text_original: The lord of all the fruitful plain, Would come to listen with delight, For he was fond of rural strain. (Sir Archibald, whose favourite name Shall stand for ages on record, By Scottish bards of highest fame, Wise Hawthornden and Stirling's lord.[3]) But time with iron teeth, I ween, Has canker'd all its branches round; No fruit or blossom to be seen, Its head reclining toward the ground.
text_transcription: THE LORD OF ALL THE FRUITFUL PLAIN WOULD COME TO LISTEN WITH DELIGHT FOR HE WAS FOND OF RURAL STRAIN SIR ARCHIBALD WHOSE FAVOURITE NAME SHALL STAND FOR AGES ON RECORD BY SCOTTISH BARDS OF HIGHEST FAME WISE HAWTHORNE AND STERLING'S LORD BUT TIME WITH IRON TEETH I WEEN HAS CANKERED ALL ITS BRANCHES ROUND NO FRUIT OR BLOSSOM TO BE SEEN ITS HEAD RECLINING TOWARD THE GROUND
phonemes: ðə lˈɔːɹd ʌv ˈɔːl ðə fɹˈuːtfəl plˈeɪn, wʊd kˈʌm tə lˈɪsən wɪð dᵻlˈaɪt, fɔːɹ hiː wʌz fˈɑːnd ʌv ɹˈʊɹɹəl stɹˈeɪn. (sˌɜːɹ ˈɑːɹtʃɪbˌɔːld, hˌuːz fˈeɪvɹɪt nˈeɪm ʃˌæl stˈænd fɔːɹ ˈeɪdʒᵻz ˌɔn ɹˈɛkɚd, baɪ skˈɑːɾɪʃ bˈɑːɹdz ʌv hˈaɪɪst fˈeɪm, wˈaɪz hˈɔːθɔːɹndən ænd stˈɜːlɪŋz lˈɔːɹd.[θɹˈiː]) bˌʌt tˈaɪm wɪð ˈaɪɚn tˈiːθ, aɪ wˈiːn, hɐz kˈæŋkɚd ˈɔːl ɪts bɹˈæntʃᵻz ɹˈaʊnd; nˈoʊ fɹˈuːt ɔːɹ blˈɔsəm təbi sˈiːn, ɪts hˈɛd ɹᵻklˈaɪnɪŋ təwˈɔːɹd ðə ɡɹˈaʊnd.