text_original: Born for a chieftain in the tented field! Around my plumed helm, my silvery hair Hung like an honour'd wreath of age and care! The finer arts have charm'd my studious hours, Versed in their mysteries, skilful in their powers; In verse and prose my equal genius glow'd, Pursuing glory by no single road!
text_transcription: BORN FOR A CHIEFTAIN IN THE TENTED FIELD AROUND MY PLUMED HELM MY SILVERY HAIR HUNG LIKE AN HONORED WREATH OF AGE AND CARE THE FINER ARTS HAVE CHARMED MY STUDIOUS HOURS VERSED IN THEIR MYSTERIES SKILFUL IN THEIR POWERS IN VERSE AND PROSE MY EQUAL GENIUS GLOWED PURSUING GLORY BY NO SINGLE ROAD
phonemes: bˈɔːɹn fɚɹə tʃˈiːftən ɪnðə tˈɛntᵻd fˈiːld! ɚɹˈaʊnd maɪ plˈuːmd hˈɛlm, maɪ sˈɪlvɚɹi hˈɛɹ hˈʌŋ lˈaɪk ɐn ˈɑːnɚd ɹˈiːθ ʌv ˈeɪdʒ ænd kˈɛɹ! ðə fˈaɪnɚɹ ˈɑːɹts hæv tʃˈɑːɹmd maɪ stˈuːdiəs ˈaʊɚz, vˈɜːst ɪn ðɛɹ mˈɪstɚɹiz, skˈɪlfəl ɪn ðɛɹ pˈaʊɚz; ɪn vˈɜːs ænd pɹˈoʊz maɪ ˈiːkwəl dʒˈiːnɪəs ɡlˈoʊd, pɚsˈuːɪŋ ɡlˈɔːɹi baɪ nˈoʊ sˈɪŋɡəl ɹˈoʊd!