Pangur Bán A poem written in the 8th or 9th century by an unknown monk at the Monastery of St. Paul in Carinthia. This photo shows the page of the manuscript, where the poem was written in the margins.
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 tasks 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.
This high art is completely indistinguishable from a quality shitpost and I cannot quite describe the sheer existiential satisfaction and calm I am feeling right now
