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But grief cleaves to names, and persons, and the partial interests of to day and yesterday.

bət ɡrif klivz tu neɪmz, ænd ˈpɝsnz, ænd ðə ˈpɑrʃəl ˈɪntrəsts əv tu deɪ ænd ˈjɛstɝˌdeɪ.

The strong bent of nature is seen in the proportion which this topic of personal relations usurps in the conversation of society.

ðə strɔŋ bɛnt ʌv ˈneɪʧər ɪz siːn ɪn ðə prəˈpɔːrʃən wɪʧ ðɪs ˈtɑpɪk ʌv ˈpɜːrsənəl rɪˈleɪʃənz juːˈzɜːps ɪn ðə ˌkɑːnvərˈseɪʃən ʌv səˈsaɪəti.

What books in the circulating libraries circulate?

wɑt bʊks ɪn ðə ˈsɜrkjəˌleɪtɪŋ ˈlaɪbrəriz ˈsɜrkjəˌleɪt

How we glow over these novels of passion, when the story is told with any spark of truth and nature!

haʊ wi ɡloʊ ˈoʊvər ðiz ˈnɑvəlz əv ˈpæʃən, ˈwɛn ðə ˈstɔri ɪz toʊld wɪð ˈɛni spɑrk əv ˈtruθ ənd ˈneɪʧər

And what fastens attention, in the intercourse of life, like any passage betraying affection between two parties?

ənd wɑt ˈfæsənz əˈtɛnʃən, ɪn ðə ˈɪntərˌkɔrs əv laɪf, laɪk ˈɛni ˈpæsɪʤ bɪˈtreɪɪŋ əˈfɛkʃən bɪˈtwin tuː ˈpɑrtiz

Perhaps we never saw them before, and never shall meet them again.

pɚˈhæps wi ˈnɛvɚ sɔ ðɛm bɪˈfɔɹ, ænd ˈnɛvɚ ʃæl mit ðɛm əˈɡɛn.

But we see them exchange a glance, or betray a deep emotion, and we are no longer strangers.

bʌt wi si ðɛm ɪksˈʧeɪndʒ ə ɡlæns, ɔr bɪˈtreɪ ə dip ɪˈmoʊʃən, ænd wi ər noʊ ˈlɔŋɡər ˈstreɪndʒərz.

We understand them, and take the warmest interest in the development of the romance.

wi ˌəndərˈstænd ðɛm, ənd ˈteɪk ðə ˈwɔrmɪst ˈɪntrəst ɪn ðə dɪˈvɛləpmənt əv ðə rəʊˈmæns.

All mankind love a lover. The earliest demonstrations of complacency and kindness are nature's most winning pictures.

ɔl ˈmænˌkaɪnd ˈlʌv ə ˈlʌvər. ði ˈɜrliəst ˌdɛmənˈstreɪʃənz əv kəmˈpleɪsənsi ænd ˈkaɪndnəs ɑr ˈneɪʧərz ˈmoʊst ˈwɪnɪŋ ˈpɪktʃərz.

It is the dawn of civility and grace in the coarse and rustic.

ɪt ɪz ðə dɔn əv sɪˈvɪləti ænd ɡreɪs ɪn ðə kɔrs ænd ˈrʌstɪk

The rude village boy teases the girls about the school house door;--but to day he comes running into the entry, and meets one fair child disposing her satchel; he holds her books to help her, and instantly it seems to him as if she removed herself from him infinitely, and was a sacred precinct.

ðə rud ˈvɪlɪʤ bɔɪ ˈtizəz ðə ɡɜrlz əˈbaʊt ðə skuːl haʊs dɔr; bʌt tuː deɪ hi kʌmz ˈrʌnɪŋ ˈɪntu ðə ˈɛntri, ænd miːts wʌn fɛr ʧaɪld dɪsˈpəʊzɪŋ hɜr ˈsæʧəl; hi həʊldz hɜr bʊks tuː hɛlp hɜr, ænd ˈɪnstəntli ɪt siːmz tuː hɪm æz ɪf ʃiː rɪˈmuvd hɜrˈsɛlf frəm hɪm ˈɪnfɪnətli, ænd wɑz ə ˈseɪkrɪd ˈprisɪŋkt.

