The Irish of this playful poem was written by a student of the Monastery of Carinthia on a copy of St. Paul's Epistles about the close of the eighth century.
I and Pangur Bán, my cat, 'Tis a like task we are at; Hunting mice is his delight, Hunting words I sit all night.
Better far than praise of men 'Tis to sit with book and pen; Pangur bears me no ill-will, He, too, plies his simple skill.
'Tis a merry thing to see At our tasks how glad are we, When at home we sit and find Entertainment to our mind.
Oftentimes a mouse will stray In the hero Pangur's way; Oftentimes my keen thought set Takes a meaning in its net.
'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.
When a mouse darts from its den, O! how glad is Pangur then; O! what gladness do I prove When I solve the doubts I love.
So in peace our task we ply, Pangur Bán, my cat, and I; In our arts we find our bliss, I have mine, and he has his.
Practice every day has made Pangur perfect in his trade; I get wisdom day and night, Turning darkness into light.
Now, Gabriel, be with my heart On this first day of seven, He, first of the Archangels; And Thou, High King of Heaven.
Michael be mine, if Monday dawn, Michael I call upon, There is none like thee, Michael, None but Jesu, Mary's Son.
And oh if Tuesday sorrow bring, Let Raphael help it forth, One of the seven that hears us weep, Sad women of this earth.
And Uriel hear, if Wednesday wake, In his nobility, And heal our wounds and care for us And calm this wind-torn sea.
And Sariel, should Thursday come With wilder wind and seas, On Sariel I cry aloud For that solace which is his.
For sorrow's fast on Friday, Out of my need I cry On Rumiel, my heart's near friend, Though Heaven I know is nigh.
And Saturday, on Panchel, While this yellow world is mine, I call on him while shake the leaves And the yellow sun doth shine.
The Trinity protect me still-- Oh blessed Trinity, And be my stay in danger's hour; Protect and prosper me.
Though ascribed to St. Adamnan, Abbot of Iona (died 704), the biographer of St. Columba, the piece, judging by its language, is later.
Saints of Four Seasons! Saints of the Year! Loving, I pray to you; longing, I say to you: Save me from angers, dreeings, and dangers! Saints of Four Seasons! Saints of the Year!