text_original: _ But a truce to this strain; for my soul it is sad, To think that a heart in humanity clad Should make, like the brute, such a desolate end, And depart from the light without leaving a friend!
text_transcription: BUT THE TRUTH TO THIS STRAIN FOR MY SOUL IT IS SAID TO THINK THAT A HEART IN HUMANITY CLAD SHOULD MAKE LIKE THE BRUTE SUCH A DESOLATE END AND DEPART FROM DELIGHT WITHOUT LEAVING A FRIEND
phonemes: bˌʌt ɐ tɹˈuːs tə ðɪs stɹˈeɪn; fɔːɹ maɪ sˈoʊl ɪɾ ɪz sˈæd, tə θˈɪŋk ðˌæɾə hˈɑːɹt ɪn hjuːmˈænᵻɾi klˈæd ʃˌʊd mˈeɪk, lˈaɪk ðə bɹˈuːt, sˈʌtʃ ɐ dˈɛsələt ˈɛnd, ænd dᵻpˈɑːɹt fɹʌmðə lˈaɪt wɪðˌaʊt lˈiːvɪŋ ɐ fɹˈɛnd!