Classic Poem

But screwing up his courage to the test,
He on the haunted shore a landing made;
And with a painful panic in his breast
The seer's instructions, one by one, obeyed:—
Twelve paces from the elm, by measure laid,
He found all as the conjuror had told;
Then soon the turf was broken by his spade,
And anxiously he raised the fragrant mould,
While down his palid cheeks the perspiration rolled.