Among the throng of girls he runs rudely enough, but one alone distances him; and these two little neighbors, that were so close just now, have learned to respect each other's personality.

əˈmʌŋ ðə θrɔŋ əv ɡɜrlz hi rʌnz ˈruːdli ɪˈnʌf, bət wʌn əˈloʊn ˈdɪstənsɪz ɪm; ənd ðiz tu lɪtəl ˈneɪbərz, ðæt wər soʊ ˈkloʊs ˈdʒʌst naʊ, hæv lɜrnd tə rɪsˈpɛkt ˈiːtʃ ˈʌðərz ˌpɜrsəˈnælɪti.

By and by that boy wants a wife, and very truly and heartily will he know where to find a sincere and sweet mate, without any risk such as Milton deplores as incident to scholars and great men.

baɪ ænd baɪ ðæt bɔɪ wɑnts ə waɪf, ænd ˈvɛri ˈtruːli ænd ˈhɑːrtɪli wɪl hi noʊ weər tuː faɪnd ə sɪnˈsɪr ænd swit meɪt, wɪˈðaʊt ˈɛni rɪsk sʌʧ æz ˈmɪltn̩ dɪˈplɔrz æz ˈɪnsədənt tuː ˈskɑlərz ænd ˈɡreɪt mɛn.

But now I almost shrink at the remembrance of such disparaging words.

bʌt naʊ aɪ ˈɔlˌmoʊst ʃrɪŋk æt ðə rɪˈmɛmb(ə)rəns ʌv ˈsʌʧ dɪsˈpærɪʤɪŋ wɜrdz.

For persons are love's world, and the coldest philosopher cannot recount the debt of the young soul wandering here in nature to the power of love, without being tempted to unsay, as treasonable to nature, aught derogatory to the social instincts.

fɔr ˈpɜrsənz ɑr lʌvz wɝld, ænd ðə ˈkoʊldɪst fɪˈlɑsəfər kəˈnɑt rɪˈkaʊnt ðə dɛt əv ðə jʌŋ soʊl ˈwɑndərɪŋ hɪr ɪn ˈneɪʧər tuː ðə ˈpaʊər əv lʌv, wɪˈðaʊt biːɪŋ ˈtɛmptɪd tuː ˌənˈseɪ, æz ˈtrizənəbl tuː ˈneɪʧər, ɔt ˌdɛrəˈgətɔri tuː ðə ˈsoʊʃəl ˈɪnˌstɪŋkts.

But here is a strange fact; it may seem to many men, in revising their experience, that they have no fairer page in their life's book than the delicious memory of some passages wherein affection contrived to give a witchcraft, surpassing the deep attraction of its own truth, to a parcel of accidental and trivial circumstances.

bʌt hɪr ɪz ə streɪnʤ fækt; ɪt meɪ sim tu ˈmɛni mɛn, ɪn rɪˈvaɪzɪŋ ðɛr ɪkˈspɪriəns, ðæt ðeɪ hæv noʊ ˈfɛrər peɪʤ ɪn ðɛr laɪfs bʊk ðæn ðə dɪˈlɪʃəs ˈmɛməri ʌv sʌm ˈpæsɪʤəz wɛrˈɪn əˈfɛkʃən kənˈtraɪvd tu ˈɡɪv ə ˈwɪʧkræft, sɚˈpæsɪŋ ðə dip əˈtrækʃən ʌv ɪts oʊn truθ, tu ə ˈpɑrsəl ʌv ˌæksəˈdɛntəl ænd ˈtrɪviəl ˈsɜrkəmˌstænsɪz."

In looking backward they may find that several things which were not the charm have more reality to this groping memory than the charm itself which embalmed them.

