But his life was waning.  His friends had passed away, he had lost several children, his health was broken.  He desired to retire to Oxford and spend the remainder of his life in scholarly seclusion.  He asked to exchange his bishopric for a canonry, but this could not be permitted.  He then begged to be allowed to resign his charge, but the king replied that he might live where he pleased, but that he should die a bishop in spite of himself.  In August, 1752, Bishop Berkeley removed himself, his wife, his daughter, and his goods to Oxford, where his son George was a student; and here on the fourteenth of the following January, as he was resting on his couch by the fireside at tea-time, his busy brain stopped thinking, and his kind heart ceased to beat.

     ON THE PROSPECT OF
     PLANTING ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA

     The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime
       Barren of every glorious theme,
     In distant lands now waits a better time,
       Producing subjects worthy fame: 

     In happy climes, where from the genial sun
       And virgin earth such scenes ensue,
     The force of art by nature seems outdone,
       And fancied beauties by the true;

     In happy climes, the seat of innocence,
       Where nature guides and virtue rules,
     Where men shall not impose for truth and sense
       The pedantry of courts and schools: 

     There shall be sung another golden age,
       The rise of empire and of arts,
     The good and great inspiring epic rage,
       The wisest heads and noblest hearts.

     Not such as Europe breeds in her decay;
       Such as she bred when fresh and young,
     When heavenly flame did animate her clay,
       By future poets shall be sung.

     Westward the course of empire takes its way;
       The four first Acts already past,
     A fifth shall close the Drama with the day;
       Time’s noblest offspring is the last.

ESSAY ON TAR-WATER

From ‘Siris’

The seeds of things seem to lie latent in the air, ready to appear and produce their kind, whenever they light on a proper matrix.  The extremely small seeds of fern, mosses, mushrooms, and some other plants, are concealed and wafted about in the air, every part whereof seems replete with seeds of one kind or other.  The whole atmosphere seems alive.  There is everywhere acid to corrode, and seed to engender.  Iron will rust, and mold will grow, in all places.  Virgin earth becomes fertile, crops of new plants ever and anon show themselves, all which demonstrate the air to be a common seminary and receptacle of all vivifying principles....

The eye by long use comes to see, even in the darkest cavern; and there is no subject so obscure, but we may discern some glimpse of truth by long poring on it.  Truth is the cry of all, but the game of a few.  Certainly where it is the chief passion, it doth not give way to vulgar cares and views; nor is it contented with a little ardor in the early time of life; active, perhaps, to pursue, but not so fit to weigh and revise.  He that would make a real progress in knowledge, must dedicate his age as well as youth, the later growth as well as first fruits, at the altar of truth....