text_original: Slow night comes creeping with her misty wings Up to the hill's crest, where the yew trees grow; About their shadow haunted circle clings The rumour of an unrecorded woe, Old as the battle of those border kings Slain in the darkling hollow lands below.
text_transcription: SLOW NIGHT COMES CREEPING WITH HER MISTY WINGS UP TO THE HILL'S CREST WHERE THE YEW TREES GROW ABOUT THEIR SHADOW HAUNTED CIRCLE CLINGS THE RUMOR OF AN UNRECORDED WOE OLD AS THE BATTLE OF THOSE BORDER KINGS SLAIN IN THE DARKLING HOLLOW LAND BELOW
phonemes: slˈoʊ nˈaɪt kˈʌmz kɹˈiːpɪŋ wɪð hɜː mˈɪsti wˈɪŋz ˌʌp tə ðə hˈɪlz kɹˈɛst, wˌɛɹ ðə jˈuː tɹˈiːz ɡɹˈoʊ; ɐbˌaʊt ðɛɹ ʃˈædoʊ hˈɔːntᵻd sˈɜːkəl klˈɪŋz ðə ɹˈuːmɚɹ əvən ˌʌnɹᵻkˈɔːɹdᵻd wˈoʊ, ˈoʊld æz ðə bˈæɾəl ʌv ðoʊz bˈɔːɹdɚ kˈɪŋz slˈeɪn ɪnðə dˈɑːɹklɪŋ hˈɑːloʊ lˈændz bᵻlˈoʊ.