text_original: Hark, the rising swell, With each nearer burst Like the toll of bell Of a convent cursed ; FAIRIES: ELVES: SPRITES. 61 Like the billowy roar On a storm lashed shore, —   Now hushed, now once more Maddening to its worst.
text_transcription: HARK THE RISING SWELL WITH EACH NEARER BURST LIKE THE TOLL OF BELL OF A CONVENT CURSED LIKE THE BILLOWY ROAR ON A STORMLESS SHORE NOW HUSHED NOW ONCE MORE MADDENING TO ITS WORST
phonemes: hˈɑːɹk, ðə ɹˈaɪzɪŋ swˈɛl, wɪð ˈiːtʃ nˈɪɹɚ bˈɜːst lˈaɪk ðə tˈoʊl ʌv bˈɛl əvə kˈɑːnvənt kˈɜːst ; fˈɛɹiz: ˈɛlvz: spɹˈaɪts. sˈɪksti wˈʌn lˈaɪk ðə bˈɪloʊi ɹˈɔːɹ ˌɔn ɐ stˈɔːɹm lˈæʃt ʃˈɔːɹ, —   nˈaʊ hˈʌʃt, nˈaʊ wˈʌns mˈɔːɹ mˈædənɪŋ tʊ ɪts wˈɜːst.