text_original: The dust of broken empires, cloud like rising, Follows the awful rumbling of thy wheels. So once, O Rome, beheld the conquered nations Thy image, object of their ancient dread.
text_transcription: THE DUST OF BROKEN EMPIRES CLOUD LIKE RISING FOLLOWS THE AWFUL RUMBLING OF THY WHEELS SO ONCE O ROME BEHELD THE CONQUERED NATIONS THY IMAGE OBJECT OF THEIR ANCIENT DREAD
phonemes: ðə dˈʌst ʌv bɹˈoʊkən ˈɛmpaɪɚz, klˈaʊd lˈaɪk ɹˈaɪzɪŋ, fˈɑːloʊz ðɪ ˈɔːfəl ɹˈʌmblɪŋ ʌv ðˌaɪ wˈiːlz. sˌoʊ wˈʌns, ˈoʊ ɹˈoʊm, bᵻhˈɛld ðə kˈɑːŋkɚd nˈeɪʃənz ðˌaɪ ˈɪmɪdʒ, ˈɑːbdʒɛkt ʌv ðɛɹ ˈeɪntʃənt dɹˈɛd.