I still believe that I was right in this statement, as a general assertion; but I have found one quaint poem about a grasshopper, which must have been written about the middle of the seventeenth century or, perhaps, a little earlier.

The date of the author's birth and death are respectively 1618 and 1658.

His name, I think, you are familiar with--Richard Lovelace, author of many amatory poems, and of one especially famous song, "To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars"-- containing the celebrated stanza-- Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Well, as I said, this man wrote one pretty little poem on a grasshopper, which antedates most of the English poems on insects, if not all of them.
THE GRASSHOPPER O Thou that swing'st upon the waving ear Of some well-filled oaten beard, Drunk every night with a delicious tear Dropt thee from heaven, where now th'art rear'd! The joys of earth and air are thine entire, That with thy feet and wings dost hop and fly; And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire To thy carved acorn-bed to lie.
Up with the day, the Sun thou welcom'st then, Sport'st in the gilt plaits of his beams, And all these merry days mak'st merry men Thyself, and melancholy streams.
A little artificial, this poem written at least two hundred and fifty years ago; but it is pretty in spite of its artifice.

Some of the conceits are so quaint that they must be explained.

By the term "oaten beard," the poet means an ear of oats; and you know that the grain of this plant is furnished with very long hair, so that many poets have spoken of the bearded oats.