e
all the rich harmony of his earlier verse, and are full of delightful
imagery. He fancied that there was a huge wheel of fire revolving with
furious haste in his head, and his sufferings were terrific. The
following fragment from the notes of his attendant, who kept a record of
his ravings, has a cosmic magnificence:

"The whole trouble comes from that accursed nonsense about the
diadem which they wanted to put on me. You may believe, though,
that it was a splendid piece. Pictures in miniature, not painted,
but living, really existing miniatures of fourteen of the noblest
poets were made into a wreath. It was Homer and Pindar, Tasso and
Virgil, Schiller, Petrarch, Ariosto, Goethe, Sophocles, Leopold,
Milton, and several more. Between each one of them burned a radiant
star, not of tinsel, but of real cosmic material. In the middle of
my forehead there was the figure of a lyre on the diadem, which had
borrowed something of the sun's own living light; it poured with
such bright refulgence upon the wreath of stars that I seemed to be
gazing straight through the world. As long as the lyre stood still,
everything was well with me--but all of a sudden it began to move
in a circle. Faster and ever faster it moved, until every nerve in
my body was shaken. At last it began to rotate in rings with such
speed that it was transformed into a sun. Then my whole being was
broken, and it moved and trembled; for you must know that the
diadem was no longer put on the outside of my head, but inside, on
my very brain. And now it began to whirl around with an
inconceivable violence, until it suddenly broke and burst into
pieces. Darkness--darkness--darkness and night spread over the
whole world wherever I turned. I was bewildered and faint, and I
who had always hated weakness in men--I wept; I shed hot, burning
tears. All was over."[41]

[41] Brandes: Esaias Tegner, pp. 231-223.

Contrary to the expectation of his friends he recovered rapidly, and was
able to return home in May, 1841. He promptly resumed his episcopal
functions, and even wrote a beautiful rural idyl in hexameters called
"The Crowned Bride" (_Kronbruden_), which he dedicated to Franzen. He
was well aware, however, that his powers were on the wane, and in 1845
he was persuaded to apply for a year's relief from his official duties.
The last months of