text_original: There is smiling hope on the pretty face Pressed so close to the pane, And her eyes are like blue violets After a summer rain. III. How you tremble, little Sybil, At the cannons' dreadful sound, Did you see far away, the fallen steed, And its rider prone on the ground?
text_transcription: THERE IS SMILING HOPE ON THE PRETTY FACE PRESSED SO CLOSE TO THE PANE AND HER EYES ARE LIKE BLUE VIOLETS AFTER A SUMMER RAIN THREE HOW YOU TREMBLE LITTLE SIBYL AT THE CANNON'S DREADFUL SOUND DID YOU SEE FAR AWAY THE FALLEN STEED AND ITS RIDER PRONE ON THE GROUND
phonemes: ðɛɹ ɪz smˈaɪlɪŋ hˈoʊp ɔnðə pɹˈɪɾi fˈeɪs pɹˈɛst sˌoʊ klˈoʊs tə ðə pˈeɪn, ænd hɜːɹ ˈaɪz ɑːɹ lˈaɪk blˈuː vˈaɪəlɪts ˈæftɚɹ ɐ sˈʌmɚ ɹˈeɪn. ɹˌoʊmən θɹˈiː. hˌaʊ juː tɹˈɛmbəl, lˈɪɾəl sˈɪbɪl, æt ðə kˈænənz dɹˈɛdfəl sˈaʊnd, dˈɪd juː sˈiː fˈɑːɹ ɐwˈeɪ, ðə fˈɔːlən stˈiːd, ænd ɪts ɹˈaɪdɚ pɹˈoʊn ɔnðə ɡɹˈaʊnd?