text_original: "Such softlings take delight In Cynthia's sickly beam   Give me a heav'n of coal black night Slash'd with the watch fire gleam. "They doat upon the lute, The cittern and the lyre   Such sounds mine eare do little sute, They match not my desire. "The trumpet blast  let it come In shrieks on the fitful gale, The charger's hoof beat time to the drum, And the clank of the rider's mail.
text_transcription: SUCH SOFT THINGS TAKE DELIGHT IN CYNTHIA'S SICKLY BEAM GIVE ME A HEAVEN OF COAL BLACK NIGHT SLASHED WITH THE WATCH FIRE GLEAM THEY DOTE UPON THE LUTE THE CITON AND THE LYRE SUCH SOUNDS MINE EAR DO LITTLE SUIT THEY MATCH NOT MY DESIRE THE TRUMPET BLAST LET IT COME IN SHRIEKS ON THE FITFUL GALE THE CHARGER'S HOOF BE TIME TO THE DRUM AND THE CLANK OF THE RIDER'S MAIL
phonemes: "sˈʌtʃ sˈɔftlɪŋz tˈeɪk dᵻlˈaɪt ɪn sˈɪnθiəz sˈɪkli bˈiːm ɡˈɪv mˌiː ɐ hˈiːvn ʌv kˈoʊl blˈæk nˈaɪt slˈæʃd wɪððə wˈɑːtʃ fˈaɪɚ ɡlˈiːm. "ðeɪ dˈoʊt əpˌɑːn ðə lˈuːt, ðə sˈɪtɚn ænd ðə lˈaɪɚ sˈʌtʃ sˈaʊndz mˈaɪn ˈɪɹ dˈuː lˈɪɾəl sˈuːt, ðeɪ mˈætʃ nˌɑːt maɪ dɪzˈaɪɚ. "ðə tɹˈʌmpɪt blˈæst lˈɛt ɪt kˈʌm ɪn ʃɹˈiːks ɔnðə fˈɪtfəl ɡˈeɪl, ðə tʃˈɑːɹdʒɚz hˈuːf bˈiːt tˈaɪm tə ðə dɹˈʌm, ænd ðə klˈæŋk ʌvðə ɹˈaɪdɚz mˈeɪl.