text_original: Oh, the fern, the fern, the Irish hill fern, That girds our blue lakes from Lough Ine to Lough Erne, That waves on our crags like the plume of a king, And bends like a nun over clear well and spring.
text_transcription: OH THE FERN THE FERN THE IRISH HILL FERN THAT GIRDS OUR BLUE LAKES FROM LOCH IRON TO LAURNE THAT WAVES ON OUR CRAGS LIKE THE PLUME OF A KING AND BENDS LIKE A NUN OVER CLEAR WELL AND SPRING
phonemes: ˈoʊ, ðə fˈɜːn, ðə fˈɜːn, ðɪ ˈaɪɹɪʃ hˈɪl fˈɜːn, ðæt ɡˈɜːdz ˌaʊɚ blˈuː lˈeɪks fɹʌm lˈʌf ɪnˈiː tə lˈʌf ˈɜːn, ðæt wˈeɪvz ˌɔn ˌaʊɚ kɹˈæɡz lˈaɪk ðə plˈuːm əvə kˈɪŋ, ænd bˈɛndz lˈaɪk ɐ nˈʌn ˌoʊvɚ klˈɪɹ wˈɛl ænd spɹˈɪŋ.