ɪn ˈlʊkɪŋ ˈbæk.wərd ðeɪ meɪ faɪnd ðæt ˈsɛvrəl θɪŋz wɪtʃ wər nɑt ðə ʧɑrm hæv mɔr riˈæləti tu ðɪs ˈɡroʊpɪŋ ˈmɛməri ðæn ðə ʧɑrm ɪtˈsɛlf wɪtʃ ɪmˈbɑmz ðɛm

In the noon and the afternoon of life we still throb at the recollection of days when happiness was not happy enough, but must be drugged with the relish of pain and fear; for he touched the secret of the matter who said of love,--

ɪn ðə nʊn ænd ðə ˌæftɚˈnuːn əv laɪf wi stɪl θrɑb æt ðə ˌrɛklɛkˈʃən əv deɪz wɛn ˈhæpinɪs wɑz nɑt ˈhæpi ɪˈnʌf, bʌt mʌst bi drʌgd wɪð ðə ˈrɛlɪʃ əv peɪn ænd fɪr; fɔr hi tʌʧt ðə ˈsiːkrət əv ðə ˈmætər hu sɛd əv lʌv,--

It makes all things alive and significant.

ɪt meɪks ɔːl θɪŋz əˈlaɪv ænd sɪɡˈnɪfəkənt.

Nature grows conscious.

ˈneɪʧər ɡroʊz ˈkɑnʃəs.

Every bird on the boughs of the tree sings now to his heart and soul.

ˈɛvri bɜrd ɑn ðə baʊz əv ðə tri sɪŋz naʊ tu hɪz hɑrt ænd soʊl.

The notes are almost articulate. The clouds have faces as he looks on them.

ðə noʊts ɑr ˈɔlˌmoʊst ɑrˈtɪkjələt. ðə klaʊdz hæv ˈfeɪsəz æz hi lʊks ɑn ðɛm.

The trees of the forest, the waving grass and the peeping flowers have grown intelligent; and he almost fears to trust them with the secret which they seem to invite. Yet nature soothes and sympathizes.

ðə triz əv ðə ˈfɔrɪst, ðə ˈweɪvɪŋ ɡɹæs ænd ðə ˈpipɪŋ ˈflaʊɚz hæv ɡɹoʊn ɪnˈtɛləʤənt; ænd hi ˈɔlmoʊst ˈfɪɹz tu tɹʌst ðɛm wɪð ðə ˈsikɹət wɪtʃ ðeɪ sim tu ɪnˈvaɪt. jɛt ˈneɪʧəɹ suːðz ænd ˈsɪmpəˌθaɪzəz.

In the green solitude he finds a dearer home than with men:--

ɪn ðə ɡriːn ˈsɑləˌtud i faɪndz ə ˈdɪərər hoʊm ðæn wɪθ mɛn:--

"Fountain heads and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves, Moonlight walks, when all the fowls Are safely housed, save bats and owls, A midnight bell, a passing groan,-- These are the sounds we feed upon."

"ˈfaʊntən hɛdz ænd ˈpæθləs ɡroʊvz, ˈpleɪsɪz wɪtʃ peɪl ˈpæʃən ˈlʌvz, ˈmunˌlaɪt wɔks, ˈwɛn ɔl ðə faʊlz ɑr ˈseɪfli haʊzd, seɪv bæts ænd aʊlz, ə ˈmɪdnaɪt bɛl, ə ˈpæsɪŋ ɡroʊn,-- ðiz ɑr ðə saʊndz wi fiːd əˈpɑn."

"I suppose you are mr matthew Cuthbert of Green Gables?" she said in a peculiarly clear, sweet voice.

aɪ səˈpəʊz ju ər mɪstə mæθju ˈkʌθbət əv ɡriːn ˈɡeɪbəlz ʃiː sɛd ɪn ə pɪkjuˈlɪəli klɪər swiːt vɔɪs

I can STOP when I make up my mind to it, although it's difficult."

aɪ kæn stɑp wɛn aɪ meɪk ʌp maɪ maɪnd tu ɪt, ɔlˈðoʊ ɪts ˈdɪfɪkəlt.

I never expected I would, though.

aɪ ˈnɛvər ɪkˈspɛktɪd aɪ wʊd, ðoʊ.

"Now you see why I can't be perfectly happy.

naʊ ju si waɪ aɪ kænt bi ˈpɝfɪktli ˈhæpi.

