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Updated: May 3, 2025
The year's end is traditionally the season for moralizing and retrospect. Eheu! fugaces anni is a sigh that even the Latin primer teaches us; and though in schoolbook days calling the years fugacious seems absurd, we catch the meaning as they glide away. To schoolboys the man of fifty is immoderately old: thirty marks a milestone on the downhill of life.
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.
It's Eden come again when God walked in the garden. And it's so short. Eheu Fugaces! You've just begun to realize how wonderful it is, just said to yourself 'This is life this is what I was born for, when it's over. And then you begin to understand, to look back, and see that it was not what you were born for.
Fugaces labuntur anni! said Horace. Ah, yes, the years glide fleeting by, especially when they are nearing their end! They were the merry brook that dallies among the willows on imperceptible slopes; today, they are the torrent swirling a thousand straws along, as it rushes towards the abyss. Fleeting though they be, let us make the most of them.
Johnson advised me to-day, to have as many books about me as I could; that I might read upon any subject upon which I had a desire for instruction at the time. But it is better when a man reads from immediate inclination . He repeated a good many lines of Horace's Odes, while we were in the chaise. I remember particularly the Ode Eheu fugaces .
He must have read a famous line in Horace thus, "Eheu fugaces Posthoome, Posthoome!" which could scarce 'scape whipping, even at Stratford Free School. In the same way he makes the penultimate syllable of Andronicus short, equally impossible. Mr. A scholar would have corrected, not accepted, false quantities. This, at least, would not be ignorance.
I once lost fugaces in the Ode Posthume, Posthume. I mentioned to him, that a worthy gentleman of my acquaintance actually forgot his own name. JOHNSON. 'Sir. that was a morbid oblivion. Friday, 2Oth August Dr Shaw, the professor of divinity, breakfasted with us. I took out my Ogden On Prayer, and read some of it to the company. Dr Johnson praised him.
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.
Eheu fugaces! "God help thee, Elia, how art thou sophisticated." Ah, well! Those years, and the darker, sadder years that had led far from them, were now like his oldest friends dead and buried. The Holbein of 1537 was painting the King of England on the wall of his Privy Chamber. There was a place for honest pride as well as for honest regret in his thoughts.
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