text_original: The clouds drift by that rocky nook, The sunshine gilds the tawny main, And the deep eyes where dwells the look Of inextinguishable pain. The Alps uplift their snowy peaks Over the graves of legends hoar, The muse of history faintly speaks Above the age's rush and roar. The glories of the past are gone, Her heroes dead no more return ; The genius of the race lives on In the dead Lion of Lucerne.
text_transcription: THE CLOUDS DRIFT BY THAT ROCKY NOOK THE SUNSHINE GILDS THE TAWNY MAIN AND THE DEEP EYES WHERE DWELLS THE LOOK OF INEXTINGUISHABLE PAIN THE ALPS UPLIFT THEIR SNOWY PEAKS OVER THE GRAVES OF LEGEND'S HALL THE MUSE OF HISTORY FAINTLY SPEAKS ABOVE THE AGES RUSH AND ROAR THE GLORIES OF THE PAST ARE GONE HER HEROES DEAD NO MORE RETURN THE GENIUS OF THE RACE LIVES ON IN THE DEAD LION OF LUCERNE
phonemes: ðə klˈaʊdz dɹˈɪft baɪ ðæt ɹˈɑːki nˈʊk, ðə sˈʌnʃaɪn ɡˈɪldz ðə tˈɔːni mˈeɪn, ænd ðə dˈiːp ˈaɪz wˌɛɹ dwˈɛlz ðə lˈʊk ʌv ˌɪnɛkstˈɪŋɡwɪʃəbəl pˈeɪn. ðɪ ˈælps ʌplˈɪft ðɛɹ snˈoʊi pˈiːks ˌoʊvɚ ðə ɡɹˈeɪvz ʌv lˈɛdʒəndz hˈɔːɹ, ðə mjˈuːz ʌv hˈɪstɚɹi fˈeɪntli spˈiːks əbˌʌv ðɪ ˈeɪdʒᵻz ɹˈʌʃ ænd ɹˈɔːɹ. ðə ɡlˈɔːɹiz ʌvðə pˈæst ɑːɹ ɡˈɔn, hɜː hˈiəɹoʊz dˈɛd nˈoʊmˌɔːɹ ɹᵻtˈɜːn ; ðə dʒˈiːnɪəs ʌvðə ɹˈeɪs lˈaɪvz ˌɔn ɪnðə dˈɛd lˈaɪən ʌv lˈuːsɚn.