Oh, mr Cuthbert!!

oʊ, mɪs.tər ˈkʌθ.bərt!!

Oh, mr Cuthbert!!!"

oʊ, mɪs.tər ˈkʌθ.bərt, exclamation marks not transcribed

Other people may call that place the Avenue, but I shall always call it the White Way of Delight. Have we really only another mile to go before we get home?

ˈʌðər ˈpipəl meɪ kɔl ðæt pleɪs ðə ˈævəˌnju, bət aɪ ʃəl ˈɔlweɪz kɔl ɪt ðə ˈwaɪt ˈweɪ əv dɪˈlaɪt. hæv wi ˈrɪəli ˈoʊnli əˈnəðər maɪl tə ɡoʊ bɪˈfɔr wi ˈɡɛt hoʊm?

"That's Barry's pond," said matthew.

"ðæts ˈbæriˌz pɑnd," sɛd ˈmæθjuː.

The Law.

ðə lɔː

We will leave the banker contemplating the enormous magnitude of his debt before the phantom of bankruptcy, and follow the baroness, who after being momentarily crushed under the weight of the blow which had struck her, had gone to seek her usual adviser, Lucien Debray.

wi wɪl liv ðə ˈbæŋkər ˌkɑntəmˈpleɪtɪŋ ði iˈnɔrməs ˈmæɡnəˌtud əv hɪz dɛt bɪˈfɔr ðə ˈfæntəm əv ˈbæŋkrʌptsi, ænd ˈfɑloʊ ðə bəˈrɑnəs, hu ˈæftər ˈbiɪŋ ˌmoʊmənˈtɛrəli krʌʃt ˈʌndər ðə weɪt əv ðə bloʊ wɪtʃ həd strʌk hər, həd ɡɔn tu sik hər ˈjuʒəwəl ædˈvaɪzər, luˈsiən dəˈbreɪ.

She had not long to wait; directly afterwards the door was opened wide enough to admit her, and when she had passed through, it was again shut.

ʃi hæd nɑt lɔŋ tu weɪt; dɪˈrɛktli æftɜrwɑrdz ðə dɔr wəz ˈoʊpənd waɪd ɪˈnʌf tu ədˈmɪt hər, ænd wɛn ʃi hæd pæst θru, ɪt wəz əˈɡɛn ʃʌt.

"Your daughter will be married to morrow, if not to day-in a week, if not to morrow; and I do not think you can regret the intended husband of your daughter."

jɔr ˈdɔtər wɪl bi ˈmærid tu ˈmɑroʊ, ɪf nɑt tu ˈdeɪ-ɪn ə wik, ɪf nɑt tu ˈmɑroʊ; ænd aɪ du nɑt θɪŋk ju kæn rɪˈɡrɛt ðə ɪnˈtɛndɪd ˈhʌzbənd ʌv jɔr ˈdɔtər.

"You are too late, madame; the orders are issued."

ju ɑr tu leɪt, məˈdæm; ðə ˈɔr.dərz ɑr ˈɪʃud.

You could not help thinking of it, and saying to yourself, 'you, who pursue crime so vindictively, answer now, why are there unpunished crimes in your dwelling?'" The baroness became pale.

ju kʊd nɑt hɛlp ˈθɪŋkɪŋ əv ɪt, ænd ˈseɪɪŋ tu jɔːrˈsɛlf, juː, huː pɚˈsjuː kraɪm soʊ vɪnˈdɪktɪvli, ˈænsɚ naʊ, waɪ ɑːr ðɛr ʌnˈpʌnɪʃt kraɪmz ɪn jɔːr ˈdwɛlɪŋ? ðə bəˈroʊnəs bɪˈkeɪm peɪl.

"No one; his parents are unknown."

noʊ wʌn; hɪz ˈpɛɹənts ɑr ʌnˈnoʊn

What am I?--the law.

wɑt æm aɪ? ðə lɔː

Has the law any eyes to witness your grief?

hæz ðə lɔː ˈɛni aɪz tu ˈwɪtnəs jɔːr ɡriːf

Have they loved me?

hæv ðeɪ lʌvd miː

"I always cut their hair myself," said Wendy.

aɪ ˈɔlweɪz kʌt ðeər hɛr maɪˈsɛlf, sɛd ˈwɛndi.

