black heart in Aghadoe, Aghadoe;
On Shaun Dhuv, my mother's son, in Aghadoe!
When your throat fries in hell's drouth, salt the flame be in your mouth,
For the treachery you did in Aghadoe!

For they tracked me to that glen in Aghadoe, Aghadoe,
When the price was on his head in Aghadoe;
O'er the mountain, through the wood, as I stole to him with food,
Where in hiding lone he lay in Aghadoe.

But they never took him living in Aghadoe, Aghadoe;
With the bullets in his heart in Aghadoe,
There he lay, the head--my breast keeps the warmth where once
'twould rest--
Gone, to win the traitor's gold, from Aghadoe!

Oh! to creep into that cairn in Aghadoe, Aghadoe,
There to rest upon his breast in Aghadoe!
Sure your dog for you could die with no truer heart than I,
Your own love, cold on your cairn in Aghadoe.

[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ The Gap of Dunloe.]

The nearest boat place for Innisfallen is at ~Ross Castle~. We approach
it from the high road across the moat, where once the drawbridge was let
up and down. The old keep, wearing a cotamore of ivy, still guards the
water's edge. By a spiral stone staircase we reach the battlements and
look out across the lake.

The Castle held out for Charles the First, but was dismantled by Ludlow.
It was originally a fort of "The O'Donoghue," the chief who centres in
the many traditions which the boatmen weave around every object of
interest in Killarney. He lies enchanted beneath the lake, with a city
full of his people. But at times he has come across the water on his
fiery steed, or danced to the Rincead-fadda on the shores. Whoever sees
him is fortunate, because he gives "good luck, which is better than
money," to all whose eyes meet his.

The ~Gap of Dunloe~ is a gloomy mountain pass cut through the rough
rocky slope in the hills between the Toomies and the Macgillicuddy's
Reeks. It is a magnificent defile, four miles long. The rough
bridle-path running through it, at times almost on the edge of
precipices, beneath which the wild goats flock. It is approached by a
winding road, embroidered on one side by a shady little grove of fir,
larch, stunted oaks, and mountain ash. Through the little windows
between the trees, when the sun shines, the reflection of the river Loe
is caught, as it creeps humbly on its way to the lakes. On the other
side, the mountains throw up a huge wall. Bidding good-bye to the little
grove, vegetatio