I first found the poem that graces our index page in Thomas Cahill's, How the Irish Saved Civilization.  He had been making the point that the Irish scholar/monks did much more than merely copy the manuscripts they had collected from all over Europe, thereby saving them from loss following the collapse of the Roman Empire, but that they also added marginal notes of a personal nature.  The example of a scribe dashing off an ode to his feline friend caught my fancy, and hence it's use here.
    Thanks to Julia we now know who translated the poem, and, best of all, that there is more.  Eight stanzas to be precise.
 
                                                                                                        Don
 

Hi Steph,
 
I just thought you might like to know ... the Pangur Bán poem on your homepage?  The translation you use was by
the Irish scholar Robin Flower (can't remember if Thomas Cahill credited him - a lot of people don't seem to know
who did this translation).
 
A lot of translations of this poem exist, but this one is special because it (1) rhymes and (2) keeps to the original
scansion - more or less :-)
 
This happens to be one of my all-time favourite poems ... it was so nice coming across it on a Buffy fanfic site!
 
Best wishes,
 
Julia

    Post Scriptum
    Since I couldn't get the link to function (You see, I'm a techno-chimp of the lowest order) here's the poem in it's entirety.

                                    I and Pangur Ban 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 task 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 Ban, 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.

                                        -- Anon., (Irish, 8th century)
                                                http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/167.html

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