text_original: whate'er befalls, I have a song to sing ere day, A song to crown the Bacchanals." Now far above our loving place Rode forth the star accoutred Night, And by her side I saw the face Of Sleep, her tender acolyte. 34 THE BALLAD OF THE BACCHANALS In some high arbour of the moon We held our wanton festivals ; And wonder set our lips atune To crown the autumn Bacchanals.
text_transcription: WHATEVER BEFALLS I HAVE A SONG TO SING EAR DAY A SONG TO CROWN THE BACCHANALS NOW FAR ABOVE OUR LOVING PLACE RODE FORTH THE STAR COOT AT NIGHT AND BY HER SIGHT I SAW THE FACE OF SLEEP HER TENDER ACHALITE IN SOME HIGH ARBOR OF THE MOON WE HELD OUR WANTON FESTIVALS AND WONDER SET OUR LIPS ATTUNE TO CROWN THE AUTUMN BACCHANALS
phonemes: wˈʌɾɛɹ bᵻfˈɔːlz, aɪ hæv ɐ sˈɔŋ tə sˈɪŋ ˈɛɹ dˈeɪ, ɐ sˈɔŋ tə kɹˈaʊn ðə bˈækənəlz." nˈaʊ fˈɑːɹ əbˌʌv ˌaʊɚ lˈʌvɪŋ plˈeɪs ɹˈoʊd fˈɔːɹθ ðə stˈɑːɹ ɐkˈuːtɹɪd nˈaɪt, ænd baɪ hɜː sˈaɪd aɪ sˈɔː ðə fˈeɪs ʌv slˈiːp, hɜː tˈɛndɚɹ ˈækəlˌaɪt. θˈɜːɾi fˈɔːɹ ðə bˈæləd ʌvðə bˈækənəlz ɪn sˌʌm hˈaɪ ˈɑːɹbɚɹ ʌvðə mˈuːn wiː hˈɛld ˌaʊɚ wˈɔntən fˈɛstɪvəlz ; ænd wˈʌndɚ sˈɛt ˌaʊɚ lˈɪps ˈætuːn tə kɹˈaʊn ðɪ ˈɔːɾʌm bˈækənəlz.