text_original: No war council suffered to trifle With the hours devote to the deed; Swift followed the grasp of the rifle, Swift followed the bound to the steed; And soon, to the eyes of our yeomen, All panting with rage at the sight, Gleamed the long wavy tents of the foeman, As he lay in his camp on the height.
text_transcription: NO WAR COUNCIL SUFFERED TO TRIFLE WITH THE HOURS DEVOTE TO THE DEED SWIFT FOLLOWED THE GRASP OF THE RIFLE SWIFT FOLLOWED THE BOUND TO THE STEED AND SOON TO THE EYES OF OUR YEOMEN ALL PANTING WITH RAGE AT THE SIGHT GLEAMED THE LONG WAVY TENTS OF THE FOEMEN AS HE LAY IN HIS CAMP ON THE HEIGHT
phonemes: nˈoʊ wˈɔːɹ kˈaʊnsəl sˈʌfɚd tə tɹˈaɪfəl wɪððɪ ˈaʊɚz dɪvˈoʊt tə ðə dˈiːd; swˈɪft fˈɑːloʊd ðə ɡɹˈæsp ʌvðə ɹˈaɪfəl, swˈɪft fˈɑːloʊd ðə bˈaʊnd tə ðə stˈiːd; ænd sˈuːn, tə ðɪ ˈaɪz ʌv ˌaʊɚ jˈoʊmɛn, ˈɔːl pˈæntɪŋ wɪð ɹˈeɪdʒ æt ðə sˈaɪt, ɡlˈiːmd ðə lˈɔŋ wˈeɪvi tˈɛnts ʌvðə fˈoʊmən, æz hiː lˈeɪ ɪn hɪz kˈæmp ɔnðə hˈaɪt.