"I don't think he is a cypher," Tootles cried instantly.

aɪ doʊnt θɪŋk hiː ɪz ə ˈsaɪfɚ tuːtlz kraɪd ˈɪnstəntli

mrs Darling came to the window, for at present she was keeping a sharp eye on Wendy.

mɪsɪz ˈdɑrlɪŋ keɪm tu ðə ˈwɪndoʊ, fɔr æt ˈprɛzənt ʃi wəz ˈkipɪŋ ə ʃɑrp aɪ ɑn ˈwɛndi.

"I suppose so."

aɪ səˈpoʊz soʊ.

"With Tink in the house we built for Wendy.

wɪθ tɪŋk ɪn ðə haʊs wi bɪlt fɔr ˈwɛndi.

"Well, then, come with me to the little house."

wɛl, ðɛn, kʌm wɪð mi tu ðə ˈlɪtəl haʊs.

"You won't forget me, peter, will you, before spring cleaning time comes?"

ju wəʊnt fəˈɡɛt miː, ˈpiːtər, wɪl ju, bɪˈfɔːr sprɪŋ ˈkliːnɪŋ taɪm kʌmz?

Wendy was grown up.

ˈwɛndi wəz ɡroʊn ʌp.

All the boys were grown up and done for by this time; so it is scarcely worth while saying anything more about them.

ɔl ðə bɔɪz wər ɡroʊn ʌp ænd dʌn fɔr baɪ ðɪs taɪm; soʊ ɪt ɪz ˈskɛrslɪ wɜrθ waɪl ˈseɪɪŋ ˈɛniˌθɪŋ mɔr əˈbaʊt ðɛm.

When she was old enough to ask them they were mostly about peter Pan.

wɛn ʃi wəz oʊld əˈnʌf tu ˈæsk ðɛm ðeɪ wər ˈmoʊstli əˈbaʊt ˈpitər pæn.

She loved to hear of peter, and Wendy told her all she could remember in the very nursery from which the famous flight had taken place.

ʃi lʌvd tu hɪr ʌv ˈpiːtər, ænd ˈwɛndi toʊld hɜr ɔl ʃi kʊd rɪˈmɛmbər ɪn ðə ˈvɛri ˈnɜrsəri frʌm wɪʧ ðə ˈfeɪməs flaɪt hæd ˈteɪkən pleɪs.

"Yes, you did."

"jɛs, ju dɪd."

"The dear old days when I could fly!"

ðə dɪr oʊld deɪz wɛn aɪ kʊd flaɪ

"Why can't you fly now, mother?"

waɪ kænt ju flaɪ naʊ, ˈmʌðər?

It is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly."

ɪt ɪz ˈoʊnli ðə ɡeɪ ænd ˈɪnəsnt ænd ˈhɑrtləs hu kæn ˈflaɪ.

"I sat up in bed and I said, 'Boy, why are you crying?'"

aɪ sæt ʌp ɪn bɛd ænd aɪ sɛd, 'bɔɪ, waɪ ɑr ju ˈkraɪɪŋ?'

"What did his crow sound like?" Jane asked one evening.

"wʌt dɪd hɪz kroʊ saʊnd laɪk?" ʤeɪn æskt wʌn ˈivnɪŋ.

"That is not Michael," she said quickly, lest a judgment should fall on her.

ðæt ɪz nɑt ˈmaɪkəl, ʃi ˈsɛd ˈkwɪkli, lɛst ə ˈʤʌʤmənt ʃʊd fɔl ɑn ˈhɝ

"Girl."

"ɡɜrl"

Then she turned up the light, and peter saw.

ðɛn ʃi tɜrnd ʌp ðə laɪt, ænd ˈpiːtər sɔː.

"What is it?" he cried again.

"wɑt ɪz ɪt?" hi krɑɪd əˈɡɛn.

