text_original: He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket ball.
text_transcription: HE HEARD THE BLEATING OF THE FLOCK AND THE TWITTER OF BIRDS AMONG THE TREES AND FELT THE BREATH OF THE MORNING BREEZE BLOWING OVER THE MEADOW'S BROWN AND ONE WAS SAFE AND ASLEEP IN HIS BED TWO AT THE BRIDGE WOULD BE FIRST TO FALL WHO AT THAT DAY WOULD BE LYING DEAD PIERCED BY A BRITISH MUSKETFALL
phonemes: hiː hˈɜːd ðə blˈiːɾɪŋ ʌvðə flˈɑːk, ænd ðə twˈɪɾɚɹ ʌv bˈɜːdz ɐmˌʌŋ ðə tɹˈiːz, ænd fˈɛlt ðə bɹˈɛθ ʌvðə mˈɔːɹnɪŋ bɹˈiːz blˈoʊɪŋ ˌoʊvɚ ðə mˈɛdoʊz bɹˈaʊn. ænd wˈʌn wʌz sˈeɪf ænd ɐslˈiːp ɪn hɪz bˈɛd hˌuː æt ðə bɹˈɪdʒ wʊd biː fˈɜːst tə fˈɔːl, hˌuː ðæt dˈeɪ wʊd biː lˈaɪɪŋ dˈɛd, pˈɪɹst baɪ ɐ bɹˈɪɾɪʃ mˈʌskɪt bˈɔːl.