Class VIII The School Boy by William Blank - Phonetic Transcription of the Text
The Last Bargain
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Rabindranath Tagore
William Blake | ˈwɪljəm bleɪk |
The Schoolboy | ðə ˈskuːlbɔɪ |
From Songs of Experience | frɒm sɒŋz ɒv ɪksˈpɪərɪəns |
I love to rise in a summer morn, | aɪ lʌv tuː raɪz ɪn ə ˈsʌmə mɔːn, |
When the birds sing on every tree; | wɛn ðə bɜːdz sɪŋ ɒn ˈɛvri triː; |
The distant huntsman winds his horn, | ðə ˈdɪstənt ˈhʌntsmən wɪndz hɪz hɔːn, |
And the skylark sings with me: | ænd ðə ˈskaɪlɑːk sɪŋz wɪð miː: |
O what sweet company! | əʊ wɒt swiːt ˈkʌmpəni! |
But to go to school in a summer morn, - | bʌt tuː gəʊ tuː skuːl ɪn ə ˈsʌmə mɔːn, - |
O it drives all joy away! | əʊ ɪt draɪvz ɔːl ʤɔɪ əˈweɪ! |
Under a cruel eye outworn, | ˈʌndər ə krʊəl aɪ aʊtˈwɔːn, |
The little ones spend the day | ðə ˈlɪtl wʌnz spɛnd ðə deɪ |
In sighing and dismay. | ɪn ˈsaɪɪŋ ænd dɪsˈmeɪ. |
Ah then at times I drooping sit, | ɑː ðɛn æt taɪmz aɪ ˈdruːpɪŋ sɪt, |
And spend many an anxious hour; | ænd spɛnd ˈmɛni ən ˈæŋkʃəs ˈaʊə; |
Nor in my book can I take delight, | nɔːr ɪn maɪ bʊk kæn aɪ teɪk dɪˈlaɪt, |
Nor sit in learning's bower, | nɔː sɪt ɪn ˈlɜːnɪŋz ˈbaʊə, |
Worn through with the dreary shower. | wɔːn θruː wɪð ðə ˈdrɪəri ˈʃaʊə. |
How can the bird that is born for joy | haʊ kæn ðə bɜːd ðæt ɪz bɔːn fɔː ʤɔɪ |
Sit in a cage and sing? | sɪt ɪn ə keɪʤ ænd sɪŋ? |
How can a child, when fears annoy, | haʊ kæn ə ʧaɪld, wɛn fɪəz əˈnɔɪ, |
But droop his tender wing, | bʌt druːp hɪz ˈtɛndə wɪŋ, |
And forget his youthful spring! | ænd fəˈgɛt hɪz ˈjuːθfʊl sprɪŋ! |
O father and mother if buds are nipped, | əʊ ˈfɑːðər ænd ˈmʌðər ɪf bʌdz ɑː nɪpt, |
And blossoms blown away; | ænd ˈblɒsəmz bləʊn əˈweɪ; |
And if the tender plants are stripped | ænd ɪf ðə ˈtɛndə plɑːnts ɑː strɪpt |
Of their joy in the springing day, | ɒv ðeə ʤɔɪ ɪn ðə ˈsprɪnʤɪŋ deɪ, |
By sorrow and care's dismay, - | baɪ ˈsɒrəʊ ænd keəz dɪsˈmeɪ, - |
How shall the summer arise in joy, | haʊ ʃæl ðə ˈsʌmər əˈraɪz ɪn ʤɔɪ, |
Or the summer fruits appear? | ɔː ðə ˈsʌmə fruːts əˈpɪə? |
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy, | ɔː haʊ ʃæl wiː ˈgæðə wɒt griːfs dɪsˈtrɔɪ, |
Or bless the mellowing year, | ɔː blɛs ðə ˈmɛləʊɪŋ jɪə, |
When the blasts of winter appear? | wɛn ðə blɑːsts ɒv ˈwɪntər əˈpɪə? |
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