"I couldn't help it.

aɪ ˈkʊdnt hɛlp ɪt.

peter rose and bowed to her, and she bowed to him from the bed.

ˈpiːtə roʊz ənd baʊd tuː hər, ənd ʃiː baʊd tuː hɪm frəm ðə bɛd.

"He does so need a mother," Jane said.

"hi dəz soʊ nid ə ˈmʌðər," ˈʤeɪn sɛd.

"It is just for spring cleaning time," Jane said, "he wants me always to do his spring cleaning."

ɪt ɪz ʤəst fɔr sprɪŋ ˈklinɪŋ taɪm, ʤeɪn sɛd, hi wɑnts mi ˈɔlweɪz tu du ɪz sprɪŋ ˈklinɪŋ.

"If that's the way you desire to treat them, no wonder you don't like America."

ɪf ðæts ðə weɪ ju dɪˈzaɪər tuː ˈtrit ðem, noʊ ˈwʌndər ju doʊnt laɪk əˈmɛɹɪkə.

"Faithless to my country then?"

"ˈfeɪθləs tuː maɪ ˈkʌntri ðɛn?"

You're changed-you're thinking of other things."

jʊɹ tʃeɪnʤd jʊɹ ˈθɪŋkɪŋ ʌv ˈʌðəɹ θɪŋz

"What did you say about me?" Isabel asked.

wɑt dɪd ju sˈeɪ əˈbaʊt mi? ˈɪzəbəl ˈæskt.

"I said you were on the whole the finest creature I know."

aɪ sɛd ju wər ɒn ðə hoʊl ðə ˈfaɪnɪst ˈkriˌeɪʧər aɪ noʊ

"I shall say it better to mr Goodwood himself."

aɪ ʃæl seɪ ɪt ˈbɛtər tu ˈmɪs.tər ˈɡʊd.wʊd hɪm.ˈsɛlf.

"Very likely.

ˈvɛri ˈlaɪkli.

She pretended to herself, however, that she thought the event impossible, and, later, she communicated her disbelief to her friend.

ʃi prɪˈtɛndɪd tu hərˈsɛlf, haʊˈɛvər, ðæt ʃi θɔt ðə ɪˈvɛnt ɪmˈpɑsəbəl, ænd, ˈleɪtər, ʃi kəmˈjunəˌkeɪtɪd hər ˌdɪs.bɪˈliːf tu hər frɛnd.

This document proved short and may be given entire.

ðɪs ˈdɑkjəmənt pruvd ʃɔrt ænd meɪ bi ˈɡɪvn̩ ɪnˈtaɪər

CASPAR GOODWOOD.

ˈkæspɑr ˈɡʊdˌwʊd

PERCH A l a SICILY

pɜrtʃ ə l ə ˈsɪsɪli

Nature, uncontainable, flowing, forelooking, in the first sentiment of kindness anticipates already a benevolence which shall lose all particular regards in its general light.

ˈneɪʧər, ˌʌnkənˈteɪnəbəl, ˈfloʊɪŋ, ˈfɔrˌlʊkɪŋ, ɪn ðə fɜrst ˈsɛntəmənt əv ˈkaɪndnəs ˌæntəˈsɪpeɪts ɔˈlɹɛdi ə ˌbɛnəˈvɑləns wɪʧ ʃæl luz ɔl pərˈtɪkjələr rɪˈgɑrdz ɪn ɪts ˈdʒɛnəɹəl laɪt.

Each man sees over his own experience a certain stain of error, whilst that of other men looks fair and ideal.

ˈiʧ mæn siz ˈoʊvər ˈhɪz ˈoʊn ɪkˈspɪriəns ə ˈsɜrtən steɪn əv ˈɛrər, wɪlst ðæt əv ˈʌðər mɛn lʊks fɛr ænd aɪˈdiəl.

Every thing is beautiful seen from the point of the intellect, or as truth.

