text_original: * * * * * A hundred years are over, Two stranger pilgrims steal, To Bardsey's Abbey ruins, To pray for Bardsey's weal. The night was stormy, darksome, No moonlight's silver ray Lit up the desolation That all around them lay.
text_transcription: A HUNDRED YEARS ARE OVER TWO STRANGER PILGRIMS STEAL TO BARSEY'S ABBEY RUINS TO PRAY FOR BARTSEY'S WEAL THE NIGHT WAS STORMY DARKSOME NO MOONLIGHT'S SILVER RAY LIT UP THE DESOLATION THAT ALL AROUND THEM LAY
phonemes: ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk ɐ hˈʌndɹɪd jˈɪɹz ɑːɹ ˈoʊvɚ, tˈuː stɹˈeɪndʒɚ pˈɪlɡɹɪmz stˈiːl, tə bˈɑːɹdsiz ˈæbi ɹˈuːɪnz, tə pɹˈeɪ fɔːɹ bˈɑːɹdsiz wˈiːl. ðə nˈaɪt wʌz stˈɔːɹmi, dˈɑːɹksʌm, nˈoʊ mˈuːnlaɪts sˈɪlvɚ ɹˈeɪ lˈɪt ˌʌp ðə dˌɛsəlˈeɪʃən ðæt ˈɔːl ɚɹˈaʊnd ðˌɛm lˈeɪ.