text_original: My one wee bud, but to grow so bravely Where the rushes rise from the moorland green, Where birds skim close o'er the grassy billows And the low breeze murmurs its plaint between.
text_transcription: MY ONE WEE BUD BUT TO GROW SO BRAVELY WHERE THE RUSHES RISE FROM THE MOL AND GREEN WHERE BIRDS SKIM CLOSE OVER THE GRASSY BILLOWS AND THE LOW BREEZE MURMURS ITS PLAINT BETWEEN
phonemes: maɪ wˈʌn wˈiː bˈʌd, bˌʌt tə ɡɹˈoʊ sˌoʊ bɹˈeɪvli wˌɛɹ ðə ɹˈʌʃᵻz ɹˈaɪz fɹʌmðə mˈʊɹlənd ɡɹˈiːn, wˌɛɹ bˈɜːdz skˈɪm klˈoʊs ˈɔːɹ ðə ɡɹˈæsi bˈɪloʊz ænd ðə lˈoʊ bɹˈiːz mˈɜːmɚz ɪts plˈeɪnt bᵻtwˈiːn.