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I have been reading Thomas Cahill’s book How the Irish Saved Civilization, and I came across a delightful little poem, written in about the Ninth Century, in a monastery in Ireland. The young monk/poet/scribe had his pet with him, while he copied his manuscript.
I and Pangur Ban my cat,
‘Tis a like task we are at;
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.
‘Tis a merry thing to see,
At our tasks how glad are we;
When at home we sit and find,
Entertainment to our mind.
‘Gainst the wall he sets his eye,
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
‘Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.
So in peace our task we ply,
Pangur Ban my cat and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.Published in