text_original: I can walk with you up to the ridge of the hill, And we'll talk of the way we have come through the valley; Down below there a bird breaks into a trill, And a groaning slave bends to the oar of his galley. You are up on the heights now, you pity the slave   "Poor soul, how fate lashes him on at his rowing! Yet it's joyful to live, and it's hard to be brave When you watch the sun sink and the daylight is going."
text_transcription: I CAN WALK WITH YOU UP TO THE RIDGE OF THE HILL AND WE'LL TALK OF THE WAY WE HAVE COME THROUGH THE VALLEY DOWN BELOW THERE A BIRD BREAKS INTO A TRILL AND A GROANING SLAVE BENDS TO THE OAR OF HIS GALLEY YOU ARE UP ON THE HEIGHTS NOW YOU PITY THE SLAVE POOR SOUL HOW FATE LASHES HIM ON AT HIS ROWING YE IT'S JOYFUL TO LIVE AND IT'S HARD TO BE BRAVE WHEN YOU WATCH THE SUN SINK AND THE DAYLIGHT IS GOING
phonemes: aɪ kæn wˈɔːk wɪð juː ˌʌp tə ðə ɹˈɪdʒ ʌvðə hˈɪl, ænd wiːl tˈɔːk ʌvðə wˈeɪ wiː hæv kˈʌm θɹuː ðə vˈæli; dˌaʊn bᵻlˌoʊ ðɛɹ ɐ bˈɜːd bɹˈeɪks ˌɪntʊ ɐ tɹˈɪl, ænd ɐ ɡɹˈoʊnɪŋ slˈeɪv bˈɛndz tə ðɪ ˈɔːɹ ʌv hɪz ɡˈæli. juː ɑːɹ ˌʌp ɔnðə hˈaɪts nˈaʊ, juː pˈɪɾi ðə slˈeɪv   "pˈʊɹ sˈoʊl, hˌaʊ fˈeɪt lˈæʃᵻz hˌɪm ˌɔn æt hɪz ɹˈoʊɪŋ! jˈɛt ɪts dʒˈɔɪfəl tə lˈɪv, ænd ɪts hˈɑːɹd təbi bɹˈeɪv wɛn juː wˈɑːtʃ ðə sˈʌn sˈɪŋk ænd ðə dˈeɪlaɪt ɪz ɡˈoʊɪŋ."