text_original: Now a cold wind blows, And the grass is gray, But the spot still shows As a burnt circle—aye, And stick ends, charred, Still strew the sward Whereon I stand, Last relic of the band Who came that day!
text_transcription: NOW A COLD WIND BLOWS AND THE GRASS IS GRAY BUT THE SPOT STILL SHOWS AS A BURNED CIRCLE A AND STICK ENDS CHARRED STILL STREW THE SWORD WHEREON I STAND LAST RELIC OF THE BAND WHO CAME THAT DAY
phonemes: nˈaʊ ɐ kˈoʊld wˈɪnd blˈoʊz, ænd ðə ɡɹˈæs ɪz ɡɹˈeɪ, bˌʌt ðə spˈɑːt stˈɪl ʃˈoʊz æz ɐ bˈɜːnt sˈɜːkəl—ˈaɪ, ænd stˈɪk ˈɛndz, tʃˈɑːɹd, stˈɪl stɹˈuː ðə swˈɔːɹd wˈɛɹɑːn aɪ stˈænd, lˈæst ɹˈɛlɪk ʌvðə bˈænd hˌuː kˈeɪm ðæt dˈeɪ!