text_original: No more for them the free life of the plains, Its mating pleasures and its warring pains. Their quivering flesh shall feed unnumbered foes, Their tufted tails adorn the soldiers' saddle bows. LVIII. Now into camp the conquering hosts advance; On burnished arms the brilliant sunbeams glance.
text_transcription: NO MORE FOR THEM THE FREE LIFE OF THE PLAINS ITS MATING PLEASURES AND ITS ROARING PAINS THEIR QUIVERING FLESH SHALL FEED UNNUMBERED FOES THEIR TUFTED TAILS ADORN THE SOLDIER'S SADDLE BOWS FIFTY SEVEN NOW INTO CAMP THE CONQUERING HOSTS ADVANCE ON BURNISHED ARMS THE BRILLIANT SUNBEAMS GLANCE
phonemes: nˈoʊmˌɔːɹ fɔːɹ ðˌɛm ðə fɹˈiː lˈaɪf ʌvðə plˈeɪnz, ɪts mˈeɪɾɪŋ plˈɛʒɚz ænd ɪts wˈɔːɹɪŋ pˈeɪnz. ðɛɹ kwˈɪvɚɹɪŋ flˈɛʃ ʃˌæl fˈiːd ʌnnˈʌmbɚd fˈoʊz, ðɛɹ tˈʌftᵻd tˈeɪlz ɐdˈɔːɹn ðə sˈoʊldʒɚz sˈædəl bˈoʊz. ˈɛlvˈɪɪˌaɪ. nˈaʊ ˌɪntʊ kˈæmp ðə kˈɑːŋkɚɹɪŋ hˈoʊsts ɐdvˈæns; ˌɔn bˈɜːnɪʃt ˈɑːɹmz ðə bɹˈɪliənt sˈʌnbiːmz ɡlˈæns.