ˈɛvɹi θɪŋ ɪz ˈbjutəfəl siːn frʌm ðə pɔɪnt əv ðə ˈɪntəˌlɛkt, ɔɹ æz ˈtɹuθ

The girls may have little beauty, yet plainly do they establish between them and the good boy the most agreeable, confiding relations, what with their fun and their earnest, about Edgar and Jonas and Almira, and who was invited to the party, and who danced at the dancing school, and when the singing school would begin, and other nothings concerning which the parties cooed.

ðə ɡɜrlz meɪ hæv ˈlɪtəl ˈbjut.i, jɛt ˈpleɪnli du ðeɪ ɪˈstæblɪʃ bɪˈtwiːn ðɛm ənd ðə ɡʊd bɔɪ ðə moʊst əˈɡriːəbl̩, kənˈfaɪdɪŋ rɪˈleɪʃənz, wʌt wɪð ðɛr fʌn ənd ðɛr ˈɜrnɪst, əˈbaʊt ˈɛdɡər ənd ˈdʒoʊnəs ənd ˌælmɪrə, ənd hu wəz ɪnˈvaɪtɪd tuː ðə ˈpɑrti, ənd hu ˈdænst ət ðə ˈdænsɪŋ skuːl, ənd wɛn ðə ˈsɪŋɪŋ skuːl wʊd bɪˈɡɪn, ənd ˈʌðər ˈnʌθɪŋz kənˈsɜrnɪŋ wɪtʃ ðə ˈpɑrtiz kuːd.

The passion rebuilds the world for the youth.

ðə ˈpæʃən ˌriˈbɪldz ðə wɜrld fɔr ðə juθ

The heats that have opened his perceptions of natural beauty have made him love music and verse.

ðə hiːts ðæt hæv ˈəʊpənd hɪz pəˈsɛpʃənz əv ˈnæʧərəl ˈbjuːti hæv ˈmeɪd ɪm lʌv ˈmjuːzɪk ænd vɜrs.

It is a fact often observed, that men have written good verses under the inspiration of passion, who cannot write well under any other circumstances.

ɪt ɪz ə fækt ˈɔfən əbˈzɜrvd, ðæt mɛn hæv ˈrɪtn ɡʊd ˈvɜrsɪz ˈəndər ðə ˌɪnspəˈreɪʃən əv ˈpæʃən, hu ˈkænɑt ˈraɪt wɛl ˈəndər ˈɛni ˈʌðər ˈsɜrkəmˌstænsɪz.

It expands the sentiment; it makes the clown gentle and gives the coward heart.

ɪt ɪksˈpændz ðə ˈsɛntɪmənt; ɪt meɪks ðə klaʊn ˈʤɛntəl ənd ɡɪvz ðə ˈkaʊərd hɑrt.

Into the most pitiful and abject it will infuse a heart and courage to defy the world, so only it have the countenance of the beloved object.

ˈɪntu ðə ˈmoʊst ˈpɪtɪfəl ænd ˈæbdʒɛkt ɪt wɪl ɪnˈfjuz ə hɑrt ænd ˈkɜrɪʤ tu dɪˈfaɪ ðə wɜrld, soʊ ˈoʊnli ɪt hæv ðə ˈkaʊntənəns əv ðə bɪˈlʌvɪd ˈɑbʤɪkt.

In giving him to another it still more gives him to himself.

ɪn ˈɡɪvɪŋ ˈhɪm tuː əˈnʌðər ɪt stɪl mɔːr ˈɡɪvz ˈhɪm tuː hɪmˈsɛlf.

He is a new man, with new perceptions, new and keener purposes, and a religious solemnity of character and aims.

hi ɪz ə nuː mæn, wɪð nuː pɚˈsɛpʃənz, nuː ænd ˈkinɚ ˈpɝpəsɪz, ænd ə rɪˈlɪʤəs səˈlɛməti əv ˈkɛɹəktɚ ænd eɪmz.

And here let us examine a little nearer the nature of that influence which is thus potent over the human youth.

ənd hɪr lɛt əs ɪɡˈzæmɪn ə ˈlɪtəl ˈnɪrər ðə ˈneɪʧər əv ðæt ˈɪnfluəns wɪʧ ɪz ðʌs ˈpoʊtənt ˈoʊvər ðə ˈhjumən juθ

Beauty, whose revelation to man we now celebrate, welcome as the sun wherever it pleases to shine, which pleases everybody with it and with themselves, seems sufficient to itself.

