text_original: There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; O, the last ray of feeling and life must depart Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart ! Digitized by Google FRIES DHH1 P. ;{. >! Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; 'T was not the soft magic of streamlet or hill, — O, no!
text_transcription: THERE IS NOT IN THIS WIDE WORLD A VALLEY SO SWEET AS THAT VEIL IN WHOSE BOSOM THE BRIGHT WATERS MEET OH THE LAST STRAY OF FEELING AND LIFE MUST DEPART IID BLOOM OF THAT VALLEY SHALL FADE FROM MY HEART YET IT WAS NOT THAT NATURE HAD SHED OVER THE SCENE HER PUREST OF CRYSTAL AND BRIGHTEST OF GREEN TWAS NOT THE SOFT MAGIC OF STREAMLET OR HILL OH NO
phonemes: ðɛɹ ɪz nˌɑːt ɪn ðɪs wˈaɪd wˈɜːld ɐ vˈæli sˌoʊ swˈiːt æz ðæt vˈeɪl ɪn hˌuːz bˈʊzəm ðə bɹˈaɪt wˈɔːɾɚz mˈiːt; ˈoʊ, ðə lˈæst ɹˈeɪ ʌv fˈiːlɪŋ ænd lˈaɪf mˈʌst dᵻpˈɑːɹt ˈɛɹ ðə blˈuːm ʌv ðæt vˈæli ʃˌæl fˈeɪd fɹʌm maɪ hˈɑːɹt ! dˈɪdʒɪtˌaɪzd baɪ ɡˈuːɡəl fɹˈaɪz dˌiːˌeɪtʃˈeɪtʃ wˈʌn pˈiː. ;{.! jˈɛt ɪt wʌz nˌɑːt ðæt nˈeɪtʃɚ hæd ʃˈɛd ˈɔːɹ ðə sˈiːn hɜː pjˈʊɹɹɪst ʌv kɹˈɪstəl ænd bɹˈaɪɾɪst ʌv ɡɹˈiːn; tˈiː wʌz nˌɑːt ðə sˈɔft mˈædʒɪk ʌv stɹˈiːmlɪt ɔːɹ hˈɪl, — ˈoʊ, nˈoʊ!