text_original: Hark! through the gorge of the valley, 'Tis the bugle that tells of the foe; Our own quickly sounds for the rally, And we snatch down the rifle and go. As the hunter who hears of the panther, Each arms him and leaps to his steed, Rides forth through the desolate antre, With his knife and his rifle at need.
text_transcription: HARK THROUGH THE GORGE OF THE VALLEY TIS THE BUGLE THAT TELLS OF THE FOE OUR OWN QUICKLY SOUNDS FOR THE RALLY AND WE SNATCH DOWN THE RIFLE AND GO AS THE HUNTER WHO HEARS OF THE PANTHER EACH ARMS HIM AND LEAPS TO HIS STEED RIDES FORTH THROUGH THE DESOLATE ANTOR WITH HIS KNIFE AND HIS RIFLE AT NEED
phonemes: hˈɑːɹk! θɹuː ðə ɡˈɔːɹdʒ ʌvðə vˈæli, tˈɪz ðə bjˈuːɡəl ðæt tˈɛlz ʌvðə fˈoʊ; ˌaʊɚɹ ˈoʊn kwˈɪkli sˈaʊndz fɚðə ɹˈæli, ænd wiː snˈætʃ dˌaʊn ðə ɹˈaɪfəl ænd ɡˈoʊ. æz ðə hˈʌntɚ hˌuː hˈɪɹz ʌvðə pˈænθɚ, ˈiːtʃ ˈɑːɹmz hˌɪm ænd lˈiːps tə hɪz stˈiːd, ɹˈaɪdz fˈɔːɹθ θɹuː ðə dˈɛsələt ˈæntɚ, wɪð hɪz nˈaɪf ænd hɪz ɹˈaɪfəl æt nˈiːd.