This poem was found in the margins of a manuscript in the Monastery of St Paul, Carinthia, Austria. It seems to have been written by an Irish monk, sometime around the ninth century.
Click here for the Old Irish text
This page requires a browser that can view tables.
|"The Scholar and the Cat"||"From the Irish of Pangur Ban"|
|by Frank O'Connor||by Eavan Boland|
|Each of us pursues his trade,|
I and Pangur my comrade,
His whole fancy on the hunt,
And mine for learning ardent.
More than fame I love to be
When a heavenly time! we are
While he sets his round sharp eye
Now a mouse drops in his net
When a mouse comes to the kill
Though we work for days and years
Master of the death of mice,
|Myself and Pangur, cat and sage|
Go each about our business;
I harass my beloved page,
He his mouse.
Fame comes second to the peace
Neither bored, both hone
When at last his net wraps
On my cell wall here,
And his delight when his claws
So we find by degrees
He loves: Pangur, never idle