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He was stirred by an appreciation of the dream so grandly conceived, so imperfectly realized, by a divination of the long struggle and the many disappointments. "I hope we may live to see it, sir," he said. "You may you may," the bishop replied, with a touch of sadness in his tone. It was like a melancholy echo of Horace's Postume, Postume.
"Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, Labuntar anni...." I hear the drops of my life falling distinctly one by one into the devouring abyss of eternity. I feel my days flying before the pursuit of death.
Years following years, steal something every day; at last they steal us from ourselves away. What Horace says is, Eheu fugaces, anni labuntur postume, postume: Years glide away, and are lost to me, lost to me.
It is the arbitress in the choice of good and evil and is under no obligation to render an account of its doings to any one.... In war time we are certain to feel greatly hampered by the meshes of such a firmly woven net." This anticipation has since come true. Professor Bondi, ex-Questor of Milan. Rivelazioni postume alle Memorie di un questore, 1913. Cf.
Seepost, June 2, 1781. Johnson's Works, viii 440. Ib. p.436 'Eheu! fugaces, Postume, Postume, Labuntur anni. 'How swiftly glide our flying years! FRANCIS. Horace, Odes, ii.14. i. The late Mr. James Ralph told Lord Macartney, that he passed an evening with Dr. The Doctor happening to go out into the garden, Mr.
One of her delights was to learn from me scraps of Horace, and then bring them into her conversation with 'colleged men. I have come upon her in lonely places, such as the stair-head or the east room, muttering these quotations aloud to herself, and I well remember how she would say to the visitors, 'Ay, ay, it's very true, Doctor, but as you know, "Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, labuntur anni," or 'Sal, Mr.
"Spain has revolted, and chosen Galba as Emperor." "Galba! Eheu! fugaces, Postume ... Galba! Well, then, let us fly, but whither?" "Through the catacombs, sire." "No! the Christians live there, and they will kill me." "They kill no one," said Alexander. "Not even their enemies?" "They pray for their enemies." "Then they are mad! All the better!"
It is captivating, like all the rest. Why don't you make a book as big as Allibone's out of your store of unparalleled personal recollections? It seems too bad to keep them for posterity. When I think of your bequeathing them for the sole benefit of people that are unborn, I want to cry out with Horace: "Eheu Postume, Postume!" Always yours, O. W. HOLMES.
Here the seer was silent. Then he continued: "Pardon me, Flaccus, but I am poorly, and must ride home before the mists rise from the Campagna." "Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume! Labuntur anni! I will follow you, friend, on my ass, for you are sick.
"'Eheu, fugaces, Postume, Postume, Labuntur anni," said the Colonel, insensibly imbibing one of those Horatian particles that were ever floating in that classic atmosphere to Darrell medicinal, to Fairthorn morbific. "Years slide away, Willy, mutely as birds skim through air; but when friend meets with friend after absence, each sees the print of their crows' feet on the face of the other.
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