text_original: 75 THE LOVES THAT LOVE THE BROAD LANDS. " Oh ! mother, why do you urge me still, To make my poor heart grieve. For I have a bride in the fairy hill, And her I cannot leave
text_transcription: THE LOVES THAT LOVE THE BROAD LANDS O MOTHER WHY DO YOU URGE ME STILL TO MAKE MY POOR HEART GRIEVE FOR I HAVE A BRIDE IN THE FAIRY HILL AND HER I CANNOT LEAVE
phonemes: sˈɛvənti fˈaɪv ðə lˈʌvz ðæt lˈʌv ðə bɹˈɔːd lˈændz. " ˈoʊ ! mˈʌðɚ, wˌaɪ dˈuː juː ˈɜːdʒ mˌiː stˈɪl, tə mˌeɪk maɪ pˈʊɹ hˈɑːɹt ɡɹˈiːv. fɔːɹ aɪ hæv ɐ bɹˈaɪd ɪnðə fˈɛɹi hˈɪl, ænd hɜːɹ aɪ kænˈɑːt lˈiːv