text_original: Hark! what is that noise so mournful and slow, That sends on the winds the tickings of woe, In sound like the knell of a spirit that's fled, And tells us, alas! a brother is dead? Yes, gone to the grave is he whom we lov'd And lifeless the form that manfully mov'd, The clods of the valley encompass his head, This tombstone reminds us our brother is dead.
text_transcription: HARK WHAT IS THAT NOISE SO MOURNFUL AND SLOW THAT SENDS ON THE WINDS THE TICKINGS OF WOE IN SOUND LIKE THE KNELL OF A SPIRIT THAT'S FLED AND TELLS US ALAS A BROTHER IS DEAD YES GONE TO THE GRAVE IS HE WHOM WE LOVED AND LIFELESS THE FORM THAT MAN FULLY MOVED THE CLODS OF THE VALLEY ENCOMPASS HIS HEAD THIS TOMBSTONE REMINDS US OUR BROTHER IS DEAD
phonemes: hˈɑːɹk! wˌʌt ɪz ðæt nˈɔɪz sˌoʊ mˈɔːɹnfəl ænd slˈoʊ, ðæt sˈɛndz ɔnðə wˈɪndz ðə tˈɪkɪŋz ʌv wˈoʊ, ɪn sˈaʊnd lˈaɪk ðə nˈɛl əvə spˈɪɹɪt ðæts flˈɛd, ænd tˈɛlz ˌʌs, ɐlˈæs! ɐ bɹˈʌðɚɹ ɪz dˈɛd? jˈɛs, ɡɔn tə ðə ɡɹˈeɪv ɪz hiː hˈuːm wiː lˈʌvd ænd lˈaɪfləs ðə fˈɔːɹm ðæt mˈænfəli mˈɑːvd, ðə klˈɑːdz ʌvðə vˈæli ɛŋkˈʌmpəs hɪz hˈɛd, ðɪs tˈuːmstoʊn ɹᵻmˈaɪndz ˌʌs ˌaʊɚ bɹˈʌðɚɹ ɪz dˈɛd.