that runs straight through?