ˈbjuti, huːz ˌrɛvəˈleɪʃən tu mæn wi naʊ ˈsɛləˌbreɪt, ˈwɛlkəm æz ðə sʌn wɛrˈɛvər ɪt ˈplizɪz tu ʃaɪn, wɪʧ ˈplizɪz ˈɛvribɑdi wɪð ɪt ænd wɪð ðəmˈsɛlvz, simz səˈfɪʃənt tu ɪtˈsɛlf.

The lover cannot paint his maiden to his fancy poor and solitary.

ðə ˈlʌvər ˈkænɑt peɪnt hɪz ˈmeɪdn̩ tu hɪz ˈfænsi pur ænd ˈsɑləˌtɛri

Like a tree in flower, so much soft, budding, informing loveliness is society for itself; and she teaches his eye why Beauty was pictured with Loves and Graces attending her steps.

laɪk ə tri ɪn ˈflaʊər, soʊ mʌʧ sɔft, ˈbʌdɪŋ, ɪnˈfɔrmɪŋ ˈlʌvlɪnəs ɪz səˈsaɪəti fɔr ɪtˈsɛlf; ænd ʃiː ˈtitʃɪz hɪz aɪ waɪ ˈbjuti wʌz ˈpɪktʃɚd wɪθ lʌvz ænd ˈɡreseɪs əˈtɛndɪŋ hɜr stɛps.

Her existence makes the world rich.

hər ɛɡˈzɪstəns ˈmeɪks ðə wɜrld rɪʧ.

Though she extrudes all other persons from his attention as cheap and unworthy, she indemnifies him by carrying out her own being into somewhat impersonal, large, mundane, so that the maiden stands to him for a representative of all select things and virtues.

ðoʊ ʃiː ɪkˈstɹudz ɔːl ˈʌðɚ ˈpɝsənz fɹʌm hɪz əˈtɛnʃən æz ʧiːp ænd ʌnˈwɜrði ʃiː ˌɪndɪmˈnɪfaɪz ˈhɪm baɪ ˈkɛɹiɪŋ aʊt ˈhɝ oʊn ˈbiɪŋ ˈɪntu ˈsʌmˌwʌt ˌɪmpɝˈsənəl lɑːrdʒ mʌnˈdeɪn soʊ ðæt ðə ˈmeɪdn stændz tuː ˈhɪm fɔɹ ə ˌɹɛpɹɪˈzɛntətɪv əv ɔːl səˈlɛkt ˈθɪŋz ænd ˈvɝʧuːs

His friends find in her a likeness to her mother, or her sisters, or to persons not of her blood.

hɪz frɛndz faɪnd ɪn hɜr ə ˈlaɪknəs tu hɜr ˈmʌðər, ɔr hɜr ˈsɪstərz, ɔr tu ˈpɜrsənz nɑt əv hɜr blʌd.

The lover sees no resemblance except to summer evenings and diamond mornings, to rainbows and the song of birds.

ðə ˈlʌvər ˈsiz noʊ ˈrɛmbləns ɪkˈsɛpt tu ˈsəmər ˈivnɪŋz ənd ˈdaɪəmənd ˈmɔrnɪŋz, tu ˈreɪnboʊz ənd ðə ˈsɔŋ əv ˈbɜrdz.

The ancients called beauty the flowering of virtue.

ðə ˈeɪnʃənts kɔld ˈbjuti ðə ˈflaʊərɪŋ ʌv ˈvɜrtʃu

We are touched with emotions of tenderness and complacency, but we cannot find whereat this dainty emotion, this wandering gleam, points.

wi ɑr tʌʧt wɪθ ɪˈmoʊʃənz əv ˈtɛndərnəs ænd kəmˈpleɪsənsi, bət wi kænˈnɑt faɪnd ˌwɛrˈæt ðɪs ˈdeɪnti ɪˈmoʊʃən, ðɪs ˈwɑndərɪŋ ɡlim, ˈpɔɪnts.